It was late on a Saturday when the photo popped up on my phone. It was a laceration at the base of the neck this time—a location that I knew from experience would be easy to stitch up, but was almost guaranteed to dehisce, or fall apart, given the high tension and motion in the area.
Sticking it Out
Unfortunately, fleeing wasn’t an option. I was on call that weekend. I reluctantly started to call Catherine, but naturally she was already calling me, and I accidentally hung up on her trying to dial the phone. Knowing she’d call right back, I waited, and milliseconds later, her name flashed hysterically across my screen.
“Buckle has a bad cut, and I need you this instant,” Catherine gasped. “Come right away!”
It was always like that with Catherine, who had me on speed dial. I’d lost count of the frantic late-night phone calls describing horses that weren’t colicking, lameness that was gone when I arrived, and neurological problems that disappeared as I started to take the horse’s vitals. And staying home and talking her through it was not an option; when Her Ladyship demanded my attendance, attend I did, and fast.
It was a miracle that I’d lasted as her vet for as long as I had, for Lady Catherine ate vets, trainers, farriers, and her friends for lunch. If it were still legal to stake dismembered heads on the front gate, there would have been several score of them.
You might wonder why I’d stuck it out for so long, but back then, I had this fantasy that I was special and the gruesome fate of my predecessors didn’t apply to me. It was an oversight on my part that eventually came with extremely painful consequences, but that is a story for another column.
The Exam
It was somehow easier to make haste out to Catherine’s knowing that I was truly attending to an animal in need of veterinary care. I was all business when I bustled into the palatial barn with a beautiful chandelier lit to the nines, the freshly varnished wood walls gleaming.
Buckle, a Welsh Pony mare, was standing in the corner of her stall, relatively unconcerned by the horrible wound that gaped at the base of her neck and shoulder. Luis, the barn hand, was holding the lead rope and silently feeding cookies to Buckle, who munched steadily as Catherine haughtily handed the treats to Luis from her seat nearby.
“I haven’t left her side,” said Catherine. “She could colic, so I have to stay, even though I’m simply exhausted.” She held up the tin of cookies. “These are made specially for Buckle by her nutritionist.”
I never had a sensible response to Catherine’s monologues, so I nodded politely and hauled in my equipment and quickly examined the mare. Although it was very easy to focus on the wound, I knew from experience not to neglect the physical exam, as there could be other injuries that weren’t as obvious.
Buckle’s heart rate and respirations were elevated, and she shuddered as I gently palpated her neck and side. There was a firm swelling over her ribcage, and as I pressed my fingers into the area, I felt a slight grinding deep in the tissues.
I checked her gums, and they were pale—probably mild shock. Had she been spooked by something, then crashed into the door of her outdoor run? I glanced over at the large doorway, and sure enough, hair and blood were deeply embedded into the log frame.
I pointed to the blood. “She’s cracked at least two ribs,” I said to Catherine, who seized Luis’s arm and sobbed loudly.
“Why is the universe punishing me?” she wailed. This was everyone’s cue to fuss over Catherine, but since poor little Buckle was technically the one getting punished by the universe, I decided to let Luis attend to Catherine this time.
Good as New
I sedated the pony and clipped and cleaned the wound thoroughly. I was able to close it in several layers, and I applied a row of tension-reducing stitches for good measure.
I tried to show Catherine the drain tube I’d placed to prevent fluid from accumulating under the skin, but Catherine pointedly turned her head away, put a hand to her chest and sipped her herbal tea while Luis anxiously patted her shoulder and shook his head at me.
When Catherine had recovered, she smiled bravely at Luis. “Dr. Diehl really is the best, isn’t she? We should build her an apartment in the barn, Luis!”
A horrible vision of myself living in Catherine’s chandeliered barn and pouring her a midnight cup of tea flashed into my mind. I forced a laugh and handed over a pile of labelled medications for Buckle.
“Buckle must not go out for three weeks,” I said sternly to Catherine. I explained my concerns with the wound coming apart, but assured her that it would heal just fine.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of around-the-clock visits, calls, photos, emails and texts, not only from Catherine and Luis, but also from her trainer, the animal communicator, and a vet who only did acupuncture, all with medical recommendations for me.
The wound dehisced as expected, with Catherine insisting that I call the surgeons at the university every other day with updates and wondering to Luis if I’d done any recent continuing education on wound management.
On the day that I pronounced the wound fully healed, Catherine hugged Luis tightly, then turned to me.
“Of course, Luis and I never doubted you for a minute, Dr. Diehl. You really are the best!”
This edition of Vet Adventures appeared in the October 2023 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!
