Ernie's surgery on Tuesday went well, but there were two surprises at pickup.
First, they put him under general anesthesia. The ladies had been told he wouldn't be. Age is associated with increased risks for equines. Including gastrointestinal ones.
Second, Ernie was supposed to be on 4 weeks of stall rest instead of 2.
That left Carrie on edge. She'd recommended the surgery and there were two curve balls while Laura's father was going through a health crisis.
Carrie really wanted Ernie's recovery to be a bright spot for Laura and the initial momentum bounced when it hit those road bumps.
And then things took a turn for the worse. Ernie started to show signs of discomfort. His poops were smaller and harder. They bounced when they hit the ground instead of splatting. He shifted, spun, and pawed and not in the usual "give me my food" way. He laid down which is a sign of abdominal pain when combined with his antics.
Carrie sprang into action. She called the vet, Laura, got Ernie to his feet, dosed him with meds, and got him walking. Ernie wasn't supposed to move, but colic was the immediate danger. Carrie wanted his gut moving along with his feet and to prevent him from lying down.
She got more worried when she noticed Ernie sweating on his neck and shoulders.
Carrie kept Ernie walking at a clip for the nearly an hour before help arrived. I offered to help, but she only let me do a few laps while she backed up the truck and trailer in case of an emergency load. Carrie's the type that needs to have a task to do when she's worried and she's emotionally invested in Ernie.
Laura, Amy, and the vet, Carly, all arrived at the same time.
Carrie gave Carly the rundown. I'd taken some video, but Carly had all the information she needed. She gloved up, lifted Ernie's tail, and shoved her arm shoulder deep.
I thought it'd be polite not to take pictures.
Carly didn't feel any large obstructions, but the poop in process was hardened. She prescribed a laxative and said an IV would probably help, so Laura made the call.
15 L of fluids is a heavy IV. I helped with the lifting. It would have been 20 L, but Carly suggested the smaller amount to keep it more economical.
Ernie was due an epic piss in the future.
The laxative was administered through nasogastric intubation (aka - Carly shoved a tube up his nose and down his throat).
While Ernie was still swaying under "the good stuff," Carly offered to help change his bandages. It was supposed to happen every three days and already on the schedule. From what I understood, Carly wanted to take a look at the handiwork of her alma mater.
And the incision looked great. Ernie's life was at risk from constipation, but his feet were healing well!
Laura got to play intern since Carly didn't bring any. Both Laura and Amy usually work on human patients.
Laura's sister happened to be with them. She was among the first wave of family to arrive due to the father's health crisis and she'd gotten swept up into an equine one, too.
Carrie and I pulled Ernie out of his stall at 5:27 PM. I took a picture of cars arrived at 6:25 PM. Carly plied her trade for about an hour before she headed out and the ladies settled in to wait for poop. If Ernie pooped, it would be a sign that the laxatives were working and the immediate danger had passed.
Ernie started to come down from his medically induced haze before long and Laura and Carrie threw a blanket on him to keep him warm. I helped keep his head up to force him to swallow meds.
But Laura was his favorite shoulder to drool on (after all, she is his "mom!").
Ernie broke his seal shortly thereafter.
Laura and Amy eventually kicked Carrie out of the barn and told her to rest. It was clear she'd been running on adrenaline too long. Carrie crashed on the couch into a fitful rest not long after. Somehow she seemed to sense whenever I was going to go check on everyone in the barn and mutter "No....don't....give them...some spac....zzzzz."
By 11:30 PM, the boarders were still here and Carrie was deep enough asleep I snuck out. Ernie was pooped, but he hadn't pooped. Laura didn't want to leave until he was sure he was going to be okay.
I started to ask some questions about "When did Carly say he should poop by anyway?" No one knew, so I encouraged Laura to text Carly to clarify. Laura accidentally dialed. She was embarrassed and hung up right away before she texted.
Only it was meant to be. The next day, Carly said she only woke up and saw the text, because of Laura's botched dial. She reassured everyone and they were about to leave when the magic happend.
I took this picture at 12:19 AM 10/10.
It wasn't much, but it was enough. I told Laura there was no better time go home and sleep and she agreed.
The next morning, we spent even more time than usual staring at horse butt.
Thankfully, a more productive one.
Ernie was pooping, but his poop was still hard, small, and infrequent. It was less than Carly wanted and she kept checking in. Ernie was put on a colic watch. Carrie went down to the barn every hour on the hour as best she could. Overnight, it was switched to every three hours.
In typically Carrie fashion, she tried to do it all. In typical Mike fashion, I continued to offer to help until she started to wear out and I picked up more and more shifts. It'd have been easier if Carrie had agreed to a rotation earlier, but everyone had hoped it wouldn't take days for a steaming, wet pile.
I took this picture when I went to check on Ernie's water, hay, and production at 4 AM Monday morning.
Everything started to flow more regularly and Ernie was deemed cured. Everyone was tired Tuesday, but worn spirits were a little brighter as the ladies figured out how to change Ernie's bandages without a vet to help.
Laura had the same idea as me to track Ernie's progress.
The incisions were still clean and healing nicely. Carly was due to come back in a week to pull out the stitches.
I've learned a lot owning a barn. Maybe it'll help if I write a book one day.
Have I mentioned lately that this was the perfect time for Shane to visit Nana and Pop? I missed him, but bringing him home during a series of crises would've made things worse. He got to party in happy-fun-cousin-grandparent land and sleep soundly!
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