The case of colic, and how to navigate it.
Colic; every horse owner’s nightmare. We all know it can happen to any one of us at anytime, yet we still live with the glimmering hope that we never have to go through it. If you’re saturated in the industry, chances are pretty high you’ve experienced it at least second-handedly with a client or friends horse, as it isn’t uncommon. Or maybe it’s been more personal, and your own horse has suffered. Either way, the fear that comes from the uncertainty of severity and risk is not for the faint of heart. Neither are the vet bills that follow treatment, even at an entry level, minor case. And while I’ve had horses of my own colic before, I’d never come close to potentially needing emergency surgery until this past summer with Parlay. If I hadn’t picked up on the subtle signs when I did, I’d be writing a very different, far more traumatic story. So while I plan on sharing what happened, I more-so want to stress the importance of how a watchful, overly cautious eye can be the difference of life or death for our beloved partners.
It’s Friday late morning, and I’ve just finished up a jump school session with my horse. He worked particularly hard that day, harder than our usual rides over fences. The weather had been a bit strange all week, with frequent storms and cooler days. I made sure to get Parlay cooled down quickly, and everything seemed status quo. After he dried from his bath, I led him back to his stall and immediately took notice in his demeanor. Best way to put it was lethargic - with an especially low headset as he walked. I turn him loose in his stall and he takes no interest in his hay, nor does he drink water. Both of these things being out of character. With this, I immediately grab some alfalfa pellets, thinking he’d eat something more appealing. When he turns his nose up at those, it confirmed something wasn’t right. I call our head trainer Libby, and she suspects that he is in the early stages of colic. My heart sinks. But we’re catching it early, so surely we can get ahead of it. I check vital signs - cap refill, temp, gum color, everything checks out. I give him 10cc of banamine to get him comfortable, which seems to perk him up a bit. The hand walking begins, getting him out every hour in hopes he'll pass stool. It’s now evening, and he’s not passed anything since our ride. However he’s drinking water and picking at soaked hay. I continue to walk him hourly, and it’s now 8pm and there’s been no bowel movement. Knowing he can’t go overnight like this, we make the call to have the vet come out. While waiting for his arrival, Parlay passes a small amount of manure, but I also catch him pawing .. he’s uncomfortable. 6 hours after given banamine. To elaborate, banamine is supposed to keep a horse comfortable for 12 hours. So Parlay showing signs of discomfort at that time made me especially worried.
8:30pm, the on call vet arrives. He does a rectal exam and inserts a nasogastric tube. While there was no reflux via tube, the vet suspects there is a right dorsal displacement of the colon. He proceeds to confirm my worries of the banamine wearing off so quickly, and to add to the already devastating news, he then tells me there’s a 50/50 chance Parlay might need surgery. What started as a subtle colic session quickly turned very serious, and I was fighting back tears as I looked to my poor horse standing next to me. Libby and I immediately hook up the trailer and take him in to the facility. Luckily, we are in a horse rich location, and Furlong Veterinary is a short 15 minute drive. We load up and hit the road. Upon arriving, the staff on site quickly get to looking him over. It’s confirmed that he is displaced, however he seems relatively comfortable, which allows us to essentially wait it out and prolong putting him on the table. There were no significant findings via ultrasound, and they administered IV fluids to get him re-hydrated, keeping him mildly sedated going into the night. I was essentially told that as long as he remains comfortable, we can see if things will work itself out on its own. The moment he begins showing signs of further discomfort, we would need to open him up instead of risking things take a turn for the worse. The idea of surgery terrified me - while it’s a relatively straightforward procedure, the recovery time is 6 months. 6 months rehabbing would be a major setback, especially for something as big as Parlay is. I tried not to panic about that yet, as there was still hope that he could pull through on his own. Much easier said than done, not worrying. I was told that I’d get a call overnight if he went downhill, and that no news was good news..
Visiting my boy during his stay at the hospital
The next morning arrives, and to my relief I’ve not received a phone call. The doctor rings me mid morning and explains that Parlay was mildly uncomfortable throughout the night, and the colon was still displaced. At this time we were hoping we’d see some improvement, but things were pretty stagnant. It was still safe to wait on surgery, but that remained a very real possibility. I was grateful we got through the night, however was feeling just as stressed and worried that entire day, not knowing if we were in the clear or not. The same protocol remained into the night, no news is good news.
That following morning I get a phone call, and his colon is no longer displaced! When I say THE biggest relief… I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. They tell me they will slowly begin integrating small portions of mash and hay, and that they’d like to keep him a final night to play it safe. That I could take him home if I wanted, but I opted to keep him another night so he could be monitored. At this point in time, what’s one more night, right?
We load him up the following day and take him home. He seems bright and alert, but I’m still cautious and watchful, making sure everything checked out as normal and routine. I frequently check on him throughout my day, and after a few short hours I notice he’s not passed manure since he arrived home. I told myself it was because he still wasn’t allowed much food.. but then I see there’s paw marks in his stall again. My heart sinks. Is he really doing this again??! I’m almost in disbelief. I immediately start running through the last 24 hours - how he was without a doubt feeling better, how I kept him at the hospital an additional night to play it safe, how I was about to spend more money that I couldn’t really afford to spend (yes, financially this took a BIG toll). But, regardless of the money aspect, I didn’t for a second question whether or not I was going to seek further medical care. I called my vet and she was too shared my disbelief, swearing that he was in perfectly good conditions prior to coming home. She advise I take him back to the clinic, so that they could get eyes on him quickly.
He wasn’t home but a few hours before I had to load him back on the trailer. I felt so bad, he was noticeably exhausted from the whole ordeal, and I’m sure all he wanted was to stay in his stall and rest from the stress of everything that had accumulated thus far. It was a gut wrenching moment for us both.
In short, Parlay spent another three days, two nights at the hospital. Upon arriving he showed mild signs of colic, however everything checked out as normal and well, and he soon after began passing small amounts of manure and showing interest in eating. He was put on fluids, hand walked hourly, and monitored closely until everybody felt it was safe to bring him home again.
Once he was finally home for good, the following week consisted of him recovering from the entire ordeal. He was physically in bad shape - drawn up and sickly looking after going days without eating. This was difficult for me to see, given I put so much time and effort into his overall care and development. But that’s the thing about colic and other illnesses/injuries .. there is only so much you can do to prevent it. The majority of it is outside of your control. Parlay lives on two gut supporting supplements, and I’m now very aware of sudden and unusual weather changes, and how hard he works during that time. If the temperature is drastically changing from day to day, which tends to happen during change of seasons in the northeast, he and the other horses will have a lighter training day. Everybody is better off for it - there is always the next day to do more if necessary.
At the end of all of this, I’m grateful that he was able to pull through without needing surgery. I’m equally as grateful and relieved that I caught the signs when I did. That’s what needs to be stressed here more than anything - always have a watchful eye on your horses. It’s so easy to get busy and quickly run from one thing to the next. But you can be efficient and still have a careful eye and feel. Horses are stoic, they usually won’t scream that they hurt. It’s more commonly a whisper, a strained look in their eye or a subtle, off step in their gait. Parlay’s walking to his stall with a strange demeanor was the first red flag. If I hadn’t have caught that, I might’ve put him in his stall and gone to do the next thing without noticing he didn’t eat his hay. As horsemen, it’s moments like this that can change the course of our horses’ life. The subtle moments and signs matter.