I have been noticeably absent from blogging for awhile. It isn't that things haven't been happening, it is more a matter of not knowing how to say everything that is going on. I have been in total overwhelm mode, and in all honesty have been a bit hesitant to lay things out for general consumption.
I have been navigating what feels like a series of minefields - in my work life, personal life, the horse world - pretty much everywhere. It is exhausting to say the least, so I have done a bit of hiding, as it is my general defense mechanism.
I may be losing my job. Even typing it sucks, but the truth is, my property is being sold in the next few weeks. And nine times out of ten the new management companies lay off existing staff members - usually from the top down, which doesn't bode well for me as the manager. I am hoping and praying that this isn't what happens, but so far things are not looking promising.
Samson is holding steady in terms of his recovery. He had a fantastic week or two where we was perky and upbeat, even galloping in for breakfast in the mornings. The last day or two he has been markedly depressed and not quite himself. Clinically he is fine, but something is not quite right. I have a sneaking suspicion we may need to get the EPM treatment underway. He was approved for the clinical trial for a new drug called Oroquin-10, so his treatment will be significantly cheaper; but still not inexpensive by any stretch. I am really hoping to see him perk up soon, and for the moment, I am monitoring things very closely.
There hasn't been much to report on the April front. My poor girl took a backseat during all the chaos with Samson, and about the time he stabilized enough that I could get back to work with her, she started up with an adverse reaction that took her out of work for the better part of a week. So now we are trying to get back to our usual training routine amidst massive weather swings. Needless to say, last night's ride in what FELT like subzero conditions was rather interesting. :-) We had a bit of a conversation about which of us was going to be in charge, but got to a great note to end on. I am still mastering the art of when to use a firm hand, and when to allow and give to her when little issues crop up. It can be such a delicate balance, especially with a mare...sometimes it seems their moods change more frequently than my own!!
So, obviously there have been plenty of stresses and worries going on, but through them all, I am trying to focus on the positive, which lately has been the farm. For the last few weeks I have been undergoing research and negotiations to expand the farm to a bigger location - and as of today, we officially hold a lease for a new property! It is right around the corner from our current location, but we will be expanding to 25 acres of actual pasture, as well as many other upgraded features. I am ecstatic, even though I know it is going to be a LOT of work to get it set up the way we have envisioned it. Thankfully, the farm expansion has been an excellent distraction for me to pour my worries into, and it gives me a major positive to focus on instead of all the negatives.
I even set up a website, so if you're interested, check it out here!
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Still Speechless
I don't really have much to say lately. Samson is hanging in there, and I am still taking things one day at a time. I have been researching EPM with a frenzy, and am looking into a new drug that is being used in clinical trials - so far with a very high success rate. I discussed the option with one of my veterinarians yesterday, and he is consulting with the vet/PhD in charge of the trial to learn more about the possibility. In the meantime, I find myself submitting the poor guy to endless scrutinizing, amateur neurological exams, and lots of tearful hugs.
He hasn't been quite himself the last few days. It isn't horrible, but his general attitude is markedly depressed from what it typically is. It started the day we trailered to the vet for the follow-up, and I have this sinking feeling haunting me that maybe the stress of the ride induced a flare-up, if he is indeed EPM positive. Clinically, he is remaining pretty solid - vitals have been normal for over a week, appetite is fantastic - on paper, he looks pretty good. His last round of bloodwork showed an elevated white blood cell count, so it has gone to the opposite extreme. I am a little worried that it showed an increase, although I am curious to see if it had anything to do with his catheter site reaction. He developed a lump the size of a grape at the base of the catheter, so it was pulled at the last vet appointment. We are now doing hot compresses and DMSO, which helped at first - but the inflammation has remained stagnant the past two days.
Tonight will be his last dose of the antibiotic, and then his immune system will be depended on to do the rest. The next round of bloodwork will be done most likely on Monday to see if there has been any resolution in his white count.
I am uneasy. I have this unsettled feeling because of his overall attitude; and I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure if it is a flare-up of EPM or what is going on - but something is causing him to act withdrawn all of a sudden. The only time I see him act like himself is at feeding time - that is something that NEVER changes! :-)
On a side note - I entered my favorite picture of us in a photo contest the Dover holds. You don't have to do anything, other than click a "vote" button. You can vote once a day for the next week and a half, til the contest ends. I would truly appreciate anyone who might be willing to take the time to vote - Dover has a pharmacy that carries one of the EPM medications in consideration for his treatment - and every penny helps.
He hasn't been quite himself the last few days. It isn't horrible, but his general attitude is markedly depressed from what it typically is. It started the day we trailered to the vet for the follow-up, and I have this sinking feeling haunting me that maybe the stress of the ride induced a flare-up, if he is indeed EPM positive. Clinically, he is remaining pretty solid - vitals have been normal for over a week, appetite is fantastic - on paper, he looks pretty good. His last round of bloodwork showed an elevated white blood cell count, so it has gone to the opposite extreme. I am a little worried that it showed an increase, although I am curious to see if it had anything to do with his catheter site reaction. He developed a lump the size of a grape at the base of the catheter, so it was pulled at the last vet appointment. We are now doing hot compresses and DMSO, which helped at first - but the inflammation has remained stagnant the past two days.
Tonight will be his last dose of the antibiotic, and then his immune system will be depended on to do the rest. The next round of bloodwork will be done most likely on Monday to see if there has been any resolution in his white count.
I am uneasy. I have this unsettled feeling because of his overall attitude; and I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure if it is a flare-up of EPM or what is going on - but something is causing him to act withdrawn all of a sudden. The only time I see him act like himself is at feeding time - that is something that NEVER changes! :-)
On a side note - I entered my favorite picture of us in a photo contest the Dover holds. You don't have to do anything, other than click a "vote" button. You can vote once a day for the next week and a half, til the contest ends. I would truly appreciate anyone who might be willing to take the time to vote - Dover has a pharmacy that carries one of the EPM medications in consideration for his treatment - and every penny helps.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Three Letters You Never Want to Hear in a Diagnosis....
E.P.M.
Also known as Equine Protozoal Myeloencephalitis. Sadly, it's a disease I have encountered before. As a matter of fact, the first horse I ever saw put down suffered from EPM. "Curtain", short for Curtain Call, was an older Thoroughbred at Robin's farm in Iowa, where I had my first job as a working student. He was diagnosed somewhere around seven, after having two falls cross country - one in which his rider's leg was broken. Over the years, the disease slowly progressed and attacked his neurological function. He eventually sucumbed to colic, and it saved everyone from having to make the decision of whether he would make it through another tough Iowa winter.
That was the last time I encountered an EPM horse. Until this morning, when I received a voicemail that Samson's titer results were back. The vets at NC State decided to send it off after he exhibited some obvious ataxia after his seizure-like episode. I didn't hesitate to let them send off the test, especially since he has a long history of being "wonky" - he has always had a bizarre unsoundness that could never quite be pinpointed. In all honesty, EPM and Lyme disease have always piqued my curiousity, because either diagnosis would explain a lot of his weird symptoms over the past year. So I let them send the test. Then I proceeded to more or less forget about the whole thing, since I have been buried in the constant bustle of checking vitals, administering medications, trailering to follow-up appointments...it's been an endless stream of one thing after another, which I have gratefully accepted simply because he is still HERE.
But back to the voicemail. The attending veterinarian left me a message that the panel had come back with a greater than 95% chance that he is EPM positive.
All of a sudden, the cloudy feeling of doom I have been dragging around all day seemed to make sense. Have you ever woken up just KNOWING things weren't going to go well? I woke up with that feeling this morning. Did my best to shake it, and then three hours later, the phone call comes.
I know it isn't the end of the world. I really, honestly know that. It is a fairly treatable disease. But it's not cheap. At this point, I feel like I am in so deep I don't know how to get out anymore. I also feel like my poor boy has so many strikes against him at this point, it's just a matter of a ticking clock. The instability in his feet that could shift at any point and cause a debilitating lameness; the EPM we have to decide whether or not to treat...How could I not treat? I have watched a horse succumb to neurological disease. It isn't pretty. I don't know that I could watch my heart horse fight that kind of battle.
I have already made the decision to fight for this guy - mainly because he keeps showing the will to fight on. So I suppose the only obvious choice is to take this in stride with the rest of the problems that face us. I just feel like this poor guy can't catch a break, and I wish I could just make it all go away for him. All I can do is continue to make the best decisions possible for him. And hope and pray that I will know when enough is enough.
Also known as Equine Protozoal Myeloencephalitis. Sadly, it's a disease I have encountered before. As a matter of fact, the first horse I ever saw put down suffered from EPM. "Curtain", short for Curtain Call, was an older Thoroughbred at Robin's farm in Iowa, where I had my first job as a working student. He was diagnosed somewhere around seven, after having two falls cross country - one in which his rider's leg was broken. Over the years, the disease slowly progressed and attacked his neurological function. He eventually sucumbed to colic, and it saved everyone from having to make the decision of whether he would make it through another tough Iowa winter.
That was the last time I encountered an EPM horse. Until this morning, when I received a voicemail that Samson's titer results were back. The vets at NC State decided to send it off after he exhibited some obvious ataxia after his seizure-like episode. I didn't hesitate to let them send off the test, especially since he has a long history of being "wonky" - he has always had a bizarre unsoundness that could never quite be pinpointed. In all honesty, EPM and Lyme disease have always piqued my curiousity, because either diagnosis would explain a lot of his weird symptoms over the past year. So I let them send the test. Then I proceeded to more or less forget about the whole thing, since I have been buried in the constant bustle of checking vitals, administering medications, trailering to follow-up appointments...it's been an endless stream of one thing after another, which I have gratefully accepted simply because he is still HERE.
But back to the voicemail. The attending veterinarian left me a message that the panel had come back with a greater than 95% chance that he is EPM positive.
All of a sudden, the cloudy feeling of doom I have been dragging around all day seemed to make sense. Have you ever woken up just KNOWING things weren't going to go well? I woke up with that feeling this morning. Did my best to shake it, and then three hours later, the phone call comes.
I know it isn't the end of the world. I really, honestly know that. It is a fairly treatable disease. But it's not cheap. At this point, I feel like I am in so deep I don't know how to get out anymore. I also feel like my poor boy has so many strikes against him at this point, it's just a matter of a ticking clock. The instability in his feet that could shift at any point and cause a debilitating lameness; the EPM we have to decide whether or not to treat...How could I not treat? I have watched a horse succumb to neurological disease. It isn't pretty. I don't know that I could watch my heart horse fight that kind of battle.
I have already made the decision to fight for this guy - mainly because he keeps showing the will to fight on. So I suppose the only obvious choice is to take this in stride with the rest of the problems that face us. I just feel like this poor guy can't catch a break, and I wish I could just make it all go away for him. All I can do is continue to make the best decisions possible for him. And hope and pray that I will know when enough is enough.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
The Week in Review
I know I have said it more than once in the last post or two; but what an overwhelming rollercoaster of a week it has been. It is just over a week now since the nightmare began, and I am finally seeing signs that it is coming to a close. I still can't believe he made it through Friday - I was right on the cusp of calling it quits. When I arrived that morning, it was the first time I didn't see even a hint of his personality. But sure enough, as I was about to tell the vet it was time to call it quits; the plasma arrived. After returning from an emotional exhaustion-driven nap in the parking lot, my boy was back. It turned around that quickly.
He was discharged from State on Monday, but still had to be hospitalized through Tuesday. His personality has completely returned when I stopped for a visit Tuesday morning; and he has hit the "cranky" phase of recovery - where he feels good enough to protest the oral meds, shove people around during feeding time, and generally act like a cantankerous turd. Ladies and gentleman, the PIG is back!!!! (Note - this is the ONLY time I will look upon these behaviors as a "good" thing!!!!)
We still have a week and a half left of medications, and he was sent home with a long-term catheter to ease administration. I still can't believe he made it. I know I keep saying it, but I REALLY thought I was going to lose him. I knew by about the third day in that it wasn't good - I had this general feeling in my gut that no one could talk me out of. I am so glad we made the decision to take him to State.
They still are stumped at the initial cause of the pneumonia. Three types of extremely rare bacteria were found, one of which is a pretty icky strain. I have racked my brain, trying so hard to find the signs I missed, the blame that I feel the need to shoulder....just SOMETHING to point me in the direction of how to prevent another event of any similarity. I have discussed it to death with the vets at State and here; and we will more than likely never know. But here is what I HAVE learned; with unfailing certainty:
1. A fever is not something to be taken lightly. Not that I did; by any stretch. There were plenty of sleepless nights in the barn, fighting endlessly to keep it down. The area where I "failed" is in letting it go on so long. As one vet who consulted on the case told me - if you have a fever that multiple doses of banamine fails to even bring down to normal; you have a major problem.
2. You HAVE to trust your gut. This is scary, and I will be the first to admit it. But with that comes a responsibility to EDUCATE yourself. If you don't have a scrap of knowledge behind your gut instincts, I will be the first to admit that you probably should rely on the professionals. I have spent many years knocking myself down because I am still very new to this; and learning new things on a daily basis. I have buried my own instincts to not cause waves; and in this particular instance, I failed. I use that word lightly; because anything that carries this valuable kind of life experience really isn't a failure. But it very well could have been. I truly believe that one more day could have meant the difference between life and death for this horse. It was touch and go for a full 48 hours. Not having access to the plasma, especially, would have brought about a different end to the story. I saw things turn around before my own eyes, and I have several people to thank for that.
3. If you are going to carry the responsibility of owning a horse, you need to be able to man up and carry the financial burden that can inevitably come with it. If you are like me, and aren't fortunate enough to have reserves of cash stocked away for this kind of emergency, then you NEED to INSURE YOUR HORSE. If for nothing else; carry the major medical. I can assure you - being backed into a corner of making the decision of how much your horse is "worth" - it's a sickening feeling. It was the question I kept shoving down on the four hour drive to Raleigh, it's the question that nearly stopped my heart as I initialed authorization on treatment estimates. Even now, the follow-up hospitalization in Charlotte, a visit scheduled for Saturday for more meds and bloodwork, a trip to Southern Pines for an ultrasound....it just keeps adding up. If I had the average medical coverage of $5,000; the majority of this would have been handled by insurance. So please - I beg you. If you don't have the means to come up with this kind of cash for the bizarre emergencies that CAN and WILL arise; insure your horse.
Lastly - I owe an invaluable debt of gratitude to many, MANY people throughout this ordeal. My amazing family, friends, boarders...everyone who offered prayers, emotional support, helped cover the barn and many responsibilities while I was gone...
Most especially, Dr Amy Edwards; of Internal Medicine at NC State - Her patient, caring demeanor - both with the patient AND the distraught owner - will never be forgotten. My husband, for being unbelievably supportive; both in the emotional and financial decisions throughout this entire ordeal. Robyn, for making it through the sobbing phone call of not knowing which direction to turn. Ivy, for the prudent and timely advice that undoubtedly saved his life. Dr. Hamilton, for the unlimited generousity he has extended in answering so many questions. The list goes on and on - every one of you who kept my boy lifted up in prayer, sent messages of support and encouragement...you are a huge part of the reason I made it through this. I may have gone to Raleigh alone, but there wasn't a single day that I felt alone. You have all touched my life in indescribable ways.
Last night, I turned onto the barn driveway with Samson safely in tow. The moment I hit the gravel road, the tears started rolling down my cheeks. There were many, MANY moments I feared I may pull back in with an empty trailer. But it wasn't meant to be - he's a fighter. In so many ways; ways that inspire ME to fight just as hard. For him, for April, for any horse that comes my way. They are the reason we do this. It is too easy for us to make it all about US, but if you aren't in this for the horse, you need to get out now. If you aren't inspired by the unfailing spirit of a horse with the odds stacked against him; who refuses to give up; then you are missing a piece of the human spirit I can't tell you how to replace. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from the movie Seabiscuit; and I think it sums up Samson's story in a simple sentence:
"You don't throw away a whole life, just 'cause it's banged up a little" - Tom Smith
I hope that I will never lose sight of this kind of inspiration. And I hope that one day, I can have a mere fraction of the fighting spirit this guy has shown me over the last week.
He was discharged from State on Monday, but still had to be hospitalized through Tuesday. His personality has completely returned when I stopped for a visit Tuesday morning; and he has hit the "cranky" phase of recovery - where he feels good enough to protest the oral meds, shove people around during feeding time, and generally act like a cantankerous turd. Ladies and gentleman, the PIG is back!!!! (Note - this is the ONLY time I will look upon these behaviors as a "good" thing!!!!)
We still have a week and a half left of medications, and he was sent home with a long-term catheter to ease administration. I still can't believe he made it. I know I keep saying it, but I REALLY thought I was going to lose him. I knew by about the third day in that it wasn't good - I had this general feeling in my gut that no one could talk me out of. I am so glad we made the decision to take him to State.
They still are stumped at the initial cause of the pneumonia. Three types of extremely rare bacteria were found, one of which is a pretty icky strain. I have racked my brain, trying so hard to find the signs I missed, the blame that I feel the need to shoulder....just SOMETHING to point me in the direction of how to prevent another event of any similarity. I have discussed it to death with the vets at State and here; and we will more than likely never know. But here is what I HAVE learned; with unfailing certainty:
1. A fever is not something to be taken lightly. Not that I did; by any stretch. There were plenty of sleepless nights in the barn, fighting endlessly to keep it down. The area where I "failed" is in letting it go on so long. As one vet who consulted on the case told me - if you have a fever that multiple doses of banamine fails to even bring down to normal; you have a major problem.
2. You HAVE to trust your gut. This is scary, and I will be the first to admit it. But with that comes a responsibility to EDUCATE yourself. If you don't have a scrap of knowledge behind your gut instincts, I will be the first to admit that you probably should rely on the professionals. I have spent many years knocking myself down because I am still very new to this; and learning new things on a daily basis. I have buried my own instincts to not cause waves; and in this particular instance, I failed. I use that word lightly; because anything that carries this valuable kind of life experience really isn't a failure. But it very well could have been. I truly believe that one more day could have meant the difference between life and death for this horse. It was touch and go for a full 48 hours. Not having access to the plasma, especially, would have brought about a different end to the story. I saw things turn around before my own eyes, and I have several people to thank for that.
3. If you are going to carry the responsibility of owning a horse, you need to be able to man up and carry the financial burden that can inevitably come with it. If you are like me, and aren't fortunate enough to have reserves of cash stocked away for this kind of emergency, then you NEED to INSURE YOUR HORSE. If for nothing else; carry the major medical. I can assure you - being backed into a corner of making the decision of how much your horse is "worth" - it's a sickening feeling. It was the question I kept shoving down on the four hour drive to Raleigh, it's the question that nearly stopped my heart as I initialed authorization on treatment estimates. Even now, the follow-up hospitalization in Charlotte, a visit scheduled for Saturday for more meds and bloodwork, a trip to Southern Pines for an ultrasound....it just keeps adding up. If I had the average medical coverage of $5,000; the majority of this would have been handled by insurance. So please - I beg you. If you don't have the means to come up with this kind of cash for the bizarre emergencies that CAN and WILL arise; insure your horse.
Lastly - I owe an invaluable debt of gratitude to many, MANY people throughout this ordeal. My amazing family, friends, boarders...everyone who offered prayers, emotional support, helped cover the barn and many responsibilities while I was gone...
Most especially, Dr Amy Edwards; of Internal Medicine at NC State - Her patient, caring demeanor - both with the patient AND the distraught owner - will never be forgotten. My husband, for being unbelievably supportive; both in the emotional and financial decisions throughout this entire ordeal. Robyn, for making it through the sobbing phone call of not knowing which direction to turn. Ivy, for the prudent and timely advice that undoubtedly saved his life. Dr. Hamilton, for the unlimited generousity he has extended in answering so many questions. The list goes on and on - every one of you who kept my boy lifted up in prayer, sent messages of support and encouragement...you are a huge part of the reason I made it through this. I may have gone to Raleigh alone, but there wasn't a single day that I felt alone. You have all touched my life in indescribable ways.
Last night, I turned onto the barn driveway with Samson safely in tow. The moment I hit the gravel road, the tears started rolling down my cheeks. There were many, MANY moments I feared I may pull back in with an empty trailer. But it wasn't meant to be - he's a fighter. In so many ways; ways that inspire ME to fight just as hard. For him, for April, for any horse that comes my way. They are the reason we do this. It is too easy for us to make it all about US, but if you aren't in this for the horse, you need to get out now. If you aren't inspired by the unfailing spirit of a horse with the odds stacked against him; who refuses to give up; then you are missing a piece of the human spirit I can't tell you how to replace. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from the movie Seabiscuit; and I think it sums up Samson's story in a simple sentence:
"You don't throw away a whole life, just 'cause it's banged up a little" - Tom Smith
I hope that I will never lose sight of this kind of inspiration. And I hope that one day, I can have a mere fraction of the fighting spirit this guy has shown me over the last week.
 |
| Home Sweet Home... |
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Continued...(Saturday, Sept 22nd)
Somehow the last entry was posted prematurely; so here is a follow-up of how things were looking this morning - dramatically improved. The vet in charge of his case sounded positive for the first time. She said the dull episodes had been gone for the last twelve hours, and temperature gone for 48 hours. He had been taken off his IV fluids for the first time as well. Pulse is still higher than we would like, but after 48 hours of antibiotics, it is looking like his body is starting to respond positively.
I got to take him for another stroll outside. It is obvious he is tired, but being out in the sun does him so much good. They have made it a regular part of his daily regimen. He whinnied at a group of people passing by, and it more or less brought tears to my eyes. Then the tech came to bring us in for meds. As I took off his halter, I started scratching his neck and behind his ears, and for the first time in a week, he leaned into it, moving his head up and down into the scratch.
I am guarded, because it has been so up and down - but I can't help feeling like my boy is back. His personality, his fight - for a brief moment yesterday, I thought he was done. I had made up mind that I was not going to make him fight a battle if he was too tired to go on. And then I arrive this morning, and my sweet boy is there - ready to fight another day.
So keep the prayers coming.
I got to take him for another stroll outside. It is obvious he is tired, but being out in the sun does him so much good. They have made it a regular part of his daily regimen. He whinnied at a group of people passing by, and it more or less brought tears to my eyes. Then the tech came to bring us in for meds. As I took off his halter, I started scratching his neck and behind his ears, and for the first time in a week, he leaned into it, moving his head up and down into the scratch.
I am guarded, because it has been so up and down - but I can't help feeling like my boy is back. His personality, his fight - for a brief moment yesterday, I thought he was done. I had made up mind that I was not going to make him fight a battle if he was too tired to go on. And then I arrive this morning, and my sweet boy is there - ready to fight another day.
So keep the prayers coming.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Pony 911
It has been a long week of worry and sleeplessness. It all started on Sunday afternoon, when I put a hand on Samson and instantly realized he was burning with fever. After his temp registered 105.3, I was certainly panicked - but he did this one time last fall, and one dose of banamine knocked it out. We nursed him into the night, finally going home to sleep once we had him in a safe range.
When I arrived to feed the next morning, the temp was back to 104.7. I called the vet immediately and waited for them to arrive. His exam was fairly unremarkable, and they administered a long-acting antibiotic and took bloodwork. Another long night of fever-fighting followed. Banamine, cold hosing, alcohol baths and fans...But he still had his appetite and general demeanor intact; so I stayed cautiously optimistic.
Tuesday was fairly unremarkable, but the continuing fever trend was really starting to mount my concerns. The fever was topping out a degree lower each day though, so I figured we were at least headed in the right direction.
Wednesday morning dawned with a markedly depressed horse. The fever was
down considerably, but his demeanor was flat and even more lethargic than the previous days. The fever was low enough to hold off on the banamine - a first since Sunday - but around 1 pm it started climbing again so I gave him another shot.
What happened next was one of the most terrifying situations I have ever been in. Within minutes, he was laying down coughing, and then went into respiratory distress of some sort - his sides heaving and groaning for breath. I dialed the vet and relayed his status, then climbed in the stall and put his head in my lap. His neck jerked violently, and his head stretched back and his eyes closed. I am not kidding you - I thought that was it. I put my forehead on his, and told him to hang on. I kid you not - he opened his eyes, stood up somewhat unsteadily, and his breathing returned to normal.
The next few hours were a flurry of activity so chaotic I barely remember the details. I spoke with a trainer, got bloodwork sent for a consult, made a million phone calls, and waited for my vet. To make a long story short, three hours later I had shoved a few outfits in a bag, and was on the way to NC State with my precious cargo behind me.
I cried for the better first half of the trip. When I arrived, I was feeling so hopeful - no fever for the first time. An hour later ultrasounds were completed, and initial suspicions pointed to pneumonia or colitis.
The attending vet called the next morning with two additional diagnostic requests to narrow it down - a full set of chest x-rays and a transtracheal wash; where they obtain fluid from the lungs to send off for culture. Both results indicated bacterial pneumonia, and we are still waiting for the culture to indicate which type of bacteria. Regardless, they began a combination of broad-spectrum IV antibiotics. I went back to the stall where he munched fairly happily on his hay.
His fever had started to climb, so they had administered another dose of banamine. I was alone with him thirty minutes later, when he abrubtly quit eating, and started looking for a place to lie down. All of a sudden, he dropped to his side and started laboring for breath again. I shouted for someone to help, but no one came. I yelled again - silence. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I put that big chestnut head in my lap, and I told him he could go if he needed to. I stroked his cheek and told him how much I loved him, and how he had changed my life, and would never forget it. And wouldn't you know - that breathing started to slow, and he started to hold his head up again. I slipped outside the stall and found the nearest person to inform. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks as a team of six or seven doctors descended on his stall.
Moments later, he was encouraged to his feet and submitted to a neuro exam and a follow up ultrasound. He was initially showing signs of uncoordination, but by the time the ultrasound was completed, he was more or less back to normal. It was concluded that he had developed a severe reaction to the banamine; so it was discontinued immediately. He was upgraded to the intensive care unit as well, where more eyes could be on him. I stayed for a few more hours, and when everything remained stable, I left for some much-needed sleep.
This morning painted a different picture. I was there the minute they opened, but the horse that greeted me was not the boy I know and love. The vet in charge of his case suggested a round of plasma; due to the suspicion that his body is fighting showers of endotoxemia. I agreed to give it a shot, since he had yet to hit the 24-hour mark since antibiotics had started.After they left to prepare the tranfusion, I lost it. The horse I saw in front of me didn't have the fight he previously had. It was as if all the will to live had drained out of him. I called a friend and barely made it through the conversation of deciding how you know it is time to help him end the fight. And wouldn't you know - they arrived and began to start the plasma. To skip ahead a bit, I decided to see if there would be any change. I fell asleep in my truck in the parking lot, and when I went back in, they let me take him outside to hang out and eat grass in the roundpen.
My horse was back. He was so happy out there, munching grass, and even whinnying to the passing horses. I haven't heard that sound in a week - it was like music to my ears. So there we were, just enjoying the rays of warm September sun beating down on us, as if nothing had happened. I left a few hours later as he slept, worn out from the excitement.
It has been such a rollercoaster. Things appear to be improving, then crash down before my eyes. And then they improve again. Tomorrow will be 24 hours after the start of the anitibiotics, and I am hoping and praying for some progress.
When I arrived to feed the next morning, the temp was back to 104.7. I called the vet immediately and waited for them to arrive. His exam was fairly unremarkable, and they administered a long-acting antibiotic and took bloodwork. Another long night of fever-fighting followed. Banamine, cold hosing, alcohol baths and fans...But he still had his appetite and general demeanor intact; so I stayed cautiously optimistic.
Tuesday was fairly unremarkable, but the continuing fever trend was really starting to mount my concerns. The fever was topping out a degree lower each day though, so I figured we were at least headed in the right direction.
Wednesday morning dawned with a markedly depressed horse. The fever was
down considerably, but his demeanor was flat and even more lethargic than the previous days. The fever was low enough to hold off on the banamine - a first since Sunday - but around 1 pm it started climbing again so I gave him another shot.
What happened next was one of the most terrifying situations I have ever been in. Within minutes, he was laying down coughing, and then went into respiratory distress of some sort - his sides heaving and groaning for breath. I dialed the vet and relayed his status, then climbed in the stall and put his head in my lap. His neck jerked violently, and his head stretched back and his eyes closed. I am not kidding you - I thought that was it. I put my forehead on his, and told him to hang on. I kid you not - he opened his eyes, stood up somewhat unsteadily, and his breathing returned to normal.
The next few hours were a flurry of activity so chaotic I barely remember the details. I spoke with a trainer, got bloodwork sent for a consult, made a million phone calls, and waited for my vet. To make a long story short, three hours later I had shoved a few outfits in a bag, and was on the way to NC State with my precious cargo behind me.
I cried for the better first half of the trip. When I arrived, I was feeling so hopeful - no fever for the first time. An hour later ultrasounds were completed, and initial suspicions pointed to pneumonia or colitis.
The attending vet called the next morning with two additional diagnostic requests to narrow it down - a full set of chest x-rays and a transtracheal wash; where they obtain fluid from the lungs to send off for culture. Both results indicated bacterial pneumonia, and we are still waiting for the culture to indicate which type of bacteria. Regardless, they began a combination of broad-spectrum IV antibiotics. I went back to the stall where he munched fairly happily on his hay.
His fever had started to climb, so they had administered another dose of banamine. I was alone with him thirty minutes later, when he abrubtly quit eating, and started looking for a place to lie down. All of a sudden, he dropped to his side and started laboring for breath again. I shouted for someone to help, but no one came. I yelled again - silence. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I put that big chestnut head in my lap, and I told him he could go if he needed to. I stroked his cheek and told him how much I loved him, and how he had changed my life, and would never forget it. And wouldn't you know - that breathing started to slow, and he started to hold his head up again. I slipped outside the stall and found the nearest person to inform. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks as a team of six or seven doctors descended on his stall.
Moments later, he was encouraged to his feet and submitted to a neuro exam and a follow up ultrasound. He was initially showing signs of uncoordination, but by the time the ultrasound was completed, he was more or less back to normal. It was concluded that he had developed a severe reaction to the banamine; so it was discontinued immediately. He was upgraded to the intensive care unit as well, where more eyes could be on him. I stayed for a few more hours, and when everything remained stable, I left for some much-needed sleep.
This morning painted a different picture. I was there the minute they opened, but the horse that greeted me was not the boy I know and love. The vet in charge of his case suggested a round of plasma; due to the suspicion that his body is fighting showers of endotoxemia. I agreed to give it a shot, since he had yet to hit the 24-hour mark since antibiotics had started.After they left to prepare the tranfusion, I lost it. The horse I saw in front of me didn't have the fight he previously had. It was as if all the will to live had drained out of him. I called a friend and barely made it through the conversation of deciding how you know it is time to help him end the fight. And wouldn't you know - they arrived and began to start the plasma. To skip ahead a bit, I decided to see if there would be any change. I fell asleep in my truck in the parking lot, and when I went back in, they let me take him outside to hang out and eat grass in the roundpen.
My horse was back. He was so happy out there, munching grass, and even whinnying to the passing horses. I haven't heard that sound in a week - it was like music to my ears. So there we were, just enjoying the rays of warm September sun beating down on us, as if nothing had happened. I left a few hours later as he slept, worn out from the excitement.
It has been such a rollercoaster. Things appear to be improving, then crash down before my eyes. And then they improve again. Tomorrow will be 24 hours after the start of the anitibiotics, and I am hoping and praying for some progress.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Last Minute Victory
I didn't even have a chance to update my blog about our last minute success in pulling everything together. Long story short, my farrier (God LOVE him!) came out bright and early Friday morning to tack the missing shoe back on, so we rescheduled my lesson for Friday night and zipped off an entry form just before closing time. Friday night was more or less chaos. Thank god for Brenna being available that evening - I left the chores in her very capable hands, and headed over to Kelsey's for a jump school. Considering the fact that we have had several weeks off of jumping between incessant rain and my concussion incident, it went pretty decent overall. Towards the end we had a bit of a mare moment that got a little ugly, but we got through everything and ended on a good note. I wasn't too worried about it - bad school means a good show, right?
I didn't get back to the farm til 7:30, and then had to clip muzzles, legs, ears, bathe, whiten socks, clean tack, pull out shipping wraps, saddle pad, and bonnet to be washed, pack the trailer, and then finish chores. Needless to say, it was ten o'clock before I even headed home, and then had to do a load of laundry, polish boots, and arrange all my other showing necessities. The night before a show is always rough for me. The moment my head hits the pillow, I start thinking about all the different ways that things could go. It makes for a REALLY hard time getting to sleep, which is especially rough when the alarm is set for 5 am.
But whatever. I made it up in time to shower, gas up the truck, and feed horses before starting to load. Robyn pulled out to go pick up another horse, so I was left by myself to load April. Of course, the day of a show, we would have issues. I hesitate to elaborate on it much, but the combination of exhaustion and stress of being late led to a minor sobbing fit on my part. Thankfully she fed off my newly released tension, and walked right on the trailer to meet me. Big hugs and pats ensued. I swear - that mare will stroll on the trailer five times in the row, then randomly throw a total fit. I'm going to have to practice Ivy's loading tips more frequently....
We got to the show in time to have about five minutes in the warmup ring, which wasn't enough for me to try any of the fences together in the intended order. The first time I went to a show, I was able to memorize my course and jump the fences in sequence during warmup....not this time. My security blanket was gone - time to enter the real world.
I didn't get back to the farm til 7:30, and then had to clip muzzles, legs, ears, bathe, whiten socks, clean tack, pull out shipping wraps, saddle pad, and bonnet to be washed, pack the trailer, and then finish chores. Needless to say, it was ten o'clock before I even headed home, and then had to do a load of laundry, polish boots, and arrange all my other showing necessities. The night before a show is always rough for me. The moment my head hits the pillow, I start thinking about all the different ways that things could go. It makes for a REALLY hard time getting to sleep, which is especially rough when the alarm is set for 5 am.
But whatever. I made it up in time to shower, gas up the truck, and feed horses before starting to load. Robyn pulled out to go pick up another horse, so I was left by myself to load April. Of course, the day of a show, we would have issues. I hesitate to elaborate on it much, but the combination of exhaustion and stress of being late led to a minor sobbing fit on my part. Thankfully she fed off my newly released tension, and walked right on the trailer to meet me. Big hugs and pats ensued. I swear - that mare will stroll on the trailer five times in the row, then randomly throw a total fit. I'm going to have to practice Ivy's loading tips more frequently....
We got to the show in time to have about five minutes in the warmup ring, which wasn't enough for me to try any of the fences together in the intended order. The first time I went to a show, I was able to memorize my course and jump the fences in sequence during warmup....not this time. My security blanket was gone - time to enter the real world.
My first class was the 2'3" jumpers, and it is still literally a blur. I let myself get completely distracted during my circle before the first fence, and I was flustered from that moment on. I had the first four fences memorized, but after they had been jumped I started feeling like I was off course, and I felt that way all the way up to the last fence. I literally became a passenger, and I think we may have run around a good little bit - no doubt, the speed is what caught us a 3rd place ribbon in that class!
I came out of the ring feeling pretty flustered and bummed, and listened to a few encouraging words from my trainer. Next thing I know, a thick shock of dark hair shows up beside me - and I look down to see my husband's grinning face. He completely surprised me by sneaking out of work to come and cheer for me, and it was all I needed. He wasn't able to make it to my first show with April, so his presence meant the world to me. Game on!
Next was the 2'6" class, and after watching the course a few more times, it became much more solidified in my head. I focused on giving my mare the best ride I could, and we had a MUCH better course that time around. Another third place finish! Suddenly Robyn and Kelsey were encouraging me to add one of the 2'9" courses at the gate and do one more...so I did! The third course went even better. It was a Power & Speed round, where the timed portion is fences 5-9, so I really focused on getting better turns and rhythm through fences 1-4. April felt amazing, and really saved my tail on a super tight turn to fence 9. She is such a talented mare in the jumper ring!
Needless to say, the last minute add-on course won us a blue ribbon, and I am still grinning about it with pride about my awesome mare. I still look at pictures and think how lucky I am to have such an amazing horse! It has been a lot of ups and downs, but days like this make the journey MORE than worthwhile.
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