This 400-Pound Crocodile Was the Most Cooperative Patient in CT Scan History

For those of you who haven’t heard some of our podcasts or seen Weird World Adventures (if not, check them out here and here), I am both a contributing writer and Malorie’s husband. In my day job, I am a physician who sub-specializes in neuroradiology, so suffice to say, I’ve seen a lot of imaging over the last 15 years in which I’ve been a radiologist. However, amongst the tens of thousands of studies I’ve seen over this time, I can’t recall a patient as bizarre as Bill.

Bill is a 61-year-old Siamese crocodile who lives at Utah’s Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City. He is nearly 400 pounds, stretches a full 10 feet long, and possesses a bite force exceeding 3,000 PSI. His care team describes him as a stubborn but lovable old crocodile whose favorite things include chunks of red meat and being massaged with running water. His mate Hillary is smaller than him but, according to his keepers, firmly in charge. Bill is, in other words, a whole personality.

In 2025, Bill started feeling off. His appetite dropped, he lost weight, and his abdomen showed some unusual bloating. Here’s the maddening part, at least from a clinical perspective: his bloodwork came back completely normal. No obvious answers. Just a very large, very scaled reptile who wasn’t feeling his best and couldn’t explain why.

The next logical step was a CT scan. Which is a completely routine suggestion — unless your patient is a 400-pound crocodile.

A Transport Like None Other

Getting Bill from his enclosure to the University of Utah Health radiology department required a team of over 20 people, specialized restraint tools, a custom-made transport platform, and a mild sedative administered under veterinary supervision. A moist cloth was placed over his eyes to help keep him calm during transport. The whole operation was described by the zoo, with considerable understatement, as “a jaw-dropping undertaking.”

“Teamwork really makes the dream work for crocodilian checkups,” said Meredith Salinas, Animal Care Supervisor for Herpetology. That quote is going to live in my head forever.

The Scan Itself

Once at the U of U Health radiology department, the team ran into a delightfully specific logistical problem: the CT table is only eight and a half feet long, and Bill is ten feet of crocodile. In my time practicing medicine, I’ve run into weight limit issues but never length limits. Radiology supervisor Hassan Bourija explained that they had to scan his head, neck, chest, and most of his abdomen first, then physically flip him around to get the rest. (Seems like a reasonable workaround.)

The full-body scan was conducted under the leadership of Dr. Edward Quigley, MD, PhD, professor of radiology at the University of Utah. The results? Several gastroliths (or stones) in Bill’s stomach. Crocodilians naturally swallow stones to aid digestion, both in the wild and in captivity, so their presence isn’t inherently alarming. His bloodwork remained normal, and crucially, there was no evidence of cancer. The team is now carefully weighing whether a stone-removal procedure makes sense given Bill’s age and overall quality of life. In which case, I would be happy to be the radiologist and wouldn’t envy the gastroenterologist partaking in Bill’s care.

Back Home and Recovering

Bill is back at the zoo, resting in a private behind-the-scenes area and, one imagines, processing the indignity of the whole experience. He remains, by all accounts, the most cooperative patient the University of Utah radiology team has ever had. Which, when you consider the alternative — a fully conscious, 3,000-PSI-bite-force crocodile with opinions — feels like a meaningful compliment.

We’ll be watching for updates on Bill’s prognosis. In the meantime, I would like everyone to know that I am available for second opinions, though I do prefer my patients to be slightly more humanoid.