Cornell called at 2:30 a.m. with the good news that they were able to suture the flap back down, and the joint capsule was not broken—just an ugly, ugly flesh wound in a stinkin' place.
Greatest danger over the next 24-48 hours is infection, so they’re keeping her for the weekend.
Cautious, very cautious, optimism all around.
Gem’s probably up there stealing hearts right about now…keep good wishes coming...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday Night Trip to Cornell
It was the phone call I'm always expecting. Marty & I had settled in with a video and some snacks when the phone rang at 8:15...we don't really talk to people on the phone that much, so when it rings, I'm always certain it's Pat, the barn owner, with a crisis. So far, it never has been.
Tonight it was.
"How would you feel about a trip to Cornell tonight?" Pat asks. My heart drops, then starts racing.
"What happened?"
"Gem has lacerated her fetlock...pretty good...might be into the joint...Ed (vet) doesn't want to take a chance; wants her to go to Cornell..."
Cornell University http://www.vet.cornell.edu/hospital/equine.htm is the ace in the hole we never want to use, but are so, so grateful to have sitting there. It's the shit, equine-veterinary-wise, the best place to go, and it's right up the road. But, damn, if you've got to go there, it's serious, and it's going to cost. So if Pat's considering going, it's serious.
"How did it happen?"
"Don't know... she came to the gate to come in for dinner this way. Don't know how long it's been..." tension, exasperation in Pat's voice.
"Okay, let's go..."
Pat's got neighbors with a big trailer coming to haul Gem; I'm the backup sit-up-all-night and bring Pat home person, the second handler, the other regular human Gem knows. Pat's not sure Gem will load-- she's only three and has never been on a trailer before, never been off the farm; she's just a baby http://www.flickr.com/photos/foxwinfarm/sets/72157604881329145/
So I drive to the farm (30 miles) to find that the neighbors and Pat have just gotten Gem loaded, and it's just about pitch dark out now, and it's time to motor. I'm to follow the trailer. No problem, I can see that thing in the dark. I haven't, however, had a chance to see Gem, so I don't know how bad the laceration is, or what state she's in. They gave her a mild tranq to get her loaded, and that seems to have gone well. But now we have a rookie riding in the trailer, one who's doped and has an injured leg...let's hope she can stay upright and not hurt herself worse on the ride.
Since we're leaving for Cornell from 30 miles east of where I live, we're taking a route I don't know. It's pitch dark; it's back roads; it's a long way from home, and I'm worried about Gem. I'm also running low on fuel in my car. I'd estimated I'd have enough based on the route to Cornell that I know, but now I have no idea where we are, where we are going, and how long it will take.
They stop the trailer at one point to check on Gem...she seems to be doing fine. Since we're near a gas station, I say I'll get gas, they should go ahead, and I'll catch up. So I get gas, but damned if I can catch up...they have disappeared. I'm trying to fiddle with my GPS to verify where the hell I am, trying to drive catch-up quickly over two-lane back country hilly, curvy roads in the dark, and I hit some damn button on the GPS that renders it non-functional. I'm beginning to panic-- what if they've made a turn they didn't tell me about? Where the hell am I? How am I ever going to find them?
After about 10 minutes of this panic, which feels like three hours, I see the trailer up ahead; I have finally caught up, and have somehow managed not to run off the road or into a deer or a dog or anything.
Follow...follow...follow...interminably long trip up, up, up the hills of Ithaca, through the 78 stop lights of downtown, up, up, up, and finally we are at the Equine Hospital.
And we don't know if we can get the poor kid off the trailer. She's never been on one; it's a step-up/step-down (not a ramp) loader, and she's got to step down onto an injured leg. And she's still slightly drugged. She could face-plant in the parking lot and do a bunch of damage.
But, damn, if she isn't her daddy's girl-- she steps off, wobbles a little on the bad leg, then catches herself and follows Pat right into the hospital-- a big, bright, scary, strange place she's never seen before-- just like she's been there every day of her life. I love this little horse a little more for this.
The students (for this is a teaching hospital) gather 'round, a bit sleepy, a bit without direction. We find out that the cheif surgeon is in emergency surgery with a colic case, so the students have to do our intake themselves, without her guidance. They do it like most things college kids do...with that mix of confidence and group-speak that belies their insecurities. Eventually, they get Gem's paperwork together, get a look at the joint, and decide that the surgeon really is the one who needs to see it. She's going to be a couple more hours at least...so we need to get Gemmy-Gem a stall and set up for an overnight stay.
Overnight stay just made the cost of this injury $1,500 at least. If all they do is flush the wound and give her some anti-biotics, it's closing in on two grand. And this for a horse whose sale price is $2000-$3000 tops. Uh-oh. If it requires sutures, $2,000 easy. IF it requires sedation to do the sutures, $3-$4,000. Uh-oh.
And we don't know the extent of the injury-- just flesh? Enough of a challenge in the lower limb of a horse. Poor circulation makes healing lower leg injuries, even the most minor ones, very challenging. Add to that the environmental issues of a stable, and keeping even a flesh wound clean enough to heal is a problem.
If it damaged the capsule of the joint itself? Infection almost certain. Fusing of the joint. Crippling debilitation possible.
Stress of the injury always bears a relationship to laminitis, which is also crippling, can be life-threatening.
(For a quick overview of leg lacerations and their challenges-- warning, not for the faint of heart...or stomach: http://www.acvs.org/AnimalOwners/HealthConditions/LargeAnimalEquineTopics/GeneralWoundManagement/ )
So the whole frigging thing is a slippery slope...or could be...and even with the greatest care in the world at Cornell, even if cost were no object, recovery & recuperation are not guaranteed. So this is one shitty thing to be facing, even after we've made the journey to the Mecca of equine vet care.
But we leave Gem in the students' hands and decide to make our way home.
In the dark, nervous, worried, and coming out of a street I've never driven on, I swing too wide on a one-way street, and over-shoot my lane right into a curb that separates the driving lane from the railroad tracks. Bend the rim, slash the tire.
Great. It's 11:30 at night, 50 miles from home, we've got an injured horse, and now a flat tire.
I do believe I said "Fuck!"
So, we pull into the Greyhound station, dutifully change the tire to the ridiculous donut-- goddamn american cars and their cheap-ass shit mechanical systems. Go the hell out of business, you cheap assholes, you deserve it.
Change the tire; call Marty to meet us 20 miles out from home to shepherd us back in, just in case the cheap-ass shit donut doesn't get us there. Call Pat's housemate to come get her at the same place, since I'm not driving any further than I have to on this donut.
Drive the 50 miles home at no greater speed than 45 mph. Get Pat to her ride; drive home; get the car to the tire place. Get home. Deep breath.
And now cry. For all of it...for the scary, for the worry, for the stress, for the fucking flat tire that we didn't need, for the uncertainty of Gem's injury and prognosis, for the uncertainty of being able to afford the treatment. For all of it.
Go to bed at 1:45 a.m.
Can't sleep.
Blog at 2:00 a.m.
Feel a little clearer, if not better, at 2:38
More when we know more...
Tonight it was.
"How would you feel about a trip to Cornell tonight?" Pat asks. My heart drops, then starts racing.
"What happened?"
"Gem has lacerated her fetlock...pretty good...might be into the joint...Ed (vet) doesn't want to take a chance; wants her to go to Cornell..."
Cornell University http://www.vet.cornell.edu/hospital/equine.htm is the ace in the hole we never want to use, but are so, so grateful to have sitting there. It's the shit, equine-veterinary-wise, the best place to go, and it's right up the road. But, damn, if you've got to go there, it's serious, and it's going to cost. So if Pat's considering going, it's serious.
"How did it happen?"
"Don't know... she came to the gate to come in for dinner this way. Don't know how long it's been..." tension, exasperation in Pat's voice.
"Okay, let's go..."
Pat's got neighbors with a big trailer coming to haul Gem; I'm the backup sit-up-all-night and bring Pat home person, the second handler, the other regular human Gem knows. Pat's not sure Gem will load-- she's only three and has never been on a trailer before, never been off the farm; she's just a baby http://www.flickr.com/photos/foxwinfarm/sets/72157604881329145/
So I drive to the farm (30 miles) to find that the neighbors and Pat have just gotten Gem loaded, and it's just about pitch dark out now, and it's time to motor. I'm to follow the trailer. No problem, I can see that thing in the dark. I haven't, however, had a chance to see Gem, so I don't know how bad the laceration is, or what state she's in. They gave her a mild tranq to get her loaded, and that seems to have gone well. But now we have a rookie riding in the trailer, one who's doped and has an injured leg...let's hope she can stay upright and not hurt herself worse on the ride.
Since we're leaving for Cornell from 30 miles east of where I live, we're taking a route I don't know. It's pitch dark; it's back roads; it's a long way from home, and I'm worried about Gem. I'm also running low on fuel in my car. I'd estimated I'd have enough based on the route to Cornell that I know, but now I have no idea where we are, where we are going, and how long it will take.
They stop the trailer at one point to check on Gem...she seems to be doing fine. Since we're near a gas station, I say I'll get gas, they should go ahead, and I'll catch up. So I get gas, but damned if I can catch up...they have disappeared. I'm trying to fiddle with my GPS to verify where the hell I am, trying to drive catch-up quickly over two-lane back country hilly, curvy roads in the dark, and I hit some damn button on the GPS that renders it non-functional. I'm beginning to panic-- what if they've made a turn they didn't tell me about? Where the hell am I? How am I ever going to find them?
After about 10 minutes of this panic, which feels like three hours, I see the trailer up ahead; I have finally caught up, and have somehow managed not to run off the road or into a deer or a dog or anything.
Follow...follow...follow...interminably long trip up, up, up the hills of Ithaca, through the 78 stop lights of downtown, up, up, up, and finally we are at the Equine Hospital.
And we don't know if we can get the poor kid off the trailer. She's never been on one; it's a step-up/step-down (not a ramp) loader, and she's got to step down onto an injured leg. And she's still slightly drugged. She could face-plant in the parking lot and do a bunch of damage.
But, damn, if she isn't her daddy's girl-- she steps off, wobbles a little on the bad leg, then catches herself and follows Pat right into the hospital-- a big, bright, scary, strange place she's never seen before-- just like she's been there every day of her life. I love this little horse a little more for this.
The students (for this is a teaching hospital) gather 'round, a bit sleepy, a bit without direction. We find out that the cheif surgeon is in emergency surgery with a colic case, so the students have to do our intake themselves, without her guidance. They do it like most things college kids do...with that mix of confidence and group-speak that belies their insecurities. Eventually, they get Gem's paperwork together, get a look at the joint, and decide that the surgeon really is the one who needs to see it. She's going to be a couple more hours at least...so we need to get Gemmy-Gem a stall and set up for an overnight stay.
Overnight stay just made the cost of this injury $1,500 at least. If all they do is flush the wound and give her some anti-biotics, it's closing in on two grand. And this for a horse whose sale price is $2000-$3000 tops. Uh-oh. If it requires sutures, $2,000 easy. IF it requires sedation to do the sutures, $3-$4,000. Uh-oh.
And we don't know the extent of the injury-- just flesh? Enough of a challenge in the lower limb of a horse. Poor circulation makes healing lower leg injuries, even the most minor ones, very challenging. Add to that the environmental issues of a stable, and keeping even a flesh wound clean enough to heal is a problem.
If it damaged the capsule of the joint itself? Infection almost certain. Fusing of the joint. Crippling debilitation possible.
Stress of the injury always bears a relationship to laminitis, which is also crippling, can be life-threatening.
(For a quick overview of leg lacerations and their challenges-- warning, not for the faint of heart...or stomach: http://www.acvs.org/AnimalOwners/HealthConditions/LargeAnimalEquineTopics/GeneralWoundManagement/ )
So the whole frigging thing is a slippery slope...or could be...and even with the greatest care in the world at Cornell, even if cost were no object, recovery & recuperation are not guaranteed. So this is one shitty thing to be facing, even after we've made the journey to the Mecca of equine vet care.
But we leave Gem in the students' hands and decide to make our way home.
In the dark, nervous, worried, and coming out of a street I've never driven on, I swing too wide on a one-way street, and over-shoot my lane right into a curb that separates the driving lane from the railroad tracks. Bend the rim, slash the tire.
Great. It's 11:30 at night, 50 miles from home, we've got an injured horse, and now a flat tire.
I do believe I said "Fuck!"
So, we pull into the Greyhound station, dutifully change the tire to the ridiculous donut-- goddamn american cars and their cheap-ass shit mechanical systems. Go the hell out of business, you cheap assholes, you deserve it.
Change the tire; call Marty to meet us 20 miles out from home to shepherd us back in, just in case the cheap-ass shit donut doesn't get us there. Call Pat's housemate to come get her at the same place, since I'm not driving any further than I have to on this donut.
Drive the 50 miles home at no greater speed than 45 mph. Get Pat to her ride; drive home; get the car to the tire place. Get home. Deep breath.
And now cry. For all of it...for the scary, for the worry, for the stress, for the fucking flat tire that we didn't need, for the uncertainty of Gem's injury and prognosis, for the uncertainty of being able to afford the treatment. For all of it.
Go to bed at 1:45 a.m.
Can't sleep.
Blog at 2:00 a.m.
Feel a little clearer, if not better, at 2:38
More when we know more...
Sunday, April 19, 2009
April 19, 2009 Fence Fixing
This is one boring post, not really intended for public interest, just to keep a record someplace of the piecemeal way we're getting fence fixed this spring...
- Today we replaced the three back lines on pasture #2.
- Shed pasture walked, checked. Reasonably good shape.
- Shed pasture disconnected from main feed; solar fencer set up-- monitor; seems to be working strangely-- loose connection? Bad battery?
To do:
- Pasture #3 needs to be replaced at the back end, both lines.
- Pasture #3 needs to be replaced on the meadow side, top line.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Closing In...
It's been a while since I've posted. I started this blog to document the journey from novice horsewoman to, yes, barn owner, and now the journey seems to be getting much, much closer to the actual transaction.
This week, my current barn owner and her (now) former partner, signed the paperwork to allow the former partner to resign/retire from the farm. One small real-estate transaction (the sale of some wood lot acreage) is left to complete, and the next step will be for us to buy-in/sign-on to the farm LLC to become partners.
This has been about the only thing on my mind for the last three or four months, but because we weren't quite sure the legal transactions would flow smoothly, thus weren't yet telling our students & boarders, I didn't feel comfortably blogging about it. You never know who's reading, and who might have an issue with it.
It's a terribly exciting time, but now that it's actually almost here, it's a scary time, too. There's the whole financial piece...juggling how long I need to keep working full time to be able to afford this with the imminent need at the barn for me to be working there full time to train horses and perform the million daily maintenance tasks a full-time farm requires. The deeper we get in to the financial pieces, the tighter I cling to the full-time job, terrified to run out of money (not that we won't anyway). But the tighter I cling to the day-job, the more frustrated I get about not having enough time to get everything done at the farm...
I'm pressing...
I need to slow down and relax. Breathe. Balance. Just like dressage...just like yoga.
But it's hard when everywhere you turn, everything you see just requires work, repair, training, progress...it feels like every day that slips by is a lost opportunity. I'm on vacation this week, and I've only managed one training ride and to repair one small section of fence...
Stop pressing...relax...breathe...
This change does mean, or could mean if we let it, the total upheaval of our lives. We will, within the next 2 years (probably) move to the farm. We will either sell our current house and add on to the farmhouse to accommodate ourselves, or we'll try to add on out there and rent out our current house for the income. Planning that whole process is another element of chaos & stress. It's just our entire lives...where we live, how we live, with whom we live...
At times, I just want to go slow, relax, and sort it out over time. But then, some days, the 30-mile commute is just killing me, and I want to move tomorrow so I can get back that many hours in my day...
This week, my current barn owner and her (now) former partner, signed the paperwork to allow the former partner to resign/retire from the farm. One small real-estate transaction (the sale of some wood lot acreage) is left to complete, and the next step will be for us to buy-in/sign-on to the farm LLC to become partners.
This has been about the only thing on my mind for the last three or four months, but because we weren't quite sure the legal transactions would flow smoothly, thus weren't yet telling our students & boarders, I didn't feel comfortably blogging about it. You never know who's reading, and who might have an issue with it.
It's a terribly exciting time, but now that it's actually almost here, it's a scary time, too. There's the whole financial piece...juggling how long I need to keep working full time to be able to afford this with the imminent need at the barn for me to be working there full time to train horses and perform the million daily maintenance tasks a full-time farm requires. The deeper we get in to the financial pieces, the tighter I cling to the full-time job, terrified to run out of money (not that we won't anyway). But the tighter I cling to the day-job, the more frustrated I get about not having enough time to get everything done at the farm...
I'm pressing...
I need to slow down and relax. Breathe. Balance. Just like dressage...just like yoga.
But it's hard when everywhere you turn, everything you see just requires work, repair, training, progress...it feels like every day that slips by is a lost opportunity. I'm on vacation this week, and I've only managed one training ride and to repair one small section of fence...
Stop pressing...relax...breathe...
This change does mean, or could mean if we let it, the total upheaval of our lives. We will, within the next 2 years (probably) move to the farm. We will either sell our current house and add on to the farmhouse to accommodate ourselves, or we'll try to add on out there and rent out our current house for the income. Planning that whole process is another element of chaos & stress. It's just our entire lives...where we live, how we live, with whom we live...
At times, I just want to go slow, relax, and sort it out over time. But then, some days, the 30-mile commute is just killing me, and I want to move tomorrow so I can get back that many hours in my day...
...ack...I've still got to finish this post, but I've run out of time...
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