My Turn to Swear

     It was around 6:00 on a Saturday morning. I was in a good mood, driving my almost brand-new pick-up truck.  I was on my way to pick up a Mark, a young veterinarian who we had just hired at the Willow Creek practice. Our custom was to have new hires ride with experienced members of the practice for a month or so before sending them out on their own. Today, Mark would be with me.

     I was only a few miles from his apartment when the two-way radio came to life. "Ernest Brown has a cow flat out and bloated.  He says to send someone right away." My good mood crashed.  Ernest Brown was a very excitable client.  He was well-known for overstating the severity of situations with his cows and becoming very unpleasant if more than a few minutes expired before someone arrived at his farm.  I was forty-five minutes away.

     "Okay.  I suggest you call him back and tell him that I am on my way, but I have an hour's drive first," I replied to our receptionist.

     "He won't like that," she said. 

      "Tell him I am the closest available doctor."

     By now, I was at Mark's residence. He came out and got in the truck as soon as I pulled in.  I was relieved that he was ready.  As we started to Ernest's farm, I explained to Mark that he would get to observe how I handled an overly emotional client as well as the down cow.  As we traveled, we discussed the various causes of cows becoming unable to rise, as well as the treatments.  I was impressed that Mark seemed well prepared for at least the medical aspects of the case we were soon to see.

     When we were about five miles from the farm, the radio spoke again.  "l just want to warn you the Ernest has called back the third time now. He is swearing and completely out of control.  Be prepared for a very angry client "

     "Okay” was my short reply.

     As I pulled up at an open gate near Ernest's barn, I saw my patient and several people about a hundred yards away, down a gentle slope in a pasture field. That brought immediate concern because it had rained hard the night before. If I drove down to the animal, I would probably have trouble getting my truck back up the slope.

     I got out of the cab and began surveying the situation, wondering about getting what I thought I would need and walking instead of driving.  Within seconds, Ernest began yelling at me.  "Don't just stand there gawking!  Get your #** down here and treat this cow.  You rotten #$%!*#* don't give a damn about us or our cows.  Someone should have been here an hour ago!"  He continued to rant as I got back in the truck and drove  towards the cow.

     Even from a hundred yards away, I was pretty sure that I could salvage the situation.  The cow's back was in a slight depression, with her legs extended slightly upward towards higher ground.  When cows get in such a position, they are not able to roll into a sitting posture, and in turn, cannot get their feet under themselves to rise.  They are also not able to burp, and when a cow cannot burp, she soon bloats.  The bloat can get so severe that the cow cannot expand her lungs, and she may eventually suffocate. This cow was indeed bloated. Ernest had tried putting a tube down her throat to relieve the bloat but had been unsuccessful.  That was because when the cow is stretched out, the gas is above the point where the hose enters the stomach, and it still cannot escape.

     When I got out of the truck, Ernest continued his tirade, condemning all of the veterinarians in our practice and threatening to sue us if this cow died.  I ignored him, put a halter on the cow's head, and asked Mark to help me pull the cow up to a sitting position. I asked two of the men standing there to push up on the cows back, to provide additional aid.  We succeeded, and immediately the cow looked better.  Within a moment, she produced a very loud and smelly belch. Several more followed. Ernest became quiet.

     I gave the cow a few more minutes to get rid of her excess gas while examining her for actual illness. Then I bumped her in the ribs with my knees, which encouraged her to try and rise.  This she did, and then began walking away from us.  The crisis was over. No medication was required.  There were several moments of silence as we all gazed at her.  Finally, Ernest said, "l guess I got a little excited. My cows mean a lot to me."

"Cows cannot rise if their feet are higher than their back. When you find one like this one, just roll her up."  I wrote up his bill, and Mark and I got back in the truck.

     The new challenge was to get the truck up the gentle slope on the wet grass.  I moved onto some level ground to be able to get a running start before the uphill portion of our exit.  I was almost to the gate, which led to the paved driveway, when the truck began to lose traction. We kept moving forward, but at a slower and slower rate.  We were almost through the open gate when I feared we would come to a complete stop only a few feet from solid pavement.  I gunned the engine, hoping a little more speed of rotation would help the tires move us the short distance yet to go. Unfortunately, this caused the truck to fishtail, and the right rear fender of my shiny new truck smashed into the fence post that supported the gate.  Now it was my turn to swear.