The colic surgery post

I brought Olive to the Littleton Equine Medical Center saying I could not pay for colic surgery, but when push came to shove, I just couldn't not pay for it. 

I let the staff know I had changed my mind, signed another form and expected her to be whisked off to surgery that very minute. That didn't happen. Instead, Olive was given more time to clear the colic on her own. She didn't, so after what seemed like an eternity, she was prepped for surgery. I stayed with her as long as I could. I've known several people who lost their horses on the operating table, and I was painfully aware that this might be the end of the road for us. Even though it was terrible, I wanted to be right there with her.

When it was time, Seth and I walked with Olive from the ICU barn to the hospital. She went in one door, and we were sent to the waiting room. We waited. And waited and waited.

Finally, someone came in and said Olive was in the operating room, and we were welcome to proceed to the viewing area. When we got there, Olive was upside down on the table, hind legs in the air and front feet folded up neatly on her chest. She was held in place with a couple of big blocks and had a breathing tube in her mouth. Her belly was absolutely huge.

Seth and I sat together quietly watching as one tech cleaned her belly and another covered her body in drapes. By the time the surgeon entered the room, Olive was almost completely hidden. The only parts that were visible were her her cute, little muzzle and a long rectangle of skin on the midline of her belly.

I have watched a colic surgery before. It was a long time ago, but I had a broad strokes idea of what to expect. Still, I was not prepared to see her small intestine pop out of her body like a jack in the box. The rest of the procedure was equally dramatic. Her entire digestive system was extremely distended. Everything was so much larger than it should have been. No wonder she had been in so much pain.

We'd been told that depending on what they found, the surgery would last some two to five hours. Blessedly, Olive's was on the short side. Seth stayed with me for a while, but surgery is really not his thing. After twenty minutes of horse guts outside the horse's body, he excused himself.

I sat in the viewing area, sometimes watching, sometimes not. The building was dark and quiet, but I did not feel alone. Earlier in the day, I had posted a photo of Olive in the ICU to Facebook. The response was immediate and overwhelming. I felt like I had an entire community sitting with me. The love and support was palpable.

And it wasn't just my human friends. I also felt the presence of every single horse I've known - or known of - who has died of colic, starting with Nicki and ending with Razzle. In between there was Lucy, Awesome, Casper, Lauren's Simon, Kristen's Val, Rachel's Buddy, Carra's Annie, Bobbie's Joker, Kim's Scotty, Lisa's Ollie and Legend... So many horses. I can not possibly name them all, but they were there with me.

They were there with Olive.

Seth came back into the room as things were winding down. We watched as she was uncovered and hoisted into recovery. I was prepared to stay there all night, but Seth and her doctor strongly recommended I go home and try to sleep. By this time, it was after 2 AM, so I let myself be persuaded. 

It was one of the longest, hardest, most expensive days of my life. I was worried that Olive wouldn't make it through recovery, and I had no idea how I was going to pay for any of this. Still, I had absolutely no regrets.