The Ice Chronicles: A Little Progress

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

Or maybe I should say "a little movement."

That's what we have, and that's all that matters at the moment.

No IVs today; the vet was called down south of here this morning on an emergency, and she was still there shortly before 6PM when she finally called. Another bad case of sand colic; not as bad as Ice's case, she says, but apparently not doing as well as Ice seems to be doing, either.  She'll probably be there another hour or two, from the sound of it.

For those who want gory details, it's all over the jump.




Today, I went out to check on him for something like the fourth time at 8:00, and he was clearly not feeling well. Today was the first day with no sedative in his system, so he's feeling the discomfort much more acutely. On the plus side, peristalsis is much more likely with the sedative gone, and that's what we need. So I attached the lead and walked him for an hour while Wings went into town to Cid's to buy flaxseed powder and aloe vera juice for him. When he returned, we gave the boy about a third of a cup of the flaxseed powder mixed in with the juice, enough to fill a 60-CC syringe. I'll explain all this in a detailed post sometime down the road, but for now, the salient points are these: Flaxseed, once mixed with saliva and digestive juices, turns into a gelatinous substance that moves through the intestinal tract easily, grabbing hold of things lying in stasis as it goes; the aloe juice soothes the inflammation and open wounds in the esophagus, stomach, and intestinal tract caused by the silicates in the sand.

We gave him handfuls of fresh grass off and on throughout the day. Wings took him for an extended walk around the land, and allowed him to graze directly from the area where we've been plucking the grass for him: the lush, long, beautiful grass that grows around the area where Dom, Major, and Lilith are laid to rest. While there, something happened: Anytime one of the horses is taken out of the pens, the others set up a ruckus, whinnying and whining because they want to be out, too. Normally, the lucky one simply ignores them — unless, of course, it happens to be Shade or Spock, in which case, either of them is at least as likely to engage in taunting drive-by passes of the pens just to rub the others' noses in it. For the first time I can ever remember, that was different today. Every time one of the others made a noise, Ice looked up and responded. It was clearly a conversation, a communication, a calling to his herd. It was a beautiful thing.

Later, though, his discomfort worsened substantially. Under this particular circumstances, lying down is not only acceptable, but sometimes favorable. Rolling, however, is not; it risks internal rupture. And he began trying to roll.

So on went the lead again, and I walked him around and around and around. Wings took over for me for a while. And regardless of which one of us was on duty, every time he stopped walking, we'd massage him abdomen to try to stimulate motility. We also gave him another 60 CCs of aloe juice, and then let him rest for a half-hour or so.

I came out to find him lying down again, but with a difference: Beneath his tail was a drying puddle, with a few small substantive masses of dark green sand mixed in. Seeing me, he stood, circled, and then passed another couple of likewise very small amounts. So I attached the lead, led him out of the stall, and got about four steps when he stopped, and dropped another little pile (very tiny) of green sand. A couple of times, we could also hear gut sounds — without a stethoscope or even placing an ear to his abdomen —
something that was terrifyingly absent on Sunday even with a stethoscope. 

As I write this, it's nearly 8:30 PM here. I just went and checked on him; he's lying down, looking slightly uncomfortable but also a bit sleepy. He's clearly had a couple of instances of something passing in just the last little while, again, mostly fluid but with little clumps of sand. I never would have thought I would be so happy to see what comes out of the back end of a horse, but we're both ecstatic.

And the vet will be here between 9 and 9:30 tomorrow morning to set him up with a catheter, start him on IV fluids, and tube him a third time, this time with the psyllium/electrolyte mix again.

And we have hope.

We're working our asses off to save this boy. I have put literal miles on my boots over the last week, walking him. My biceps and delts are getting the kind of workout lifting weights can't provide; you try forcing a sentient creature with a mind and will of its own, one that weighs more than half a ton, one who has been brutalized in the mouth area in the past and is terrified of anything getting near it to accept a 60-CC syringe of medication several times a day, or a nasogastric tube. And then there's the massage. I hurt everywhere, and at the moment, I couldn't be happier.

Thank you again to everyone who has sent messages of support, good vibes, prayers, candles , incense, and everything else. If good thoughts and sheer force of will on the part of Ice, Wings, and myself are worth anything at all, he's going to make it.