Peccary attack

The big news of the week was supposed to be that Paul's sister, Amy and her husband, Joshua, and their four children -- Serena (almost 17), Asher (15), Josiah (12) and Micah (11) are in Ecuador as our final visitors during our last month here.

                                               

The Sutherlun family did, indeed, arrive on Tuesday evening from Texas, and we are so happy they are here for two weeks; however, something else took over the headlines:

12-YEAR OLD GORED BY PECCARY

Sigh. . .Thank goodness, in a way, it was my 12-year old.

Yesterday, on our way to a majestic waterfall and river hike not far from home, Dillon was attacked --  yup, you read that correctly, attacked -- by a peccary.

A peccary, you might be asking, what in the world is a peccary? A peccary is a pig-like mammal, closely resembling a wild boar, though thankfully lacking the tusks you may be imagining right about now. Its spear-like canines, however, give it its other common name, the javelin or the javelina. Peccary are native to this region, though no longer widespread due to farming and urbanization. 

We knew there were peccary where we were going; we have met them before. Our Ecuadorian friend, who owns the mostly undeveloped land, captured several and is breeding them in captivity. We knew that they were not friendly. We had always kept a safe distance, and they had been fenced. This time, however, Dillon and his cousins confidently ran ahead, and the peccary, who recently birthed two babies, was untied and and feeling protective. "Mamá brava", as they say in Ecuador. The local phrase literally means "angry mom", but is more akin to "Mama bear".

Mama bears, we all know, are redoubtable, i.e. formidable, i.e. not-to-be-messed-with. 

Dillon was not intending to get close to the peccary -- he was trying to get to the bronze winged parrots that live nearby -- but she must have felt her offspring were being threatened, and she went for Dillon's right shin. She has good aim. Thank goodness, he was wearing rubber boots, which helped slow her javelin-like teeth but did not entirely prevent the deep wounds he now sports on the front and back of his wrapped calf.

Hero Papí Pollo (that is what we call Paul sometimes) and his brother-in-law Joshua managed to wrench the peccary's strong jaw open and off of Dillon's leg-- no easy feat-- their quick action also limited the damage.

                             

We had only just arrived with our picnic lunch and swimming clothes to this idyllic spot on the Puembo Chico River. Needless to say, we were quite a distance from medical care. Thank goodness for the kind truck driver, Franklin, who upon hearing our news made a U-turn and picked all 11 of us back up to get us to an emergency room quickly. Also thank goodness for friends who knew where to direct us and a knowledgeable physician who has cared for more dog bites than I have. Also, thank goodness for antibiotics.

Dillon won't be swimming or climbing orange trees with his cousins-- he has some sutures, some drains, and a bulky bandage -- but we are feeling hopeful that he will recover quickly enough to get to the Amazon with them early next week. Please cross your fingers and toes for him because he cannot cross his own toes for now!

Being a family doctor and a mom is often an interesting dual role. None of my fellow physician-moms will find this surprising or even remarkable. We cannot wrap our children in bubble wrap. As a physician, I am grateful to have the training to know when to be concerned and when not to be when my kids are sick or injured. This knowledge gives me the confidence to push the boundaries of life, even with three young children. This was certainly true when Brynna had acute respiratory distress several months ago and again when she had a head laceration in the middle of nowhere.

However, being a physician mom also means I know when to really worry, and this was an alarming event. Wild animal bites are no joke, we live far from what many would consider high level medical care, and the damage could have easily been worse. That being said, I am feeling relatively blessed: I am glad it did not happen to the smaller children and relieved our visitors were spared.

We are not out of the woods yet; Dillon's wounds are large, and an infection could make things more complicated (hopefully that won't happen!). Even under the best circumstances, it will take some time to heal.

Dillon has had a great attitude through the whole ordeal, despite his current disability. I am personally impressed with his display of his Poling genes. Paul and I have l have long been in awe of Paul's dad's (Dillon's grandpa's) remarkable coping with an urgent leg amputation over nine years ago a result of a rapidly progressive necrotizing infection. John has always been so gracious about the experience, despite the resulting life-altering disability. Several years ago, when our marriage therapist asked Paul if his dad's calm and grace were out of character, Paul paused for a long minute, and then smiled, "Well, no, I guess not."

While Dillon's injury cannot compare to the gravity of his grandfather's amputation, he is displaying a similar calm and graciousness -- while his cousins literally run circles around him. Dillon is hopeful that he will be doing what he loves soon -- climbing up in the orange trees and swimming in the river-- before our time here is up. May it be so. 

                                                                                                                                    

Dillon showing the hole in his left boot.