Whaddyadoallday? Real Life on a Desert Island Rotating Header Image

Of Goats and Men

So far our small, house call, veterinary practice here on the island has been only a bit different than we envisioned. We thought we would be busy doing primarily routine wellness exams, etc. In reality, however, we have been involved in a disproportionate number of complicated medical cases: unusual cancers, involved metabolic diseases, and major surgeries (performed in the local clinic or across the channel in St. Martin). It is all more of a logistical challenge given the limitations of our mobile, business model. But it is still the standard companion animal medicine we are familiar with so we’ve successfully worked things out on a case by case basis. The other night, though, the call came in that really tested our limits.

At 7PM the phone rang. It was hard for me to understand the caller, but it became apparent that he was calling because he had a goat that was having trouble delivering her kid. He tried to contact other people before us (I have no idea whom), and someone ( I have NO IDEA who) had suggested he contact Pelican Mobile PetCare. I tried to explain to him that I was a city vet. I have exactly ZERO experience with barnyard animals. So he put a woman on the phone to implore me to at least come to see if there was something I could do to help the poor animal. How do you say no to that?

Michael wasn’t home, but I managed to reach him and told him where to meet me by the side of the road….literally by the side of the road. After traipsing through the bush in the dark using my cell phone as a flashlight, we were led to the poor, pathetic, bleating, distressed goat. It turns out she had quite possibly been in labor for nearly 24 hours with the front feet of the kid visible since early that morning. After that many hours, that baby was not coming out in the normal and natural fashion in spite of our noble attempts to the contrary. The kid was likely already dead. (I could feel his teeth and he wasn’t trying to bite me.) And the mother would die too without intervention. She needed a caesarian section, but we are not equipped for that level of surgery. I have instruments and suture materials, but what I have is only really suitable for lacerations, biopsies, small lump removals, that sort of thing. Not sterile, major, abdominal surgery. We tried to explain this to the owner. Who would normally do this for him? Who would have done it two years ago when we were not available? It seemed that nobody else could help.

That’s how we found ourselves doing a goat c-section on a small table on the guy’s back porch under flashlights. We could have given a lecture on how NOT to do things. Local anesthetic only. Intestines spread out on disposable medical pads. Neighbors coming to watch and trying to video tape something that we most certainly did not want documented for posterity sake. It was a circus. When Michael finally pulled out the baby it sounded like a wine cork popping, but damn if he wasn’t still alive. And huge. The minute he was delivered it was impossible to imagine how he could have possibly ever been inside his mother in the first place. But that was only half of the process. We needed to get finished and close up. Unfortunately, the sutures we had were the equivalent of using 4-pound test fishing line to catch a marlin. We could only hope for the best. We rinsed everything with sterile fluids and bathed it all with intravenous antibiotics and put it all back into place. At one point, the mother became weak and barely responsive, so I instructed someone to mix some sugar and water and pour it into her mouth to treat likely hypoglycemia. Damn if she didn’t come around, too.

We tried to impress upon the owner that the mother and the baby needed to be strictly confined….a clearly foreign concept for a free range goat herder. We tried to set him up for the very real possibility that one or both of them would not survive the night. But at least they were alive when we left them. And they were alive the next morning when this picture was taken. (Seriously, I do not know farm animals, but doesn’t he look proportionally large compared to his full grown mother? Yes that is the porch were we performed the surgery, but at least mom was “confined” – i.e. tied to that little chair.)goat

We go to take mom’s stitches out today. We’ll see if someone is grateful enough to pay us something for our hard work and dedication or if this time saving lives has to be its own and only reward.

 

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