A Little Bit of Magic Helps Sometimes, From the Archives

D.E. Larsen, DVM

“How long has she been down, Dick?” I asked, standing over a young heifer that had just delivered a calf.

“When I got this afternoon, she had this calf hanging halfway out of her,” Dick said. “The calf was dead, I hooked onto it with the tractor and drug her and the calf around the pasture. On the second time around, we hit a bump, and the calf popped out. When she wasn’t up when I got home after the football game this evening, I figured I had better give you a call.”

“I think you would have been better off if you had called me before hooking up the tractor,” I said. “When I have a calf in a hip lock, and the calf is dead, I cut the calf into a few pieces to get it out without doing any more damage to the heifer. But that is water under the bridge now. Let me check her over, and we can talk about what needs to be done at this point in time.”

“What do you do if the calf is alive?” Dick asked.

“That is my worst nightmare,” I said. “We have a few options today, but it is a nightmare. Decisions are often made based on economics. How much is the calf worth versus how much is the heifer worth.”

“This calf was half Simmental,” Dick said. “They say she would be worth $1200.00. That is a lot more than this $400.00 heifer is worth. Or should I say, was worth.”

“Sometimes, we can manipulate the calf in the birth canal,” I said. “If we can turn the calf 90 degrees, so the hips are up and down in the birth canal instead of across the canal, we can sometimes pop the calf through. If the hips are only slightly too wide, pushing them higher in the birth canal will do the trick. The heifer’s pelvis is wider at the top. Then there is a high-risk procedure for the heifer. If the heifer is young enough, we can split the pelvis’s bottom and get the calf out.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Dick said.

“That is what I was saying,” I said. “It is my worst nightmare. Luckily, we have solved the problem somewhat by measuring the pelvis on the heifers before breeding. That, and people are learning that these big Simmentals don’t make the commercial producer any more money than the standard breeds.

We were in a small pasture on the top of Marks Ridge, overlooking the entire town of Sweet Home. It was quite a view at 10:00 PM, with all the lights shining brightly.

“You have quite a view up here,” I remarked.

“Yes, I really enjoy it,” Dick said. “But it is one hell of a drive to town in the wintertime. The wife worries herself sick about one of the kids killing themselves going down the road in the snow.”

“I guess there are pluses and minuses to any location,” I said.

I cleaned the heifer up and did a vaginal exam. Somewhat to my surprise, there were no vaginal injuries. Her hind legs had really restricted function, however.

“Dick, this heifer has Obturator Paralysis,” I said. “When that calf was stuck at his hips in the birth canal, and then you pulled her out in the manner you did, the obturator nerves were damaged. Those are the main nerves going to the inside muscles of the hind legs.”

“I suppose I have nobody to blame except myself,” Dick said. “Is she going to be alright?”

“Time will tell,” I said. “Some of these cases never get up again. Some get up in the first few days of injury, and some get up after a week or two of working with them. Some veterinarians hoist these cows up with a medieval contraption that clamps on the hips bones. It takes some pressure off the muscles when a cow is down for an extended period. I have never liked those. After a few days, you end up with damage up here on the hip bones.  If these cows are going to walk again, they will do it in a few days. Beyond that time, the odds are not good.”

“What do we do with her tonight?” Dick asked.

“I am going to give her a big dose of magic,” I said.

“That sounds like witchcraft,” Dick said.

“The good thing is we are not long after her injury,” I said. “My magic is in a dose of Dexamethasone. This is a potent steroid, a big anti-inflammatory medication. With a little luck, we can reduce the inflammation around those injured nerves. If we get really lucky, she might be on her feet in the morning.”

“That would be good,” Dick said. “If not, I would guess I should be moving her to get her undercover.”

“Yes, but we have to do that carefully,” I said. “Many of these heifers, that would get up, end up being injured because they are moved around or picked up with all sorts of jury-rigged contraptions. Many times, those injuries end up being fatal. For tonight, we will just leave her here. You give me a call first thing in the morning, and I will run up here and help you move her if she is not up.”

“Well do,” Dick said. “And you need to take it slow going down that hill tonight. There will be some frost on a couple of those corners this time of the year.”

Dick called first thing in the morning. He was in a jovial mood.

“Your magic seems to have done the trick,” Dick said. “That heifer was up waiting at the feed rack when I went out this morning. Thanks for your good work and quick response last night.”

“We got a little lucky,” I said. “What I want you to do now is go out and tape my phone number on the steering wheel of that tractor. Just so you remember to call me before you try to pull another calf with that thing.”

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I Presume?  From the Archives

I Presume?

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The auditorium class quieted down as the professor took the stage. This was an entirely new experience for me. This class filled the auditorium, maybe 500 students.

The professor was a large man, and he looked like he could have been a linebacker in his college days. Not fat, just tall and well built, and very muscular.

He picked up a piece of chalk and, in a giant cursive script, he wrote ‘I presume?’ on the board. Then he returned to the podium.

“For those who don’t know me and have not figured it out yet, my name is Doctor Livingstone.”

The Fall of 1964 found me searching for some spark of inspiration to get my education back on track. I had been admitted to Colorado State University, and I was determined to pursue admission to veterinary school. 

Just how I ended up in Doctor Livingstone’s botany class was a bit of a mystery to me, even at the time. It was a science course and could have been in the pre-veterinary requirements at the time. Or possibly, an astute advisor recognized that Doctor Livingstone could be helpful for this farm boy.

Doctor Livingstone’s lectures were as intriguing as was his initial introduction. I always preferred to sit in the back of the class, and I initially picked a seat near the back and closest to the exit, and I had a full view of the auditorium. When Doctor Livingstone was speaking, he held the full attention of the entire class.

This class of hundreds was broken down into smaller groups of about thirty students for the laboratory portions of the course. Graduate students conducted the lab classes, but seeing Doctor Livingstone dropping into the lab was not unusual.

This system had pluses and minuses. For one thing, it allowed for a personal relationship with the graduate student. But with that relationship, I would learn that the lab class had an assigned row of seats to use and that attendance would be taken. That wasn’t too bad, but I lost my perch in the back of the auditorium.

In one of our Thursday afternoon lab classes, Doctor Livingstone stood behind our small group as we were discussing the microscope slide we were working on that day. As was typical for me, I stumbled over a few scientific words.

Doctor Livingstone corrected my attempts at pronunciation and helped the four of us complete the exercise. Then I noticed he went and talked with the graduate student and checked the grade book.

As the class was cleaning up and I put my books into my pack, Doctor Livingstone came over and sat beside me.

“Mr. Larsen, you’re a pretty good student, at least in this class,” Doctor Livingstone said. “Do you always have trouble with these long words?”

“I just have to hear the word a few times before I can get all the syllables to come out right,” I said.

“I will give you a couple of tips that helped me a lot when I was your age,” Doctor Livingstone said. “I had a lot of problems also. Maybe I am a bit dyslexic, I don’t know, but I just had problems with the big words. It doesn’t matter what you call it in your mind. You just need to learn to spell it correctly. And then, when you do have to pronounce it, you should do so with utter self-confidence. You will find, if you do that confidently, after a short time, everyone around you will be using your pronunciation.”

It was sometime later before I wondered what it was that prompted the doctor to spend those few minutes with me. But it was advice that I follow to this day, and there are still words that I stumble over.

My stay at Colorado State in 1964 was brief. My classroom performance was less than stellar. This was primarily due to the lack of maturity to apply myself to necessary classes that did not interest me. The fact that Colorado sold three-point-two beer to eighteen-year-olds could have had some influence on my school work.

I experienced the best in professors in Doctor Livingstone. And I watched the worst professor in my educational experience in my History of Western Civilization class, but that is a different story. Friday night dinner with my roommates was always five hamburgers, purchased for a dollar, something new to me. My PE class was swimming, and it took several weeks for me to adjust to the altitude. I spent way too much money that term, but it was fun. And then there was a brief encounter with a wild preacher’s daughter. All life lessons, some better than others.

It took me seven years before I returned to Colorado State University. I was admitted to the College of Veterinary Medicine in the Fall of 1971.

There are lessons to be learned here, and they don’t involve the preacher’s daughter. I have always been concerned about all the advanced placement available for students coming out of high school today. It is hard to argue against because of the high cost of higher education today. But suppose you are placed above some classes. In that case, you may lose the opportunity for a great professor, like Doctor Livingstone, to influence the rest of your life. And perseverance pays off. Not everyone is made to fit the mold educators plan out for kids, some of us have to find our own way.

 Tigger’s Pellet, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Ann spent most of the time at the front desk while Ruth and I did an annual exam and vaccinations on Tigger. She returned to the exam room just as we put Tigger back into his kennel.

“How do things look with Tigger?” Ann asked.

“Tigger is doing fine for a twelve-year-old neutered male,” I said. “You know, these guys seldom make to fifteen. But it is pretty hard to find anything wrong with him today. The only problem I can even mention is the pellet I can feel on his upper right thigh. But looking through his record, I have noted that every year for the last five years.”

“Yes, and you always say the same thing,” Ann said. “We can take it out with no problem, but it doesn’t seem to be causing him any issues.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said. “I guess there is probably some lead exposure to his system. But he is healthy as a horse. I don’t think it is causing him any issues.”

“I do worry about the lead issue,” Ann said.

“Well, this is a twenty-two caliber pellet, and they are usually made is uncoated lead,” I said. “It would be easy to remove it. Just a short anesthetic episode, and I would make an incision around the pellet and remove it in a block of tissue surrounding it. A couple of stitches is all, not anything that will bother Tigger.”

“I will think about,” Ann said. “Obviously, it’s a very elective thing. It hasn’t caused a problem for the last five years, and I sort of think it was there for some time before you noted it.”

***

It was late winter of the same year when Ann again had Tigger into the clinic.

“What’s up with Tigger today?” I asked as I entered the exam room.

“I’m not sure, Doc,” Ann said. “He has just been doing a lot of vomiting lately. Nothing major. He just vomits little puddles of liquid with a little grass, but it happens several times a day, and he has never had that kind of a problem before.”

“Am I correct in thinking that Tigger is outside and does a lot of hunting?” I asked. “If that is the case, this is most likely just a parasite issue.”

“Yes, I guess I’m just a worry wort,” Ann said. “You don’t think it could be that pellet do you?”

“You have probably heard me say before, if you’re in a barn and see hoof prints, you look for a horse, not a zebra.”

“What does that mean?” Ann asked.

“You will feel foolish if you spend all your time looking for a zebra and then suddenly stumble onto a horse,” I said. “Or in Tigger’s case, if we do all the work, and the expense, to diagnose lead poisoning and then figure out that it is just a tapeworm problem.”

“I see. You’re saying that you see more tapeworm problems in cats than you see lead poisoning,” Ann said.

“Yes, that’s the thing,” I said. “I have seen one case of lead poisoning, in a cow no less. She had been chewing on a car battery left in the pasture. That was when I was in vet school, and the diagnosis was not made until the cow reached the necropsy floor. As far as pellets under pets’ skin, you should see some of the x-rays I have of bird dogs. They are usually peppered with lead shots. And they don’t have any problems. With Tigger today, let’s make sure his kidneys are okay and worm him. If problems continue after that, we can formulate a course of action. Depending on what you want to do, just removing that pellet might be the easiest first step.”

With that discussion over, we popped a worm pill down Tigger and checked his urine, which showed no problems.

“Let me hear from you in a couple of days, Ann,” I said. “If Tigger is still vomiting, we can send some sample in for lead levels, or we can remove the pellet and see what happens.”

***

Two days later, Ann was back with Tigger.

“The vomiting is still happening,” Ann said. “I think I would like to take that pellet out and see what happens.”

“Do you want to send in some samples for lead levels?” I asked.

“He still eats. Let’s just do the pellet today,” Ann said. “That will spare the lab expense, and if nothing else, it will give me peace of mind.”

We took Tigger to surgery, and after getting him under an anesthetic, we prepped a wide area on his right thigh. I made a wide elliptical incision around the pellet and removed it in a block of tissue. The incision was closed in two layers.

When I opened the tissue block, there was a dark discoloration of the tissues in contact with the pellet. This discoloration extended several millimeters into the tissues.

Tigger went home, utterly oblivious to his surgical wound. After several days, his vomiting resolved.

***

“It looks like this incision healed with no problem,” I said as I wrestled Tigger to the tabletop to take his sutures out.

“The surgery never bothered him,” Ann said. “He seems to feel so much better than he has in a long time. I think that pellet must have been causing him some problems for a long time.”

“We didn’t do any of the diagnostics, so we will never really know,” I said. “It is challenging to accurately gauge results when we want to see favorable outcomes. That is why medical studies have to be so carefully designed or our biases sneak in and influence the findings.”

“Well, Tigger doesn’t care,” Ann said. “He just feels better.”

Tigger lived to a ripe old age of sixteen years. In those years, that was almost unheard of for a male cat. Today’s life expectancy is longer, and twenty years is an attainable goal for many cats.

Photo by Yulia Ilina from Pexels.