I slid out of bed at 7am, somehow I got dressed and drove into work. I was there in body, but not in mind.
Gripped with anxiety, stress and shock I was not doing well at all. All I could manage was to sit and stare at my phone. The vet had promised to phone me that morning to let me know how Chico had done through the night. To her it was a quick call before morning rounds, but to me it was everything. I couldnt eat, I couldnt chat, I couldnt do anything until I knew if Chico had survived the night. After a couple of soul destroying hours I finally phoned the vets myself.
'The vet is with him right now, she will call you back in ten minutes.'
After half an hour my vet got in touch.
'Chico is doing really well. We have been giving him a full colic check every 4 hours and so far he is doing well. He even has some quiet gut sounds this morning, which we wouldnt have expected to hear so that is very promising, and I have grazed him in hand for 10 minutes,' the vets tone lightened 'we had some trouble getting him back in. I think he was enjoying his grass!.'
This phone call just lifted the world off my shoulders. Chico was being his cheeky self, playing them up so soon after his surgery surely must be a good sign. I had decided I would visit him that evening and after informing all who would listen that Chico was still with us I managed to get my head into gear and finish my days work.
4pm came and I was free from work. I still felt very anxious and my digestive system was not happy! Jumping into my car I set of, written directions in hand, to Lichfield (about half an hour away) to see my boy.
I was making good progress until in my anxious state caused me to leave a junction early. I immediately rejoined the dual carriageway in the opposite direction but missing two more junctions to turn around and I was running out of 'visiting hours'. I finally got the right junction but then missed the very sudden turn into the clinic. Cue another 10 minutes to go around the route again!
With only 25 minutes of visiting time left I finally managed to park up at the clinic.
As I turned the corner onto the yard I was met with an enthusiastic whinny. There was my Chico, all pleased to see his mum.
As I went into his stable my heart sank for him. He had a big bandage all around his middle and his fur was covered in crusty dry sweat and blood. He had black tape around his hooves and his shoes had been removed. All in all he looked a mess. But when I looked at his eyes I could see he was still his normal self.
He immediately decided that now his mum was here that I would be the perfect scratching post. He rubbed every inch of his head on me, and I loved it. I asked the yard staff for a brush and groomed his head and neck. I didnt want to groom his back end just incase it was still sore.
Since I was there Chico figured it was high time we went and did something. He pushed at the door, scrapped his foot with impatience and was generally being a pain. I felt helpless that I couldnt make him understand that he had to stay in his stable, he had to rest and recover.
All the excitement must have pulled a bit at his stitches (he now fashioned a wound stretching the length of his 'tummy') and the discomfort started to show. My 30 minutes were up anyway so I gave him my love and left him to have a quiet night.
Chico had made it through the first 24 hours with out a hitch...
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