Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls #4) - Amber Kelly Page 0,11
full-on labor, and she’s trying to get the foal in position,” he tells me as he opens his messenger bag and pulls out elbow-length medical gloves.
He quickly rolls his shirtsleeves and gloves up.
The expectant mother gets to her feet and is obviously in a lot of pain.
Over the years, I’ve witnessed a lot of births from horses and cows. Even I know that something is not right at the moment.
Brandt holds the lead rope and tries to stead the animal so that he can examine her. She won’t settle, so I open the stall and carefully walk in at an angle to let her know I am approaching. I speak softly to her and gently take the rope from his hand.
“Easy, there. Everything is going to be okay.”
He gives me an appreciative glance before moving to her hindquarters.
“Shit,” he mutters, and I know that my assumption was correct.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The foal is breech,” he answers as the mare bears up.
“Shh, it’s okay, girl. We are here to help you and your baby.” I try to soothe the momma-to-be.
“What now?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice even.
“I have to attempt to get its hind legs back into the uterus, so I can turn it. If not, we could lose them both,” he says.
“Oh no. Please, please, please, Lord,” I whisper the plea.
“Try to keep her calm,” he instructs, and I watch as he goes elbow deep.
He wrestles with the baby for what seems like hours, but it has to be more like ten to fifteen minutes. I do the best I can to keep the mare steady and calm, but she is clearly in agony.
“Doc, I don’t know if I can hold on to her much longer,” I confess as my arms grow weak and I start to lose my grip.
“Hang on a few more minutes, Momma,” he says to the horse.
Then, he looks over to me and says calmly, “The foal is in now, and I need to get it turned before the compression on the umbilical cord cuts off its oxygen. Move around here slowly. I might need help with pulling the baby out,” he commands, and I do as he said quickly.
I can see the ripple of power move through his shoulders and across his back, and he uses his entire body to twist the baby as gently as he can.
“Is it moving?” I ask.
“Yes, but I have to be careful, so I don’t tear her wall,” he answers.
I stand behind him and wait as he uses all his strength to get the baby in the right position.
Minutes later, I can see the front legs emerge, and I let out the breath I was holding. I have seen enough births to know this is what we want.
He pulls back and makes room for me to his right. I grab the baby’s legs as he rolls his hands underneath, and together, we tug until we see the eyes and snout of the foal. I can feel when the mare’s normal contractions begin, and her body strains to help us expel her baby. Once it’s out, Brandt quickly removes his gloves and reaches for a large piece of straw. I watch anxiously as he swabs the baby’s nose to clear its airway.
“Come on now. Breathe for me, little one,” he prompts.
A few seconds later, the foal releases a tiny sneeze, and its chest begins to rise and fall.
“Is it okay?” I ask as I sit back in the straw, watching him work.
“He’s small. But I think he’ll make it,” he says as he turns to look at me with a triumphant smile on his face.
He. It’s a colt.
“Come here, Bellamy.” He beckons as he reaches out to me, and I take his hand. “I need you to count its breaths.”
He places my hand on its rib cage, and I start to track the in-and-out movements while he pulls a watch from his bag. I count, and he times.
“Is that a good rate?” I ask about the respiration.
“Perfect,” he says, and he smiles a relieved smile at me.
“Oh, thank God,” I say as I watch the little guy struggle to open his eyes.
Pop and Foster come rushing into the barn a moment later.
Pop takes us in. We are both on the floor of the stall, exhausted and covered in slime, with the babe between us. What a sight we must be.
“Foster, get that mare washed down quickly, and I’ll grab the colostrum bottle,” Pop barks.