If I Knew Then What I Know Now: Part 2

After the vet let me down gently about Ernie's chances of any kind of recovery (i.e., "If I were you, I would leave euthanasia on the table as an option; the severity of this injury leaves his chances for any kind of soundness and a pain-free life pretty low, and he is getting on in age", and yes, that is a direct quote, more or less) I'm surprised I didn't break down in tears. We agreed to begin a course of treatment: stall rest for a MINIMUM of 9 months, with ultrasounds every 3 months to track the healing process (or lack thereof), a course of Surpass cream applied in ribbons to the leg every day, wraps changed daily and enough Bute to keep him comfortable but not let him forget that he needed to be careful with the leg.

After all that, I decided to seek a second opinion. There are a couple of vets in the area, so I called in Dr. Randy, a lameness specialist the guy who had done all of Ernie's chiropractic treatments since I'd had him. I got my hands on the ultrasounds the other vet had taken and had him examine them. His reaction: "this horse can heal. He'll never be sound enough to jump or do high level work of any kind, but he'll heal with the proper care."

!?!?!?!? <-- that was about the keyboard equivalent of my reaction. Dr. Randy had known Ernie for a long time; we had been forced to change vets after he changed his veterinary practice to a smaller operation focusing on lameness, alternative therapies, pre-purchase exams, the like. The new vet that had done the ultrasound was not only gruff and standoffish, but insisted that I not even attempt to rehab Ernie if he did recover. He said the leg would be too weak to do anything more than walk, and that he's be surprised if he was even sound on pasture with all the scar tissue that was likely to accumulate. I couldn't believe this horse was that gone, and that everything we'd done had been for naught. Dr. Randy confirmed what I already knew; this was a tough, TOUGH horse. He'd always been tough. He would heal in time, but it would take a while for his body to deal with the injury. He stressed making sure I kept Ernie's condition up; given his age his body would be likely to heal slower than a younger horse.

Dr. Randy and I put together a feed program for Ernie to try and balance what he wouldn't be getting sitting in a stall. Given the lack of movement on stall rest, colic is always a possibility, and I knew the weaving would start again, so weight loss was a given. Given his age, his digestive system was already slower, and he'd traditionally been a hard keeper anyway. Ernie got hay net after hay net hung in his stall; as soon as he went through one, he got another. I cannot stress what a difference this made in the first few months; it kept him busy enough that he would weave less. We cut back his grain substantially; he wasn't in work and didn't need the excuse to get hot. Instead, he got fed a little Senior on top of a ration balancer to help fill in the nutritional gaps. I also put him on an ulcer guard and a stronger joint supplement.

The 3 month ultrasound showed little improvement. The ligament was still almost completely separated; there was obvious scar tissue, but it was difficult to tell if it was old or new. It was like layers in an onion; you had old scar tissue on top of a new injury that was trying to create new scar tissue. It was a mess. The standoffish vet said we'd come back and do it again in another 3 months, but not to expect anything better. As it were, Ernie's attitude had soured tremendously. He'd weave even with a full hay net in front of him. He could be seen weaving at any point during the day. He would whinny and scream and holler desperately at any horse that walked by. Every time I opened the stall door, I could see him weighing the pros and cons of busting out. I could tell his wasn't laying down to sleep enough: once he got to the point of exhaustion from weaving, his head would drop, drop, drop until he'd collapse onto his knees and scramble back up, only to do it again (it was at this point he was diagnosed with mild narcolepsy.)

After 3 months of babying this horse, spending afternoons at the barn, doing my homework in his stall, grooming for hours, I wanted to cry. I'd promised myself I'd never keep a horse alive if it would live in chronic pain. At that point, I was looking at a horse who may never know a life without pain again. After much consideration, I decided to do something every horse owner and vet in the county screamed "no" to: I took Ernie off stall rest.

I figured, "hey, what the hell, he's not getting any better, so he can't get any worse, right?" It was more than that, though. I knew that horse. I knew his attitude was the biggest thing that could keep him from getting better. Ernie is not a horse who will just go along with something; you have to give him a good reason to do it, and prove to him that he'll come out OK on the other end. I became convinced that him being miserable was seriously hampering his recovery. I stay away from stall rest if at all possible; horses were made to move, and there are very few instances where I feel like stall rest is beneficial. So I made the decision to open Ernie's bottom dutch door and allow him to roam in a small, attached dirt paddock during the day, and shut him in at night.

The first day, onlookers from the barn flocked around the paddock to watch. I opened the door and led Ernie out, fearing he'd take off bucking and destroy any chance of recovery (if there was even any left). I took off his halter and stepped away, holding my breath. Ernie surveyed the crowd and looked back at me. Then, he simply began chewing, dropped his head and gave a huge sigh, slowly ambling over to the pile of hay waiting for him.

Part 3 coming tomorrow!