Clockwork

I've put a lot of thought into what my first blog post would be after this unintentional four month hiatus. For awhile I was planning a full melanoma recap, finally updating readers (if there are any left?) on his latest Oncept booster shot, how I've been panicking since August that they were getting bigger when the reality is they're not even measurable anymore. Then I thought that would be my second post and my first would be about all the great (yet stressful) things going on in my life like a promotion, condo purchase, Plaidcast Junior podcast I'm hosting with my friend Jess, and clueing everyone in on the general Goose situation. But as it's January, I should have known what my first post would be, should have realized what was coming and that of course my first post back would revolve around Goose's latest attempt at giving me heart failure.

Like clockwork, each winter Goose likes to remind me who really controls the purse strings around here. Just when I get comfortable and start to day dream of the furniture I'll buy for the house and think about taking some lessons this spring, it all falls to pieces.

In February 2016 Goose tried to scalp himself and needed sutures right at the base of his forelock. 2017 was the year of the Wound that Would Not Heal and splint bone removal also in February. 2018 was when the melanoma nightmare began. Why should 2019 be any different?

On Monday, I got a call just before three. My heart always lurches when I see my barn managers name pop up on my phone screen, so much so that my non-horsey coworker laughs when I groan about my barn manager calling and now says "Well, Goose is probably dead," in jest after I've explained to her the heart palpitations caused by seeing Abby's name on my phone screen. I've gotten better about this since Abby calls sometimes to chat and tell me a funny Goose story, so I've become more comfortable when her name pops up.

Monday was a crazy day at work so I swiped into the call, said hi, and immediately registered the seriousness in her voice as Abby asked me, "Has Goose ever choked before?"

A part of me thought she was joking. I was in Work Mode, which means there is no time for anything else and my priorities become way out of whack. I replied no, why? And she exclaimed "Well he's choking now!" and gave me details on the situation.

There was a moment where the world paused, and I thought to myself "eh, work is too busy I don't have time for this. Abby can call the vet and wait for them and I'll head out at five and get there around six." Reality hit me soon after, as the realization of just how out of line that thought process was, that choke can be serious and this is my horse, my family, that is hurting. Goose needs me and OF COURSE you should call the vet Abby, I'm leaving work right this instant and will be there as fast as my Jersey self can maneuver around these casual Carolina drivers.

The short of the story is, Goose had a bad choke. Abby gave him ace before I arrived and I pushed IV banamine as soon as I got there. We did everything right, but he wasn't able to clear it himself. We waited a few hours for the vet and then it took her another few hours to get it clear. Goose had a bad nosebleed on one side, so we had to wait an hour for it to clot up before we could continue up his other nostril. Finally, she got through the third and last blockage. The main one was right at the top of his esophagus. The others were lower, close to his stomach.

I'm usually great in a crisis. Much of my life has been spent in a barn assisting vets and barn managers with everything from broken legs, foalings, sutures in every place you can imagine, choke, colic, the list goes on. It's always upsetting but I have confidence in vets and I do just fine with blood and guts. There is one exception to these situations where I am NOT good in crisis: Goose.

If Goose is the one who needs any medical attention that is not routine, I am a MESS. I'm not okay, I cannot handle it, and my heart races and body turns to mush. My brain can rationalize that it's just a choke, this isn't good but jeez Alyssa you've seen many horses through this and he will be FINE. And yet my reality is THIS IS HOW WE DIE and I become a lunatic horse owner until the vet arrives, and sometimes even then I struggle.

When I walked across the field to the barn and saw Goose standing there, head low and body convulsing trying to expel the blockage, my heart just about stopped beating. I have never in the six and a half years of owning him walked up to him without him registering the fact that I was there. His eyes were unseeing, and he was the most miserable I have ever seen him and it completely killed me. It broke my damn heart and downright terrified me.

Trying to keep it together, Abby handed me the syringe with banamine and after I gave myself a mental shake to keep my hands from trembling I was able to give him his meds IV. It was a miserable few hours waiting for the vet, and by the time she got there I was only intermittently teary and grateful for her strong presence I pulled myself together to assist.

Goose choked on beet pulp, something he has eaten with regularity for the entirety of his life with me. It was fully soaked and soupy as always, and yet he choked. In case anyone needed a reminder, horses are refrigerators on toothpicks with the most asinine digestive system. Thankfully he's okay and is on meds to help prevent aspiration pneumonia.

That being said, Goose is almost 15. He is grey and has melanoma. His choke could be one of those horrible accidents because horses bodies are designed to kill them and we might never know why fate chose to frown on him that day. Alternatively, he could have internal melanoma putting pressure on his esophagus and that caused him to choke on his beet pulp. He does have thickening in his throat latch that I've always just thought was his normal, but in December I started to suspect the thickening was growing and the vet and I think it's worth investigating. Next week he'll get scoped just to see if anything is going on in there. I'd rather spend the money and find nothing than not scope him and have him choke again and find out the hard way that something is going on.

In true Goose form, at the worst possible time something happens to him. When I truly cannot take one more thing, one more stress in my life between moving and work being insane and bills and life, I did not need this. But neither did he, and I feel so horrible that he went through this and there was so little I could do for him. The silver lining is it snapped my priorities back into line very quickly. Goose and Zuzu will ALWAYS be more important than my job, every single time. Work is important but emergencies come up and I scared myself that for the whole ten seconds I really could not fathom leaving work on a busy day, even though my horse needed me.

Thank you for keeping me humble buddy. I owe you one. (But sorry no carrots or cookies for you until my heart returns to a normal rhythm and I decide you can eat again).

At the barn last night, Goober was back to his feral self. He's had the better part of three months off as I've been dealing with late nights at the office and holiday travel, not to mention the monsoons that are plaguing the Carolinas, so he's gone to the wild things. Pulling him out of his smaller field last night where he was at fat camp and not allowed to eat anything, he weaved, screamed, shoved me, and danced around like a lunatic. If I was out of sight for even a second, he'd throw himself sideways, eyes bugging, and scream at me. I couldn't have been happier to see him being the giant asshole I know and love. He was himself, no fever, and is taking his meds well. I turned him back out in the big field with his buddies and he happily moseyed out to munch on grass, content once more.

Tubby as he is, he was only getting a handful of beet pulp as his consolation prize. Even in winter, he's in a giant field with plenty of pasture to sustain him so he's not even getting hay right now. He gets his handful of soupy beet pulp so he thinks he's eating something and so he takes his supplements. Well buddy, sucks to be you because that's come to an end. For now he's getting a handful of senior in a feed bucket of water and that's good enough, he really doesn't even need that. We'll see what the vet says next week and go from there.

I joke that he's a jerk and that he does these things to spite me, but I love this creature more than anything. I still wish I had somehow fallen in love with knitting or running - really anything less heartbreaking and expensive - but I wouldn't trade him for the world. This one shook me, and I hope that I never have to see him this sick ever again.

Here's to another year of blogging, Goosebackriding, and Goose-induced heart attacks. I hope everyone's year is off to a better start than ours!

Forcing him to stand still long enough to take selfies with me. Note the crazy side-eye, his desperation to go eat ANYTHING showing through.