I quickly exited the stall while Patti leisurely closed the door behind us. No doubt she’d been through enough serious situations with horses that this was just one more to add to this list. The horse wasn’t hers though. Gideon wasn’t her friend or partner, simply a client. We followed Dr. Vice out of the barn, across the driveway, and back into the main barn where we made our way into the x-ray room. His films were posted on a lighted box on the wall. I would love to say that I looked at the films and instantly knew he was fine, but me looking at an x-ray is like any non-mechanical person looking at a car engine. Broken or not, it looks the same to me. Dr. Vice started to point things out and explain the situation. Most of the conversation is fuzzy now. The gist of it was the bone that was broken was the little bone on the back of the leg that runs the length of the big bone in front – kind of like our tibia and fibula. The bone that was broken is called the splint bone. We had 3 options. The 1st was the unmentionable. 2nd was put screws in his leg to hold his broken bone together until it healed – there were a lot of complications with something like this. The 3rd was to go in and take the splint bone out from the fracture down. Apparently, most of the splint bone isn’t completely necessary. As long as there was enough of the bone at the top for all the tendons and ligaments to remain attached, you could take out the bottom of the bone and those tendons and ligaments would take over and do the job of the splint bone. Dr. Vice and Patti looked at me as if I had a big decision to make. I tried to control myself, and look like the ridiculously mature 17 year old I had felt like pulling up to the vet clinic by myself. But as both of their faces turned to me, awaiting reply, a cheesy grin slowly took over my face. We weren’t out of the woods, but we had a fighting chance.
Then came the next topic – cost. Horses aren’t free, and surgeries definitely aren’t either. Dr. Vice wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with, but he obviously has a soft spot for a girl who loves her horse more than life. We worked it out that surgery and all the additional expenses would be $1000. It may not sound like much to you, but for a girl who just graduated from high school, worked for $7/hr, and whose dad was a CPA (I’m assuming you know how they hold on to their money) it seemed like the debt of the nation. I would work all summer at the clinic at the equivalent of $7/hr to pay the debt. The surgery date was set, and there was still a long road ahead. Think “Barbaro.” He was the racehorse who was in all the headlines just a few years ago. A triple crown hopeful who broke his leg in a tragic misstep at the start of the Preakness Stakes. Barbaro was eventually euthanized, but not because of his broken leg. It was a horrible disease called laminitis, caused by excess stress on the healthy legs, that took the valiant racing hero to his final resting place.
But for now, I could breathe. There was hope. Patti and Dr. Vice lagged behind as I restrained myself from an all out sprint to Gid’s stall. We hugged each other. I rubbed all his favorite places. I put my hand on the white of his forehead right between his liquid brown eyes and he bobbed his head up and down creating the perfect head rub for himself. Sweaty white hairs drifted about the stall like snowflakes. There was hope!
Soli Deo Gloria
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