Trusting the Team and Making Hard Decisions

This post is a continuation of Expecting the Unexpected.

The phone rang and the caller ID was the surgeon.

"She is coming out of the sedation and she is pawing. I think she is in a lot of pain. I am recommending that we go forward with surgery," he said.

Deep down, I had known this moment would come. And I knew that I wasn't ready to give up the most magical mare I've ever encountered. Money be damned, this is my heart horse and we didn't come this far just to come this far.

"Okay, let's do it. Can I please come see her before she goes into the room?"

I had discussed with him in the breezeway that I needed to see her before she went into surgery – just in case it would be the last time I'd see her alive.

"Of course. I'll call you when we are ready to move her and you can come in to see her quickly."

I laid back down in the reclined driver's seat of my Jeep and I searched for every single luck, protection, and positivity meditation I could find. It was the only thing I could do to keep myself from totally breaking down alone in the hospital parking lot at 3 o'clock in the morning. I needed to find a way to turn my luck around and raise the vibration – for Dixie.

Not long after, the phone rang again. "We're ready," he said.

I slid back on my cowgirl boots, slung my Lululemon crossbody over my shoulder, and walked briskly into the hardest moment I have ever faced. Coming face to face with a very real chance that my entire journey ended right now, right here.

He greeted me with a calm demeanor and a warm smile. His energy was exactly what I needed to level out my frazzled energy that was the result of both sleep deprivation and stress of having to be brave. Rhythms and routines are things that I rely on in order to optimize my cognitive functioning and interpersonal skills, and tonight was a total deviation from those things that kept me leveled and balanced, but I was doing my best and trying my hardest.

Dixie perked up at the sight of me, but only for a split second before dropping her head nearly to the floor. She was clammy, sunken, and hurting from all the very necessary needles and tubing.

I looked her in the eye and kissed her on the forehead. I caressed her forelock and rubbed her ears just the way she likes. This mare not only reads my mind, but she also understands my words. I knew this was the moment where I needed to be brave for her. I mustered up all the courage I had left and I told her,

"Baby, I need you to fight. You are a warrior. You are my warrior queen. You can do this but you have to be strong. You're a fighter. You got this. I'm going to be right here the whole time."

I broke into tears and mumbled whatever words felt like the necessary pep talk to keep her spirits high and encourage her to come out swinging.

"Okay," I said as I looked up at the vet. "I don't want to hold you up any more."

I kissed her one last time, turned on my heel, and with one last look said,

"I love you."

I couldn't get out of the breezeway fast enough. I choked on the summer night's air. I refused to accept that would be the last time I saw her.

"She is going to make it, she is a warrior," I kept telling myself over and over in my head. I got back into my car, laid down, and waited for each member of the team to arrive.

I remember seeing a light come on in an upstairs hospital office and it felt like the light of hope, like seeing the Batman signal in the sky just when I thought the night couldn't get any darker. The stealth doctors in the night, plotting their surgical plans, carefully preparing and consulting. Dixie had a team of some of the smartest people in the whole country waking up on a summer Saturday morning to surgically repair her colic and ultimately – save her life.

I finally felt like after so many tears had been shed, it was safe to fall asleep while they worked.

I slept maybe two or three hours, constantly waking up to first check my phone, then the clock.

No news was good news.

So far, so good.

As the sun was rising, it felt like my hope rose with it. Hours ticked by and still no phone call. It was taking longer than expected, but if there were any complications I would be consulted.

There were none.

Then, a text message arrived. I was relieved to hear the surgery went perfectly. The doctor also confirmed that she would not have made it without surgical intervention, reinforcing that we – as a team – all made the right decisions at the right time that led to the best outcome we all had hoped for.

Always one to level-set expectations, he reminded me that the hard part is always getting back up from the surgery. Often horses can panic and sustain severe injuries. He would let me know once she was up, and then I could breathe easy.

Right when I was doing my second Starbucks run for the day, the call finally came.

"It's all good news. She is up, really no incident to report. All her vital signs are looking good."

It was the first time I felt like I could exhale in more than twelve hours.

"Can I see her?" I asked.

He met me at the entrance to the breezeway and we again made the long walk to the padded surgical preparation room. I could only see her through a tiny, thick glass window. Her body was still shaking from the medication wearing off, a common post-operation sign.

"Hey Baby, your momma is here," I said. When she heard me, her ears flicked ever so slightly forward and she made a few precarious, drunken steps to come stand next to the tiny window.

My heart melted.

This time, it was tears of joy that fell down my face while I tried to listen closely to everything the surgeon was explaining about the surgery. When they opened her up, it was pretty much worst case scenario. A twist, a flip, an impaction, a kink. Baby Dixie was going through it all at the same time.

"In terms of the surgery, it went perfectly. No complications. Once we confirm we can clear her stomach then we will know for certain the impaction is resolved."

So far, Dixie was passing each phase with flying colors. What started out as incredibly bad circumstances seemed to be taking a turn for the best.

I continue to hold hope in my heart and reach out to my network to keep everyone updated on her condition.

I am elated to state that Dixie has already started eating small amounts of food and drinking again. She is currently battling hypothermia, which is again a normal byproduct of a lengthy surgery, but the surgeon and the team are completely confident in their ability to manage it and improve her condition over the next few days.

Dixie is not yet out of the woods, but she has the heart of a lion and the will of a warrior.

To be Continued...

Inspired by our story? Please consider donating to Dixie's GoFundMe