The Call That Shook Me to My Core: What Happened to Solomon

I’m looking at a menu at a neighborhood Italian restaurant, undecided on what to eat, when my phone rings. I pick it up and see it's my daughter Dafni.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

“Solomon is laying down and rolling. I think he might be colicking,” she says, worried.

“Oh no! Are you sure he isn't just itchy?” I ask. In the three years I have had him, he has never been sick.

“I’m walking him now, and he still wants to lay down and roll,” she says.

“Ok, we will be right over. There is holiday traffic, but I will come as fast as I can.”

Thankfully, we didn't order food yet, so we all get up to leave while Dino goes to cancel our drink order. We are at the mall and have normally a seven-minute drive to the horses, but today it's more like twenty.

I’m thankful Dafni is with him and walking him to keep him from twisting his gut or hurting himself. I have had horses in the past colic and two experiences where the horse died…but I can't let my mind go there. We also had a horse eat mushrooms in the field and act somewhat colicky but also kind of psychedelically tripped out. I am semi-hoping for mushrooms because it is less dangerous.

I call Dimitra to let her know about Solomon because she lives at the property, and I think maybe she can help somehow.

We can't get there fast enough. I’m annoying John telling him to hurry but then telling him not to speed and get a ticket. Dafni is texting me about putting him in the trailer and taking him for a ride. A trailer ride is usually the magic cure-all for horses for some reason. John and I are thinking about the trailer we haven't used since we moved from Georgia. Tires? Might be flat. Hooking it up at night? Do we even remember how? It seems so difficult, and we don’t even know if it really works or if it’s just an old wives tale.

We finally arrive, and Dafni is walking Solomon around the arena while he has his head sunk low looking glum. He perks up slightly when I come near, but I can tell right away he doesn't feel good.

“He pooped!” Dafni announces joyfully. “About five minutes ago, right after he went down and rolled before I could stop him.”

“Oh! That's good. They can't have colic if they poop, right?” I ask.

“I’m not sure, but pooping is definitely a good thing!”

I keep walking him around and try to call the vet. I go through a bunch of prompts for the emergency line and leave a message stating what is happening and that he pooped. We keep walking, and I try to ask Solomon what he is feeling. All I hear is pain and tired. He is not exactly communicating like normal. His eyes are half-closed, and his head is really low. He is reluctantly walking slowly, and I can tell he just wants to lie down.

I’m waiting for the vet to return my call, which they promised would happen within moments. Dafni leaves, and I’m alone with the responsibility of deciding what to do or facing impending doom.

John checks the trailer to see if we should put him in there. Despite the magical trailer-fix-all for horses myth, I feel uneasy about it and imagine him trying to lie down in there or getting wobbly and weak on a turn. John returns with the report that trailer looks fine, but he doesn’t want to do it and feels like it’s a bad idea. I’m relieved.

I keep walking and waiting for the vet to return my call. By this time, Dimitra comes out after putting Zion to bed and asks if I called the vet. “Yes, about 30 minutes ago, but I haven't heard back.”

“Call them again! He should have called back by now.”

I call the vet again, talking a bit more urgently, saying I would like him to come over as soon as he is able. I continue to wait for the call back. Solomon poops a couple more times, and it is getting continually more runny. I’m relieved he is pooping because it must not be a blockage. I’m starting to think it's mushrooms because he is kind of blinking weird. He’s getting more and more lethargic and clearly doesn’t want to walk, but when I stop he wants to lie down.

Everyone is telling me he doesn’t look good and is breathing heavy. He feels a bit sweaty too. I get flashbacks to Dafni’s horse Robby a few years back who mysteriously started sweating, shaking, and getting weak and lethargic and literally dropped dead right in front of us. We still have no idea what caused it. A vet told us it was probably some kind of genetic issue, and it just happens on occasion.

I’m praying non-stop for Solomon to be ok and can't even begin to face what I would do If he didn't come through this. I can't let my mind even begin to go there.

When Every Second Counts

Dimitra suggests I call the neighbor to see if they know of another emergency vet. I stop walking Solomon and we are standing near the barn while I ring up our neighbor who owns about 20 horses.

“Hi, Victoria. Solomon is colicking or something, and I’ve called the vet multiple times, but he isn't getting back to me. I’m really worried. Do you know of another vet?” I ask.

“Oh no! I’m sorry. The vet is actually here at our barn because one of our horses had to get stitches from a pasture fight. He’s just finishing. I’ll send him over.”

Right at that moment, Solomon collapses to the ground, his head falls to the side, and his eyes close.

“Oh my God!” I scream. “He’s down, he’s down! I think he died!” My heart was in my throat, and I started crying and screaming for him to get up.

Dimitra points to his belly and says, “He’s still breathing! Calm down.”

“He’s still breathing,” I tell Victoria.

“The vet is on his way,” she says.

I just hear myself say under my breath, “Please don't die. Please don't die.” My mind is racing around in circles, and I’ve lost my ability to hold it together. I’m just praying and begging God to keep him alive.

Finally, I see lights come down the driveway. Hope returns to my soul, and I feel like the vet will know what to do. As he comes close, Solomon open his eyes and lifts his head slightly to look at him and puts his head back down.

“Hey buddy, not feeling good?” the vet says. He starts listening to his heart and then moves to his gut. He is moving his instrument all around, listening while we wait.

Finally, after multiple concentrated gut and heart listening checks, he says, “His heart sounds good, and I have decent gut sounds. Let’s get him up standing.”

To my shock, I barely tug on the rope, and Solomon pops his head up and stands. His head is low and ears are droopy, but he is standing. I tell the vet about him pooping multiple times. He says that’s good, but he could still be colicking. He tells me he will take a blood sample and check it in his truck for elevated levels, and also give him a sedative to help him with pain. He returns from the truck with a few needles and starts taking samples of blood and giving the sedative.

“I'll go test this sample. It will take a few minutes. But he should start feeling pretty good as soon as that sedative kicks in.”

Dimitra and I stand there with Solomon, who is already getting wobbly, and his head is even lower now. The vet doesn’t seem panicked or even concerned at all. He seems like this is pretty routine and there’s nothing big going on. I just saw my horse collapse to the ground, head and all, just like you see in the movies, and felt like my whole world turned upside down.

The Vet's Verdict

The vet comes back and says, “Good news! His levels are completely normal, and his heart rate suggests that he isn't experiencing a lot of pain.” He has two more needles in his hands and a long plastic glove that goes all the way up his arm. I know what’s coming. “Now that he is a bit sedated, I can do an internal exam and see if there are blockages.

Thankfully, Solomon doesn't even flinch while he is being examined. I start to see how this bill I will pay will be well deserved. After flinging a fist full of poo to the ground, the vet gives a good report. “Everything feels perfect in there. No blockages and no inflammation. I want to give him a shot of Banamine for the pain and a shot of something that will help with digestion, and he should be fine by the time this sedative wears off,” he says calmly.

“That’s it?! He’s fine? Are you sure? Should I just leave and trust he’ll be ok?” I ask, surprised by his casualness about my barely standing horse.

“You can come back each hour to check on him, and after you see he is back to normal, leave him until morning and then get him back into his usual routine.”

“So he is fine? He will be ok? I don't understand. He literally just collapsed onto the ground 20 minutes ago, and I thought he died. But you just gave him a painkiller and he’s fine?”

“I know it seems hard to believe based on how he’s behaving. But horses are just like people. Some are super dramatic, and others are very stoic. Based on what I am seeing here, with a normal heart rate, normal blood levels, still pooping, and all his internals perfectly normal, my guess is he is very dramatic, not stoic. He has probably never felt pain before and doesn’t know how to handle it. He was breathing heavy and blinking a lot, which tells me he was feeling pain, but because of the normal heart rate, the pain wasn't really that bad.” The vet kind of squished up his face and flashed his teeth, letting me know in a polite, sheepish way that my horse was basically a wimp.

I have never felt more relieved. The vet helps me push and pull sedated Solomon back into his stall, and he just stands there calm, doped up, and breathing normally. He no longer wants to lie down and drunkenly tries to nibble some hay with little coordination. I take all his hay out until he sobers up a bit more. I thank the vet, and he acts like it was nothing.

I stand outside Solomon’s stall and stare at him looking so cute and relaxed. I never thought of him as overly dramatic before. But then I think about how he thinks he’ll die if the hose goes off or his grand dips to the side when he sees a fallen branch. Or if he hears the buzzers near him, he jumps 20 feet. Now that I think about it, Solomon is very dramatic. I think about how the vet said he doesn't look like he has ever felt pain and doesn't know how to handle it.

From Reaction to Reflection

I think about all the people I know and how they handle pain. It's true that everyone handles it differently. Some stoically and some a bit more dramatically. I think about myself and why I have a horse who flings himself to the ground for a tummy ache. What does that say about me? How do I handle crisis or pain? Am I reactive, or do I take things in stride?

I know I can definitely be reactive and regret later what I say or how I quickly jump to conclusions. I regret at times being impulsive or overreacting. I know that on occasion when I don't react much and think things through more, I am proud of myself and the restraint and maturity I had in a situation. But most importantly, how does it affect the people who I spend the most time with? If I am too reactive and dramatic about things, doesn’t it quickly escalate, assumptions flare, and wrong conclusions are reached?

I don't love it when Solomon jumps when the hose is turned on, or cuts to the side at a canter when the dog appears behind a tree, or whips his head away when I look at a cut on his ear. I think he is overreactive about being itchy in the summer, to the point where he rubs the hair off of his tail, and his body is full of scabs. He can be dramatic and overly expressive.

I lived among Greeks who all can be this way too. I have pre-programmed responses to reactive people, and I brace myself for it or become reactive myself. I have rarely, if ever, made the mistake of waiting too long, being too non-responsive, or missing an opportunity from non-action. But I have, however, jumped the gun, not thought things through, and been too impulsive.

I truly aim for a balanced temperament and want to live and act in truthful, appropriate ways. My goal is to eliminate emotional triggers, become 100 percent healed and whole, and walk in wisdom and strength. But If I were to err in one direction rather than the other, I am thankful I am trigger-happy, wired for forward movement, with an impulse to act and a forward-moving motor on at all times. I really do appreciate this quality about myself. But I see that there is a Solomon inside of me who needs to relax, be wise, calm down, and have self-control.

I’m grateful for Solomon to show me myself. To be my mirror at times and gently reflect my fixable faults.

Are you trigger-happy and over-reactive like me? Or more stoic and restrained? How do you work toward a balance between the two?

Share your thoughts in the comments below!