A Grueling Task

Sylvalyn Simpson, Texas A&M

Experiences, Honorable Mention

 

I could no longer stand.  The sweltering heat, nauseating stench, and physical exertions had drained my stamina.  After the gigli wire slackened, I dropped the saw handles and slumped against the nearest fencepost.  While attempting to blink away the stars that danced in my eyes, I examined the pieces of bisected fetus sprawled across the maternity pen.  It was the most gruesome composition I had ever seen: one head, two vertebrae, two pelvises, and eight legs. 

            On a hot July morning in Turlock, California, Dr. Kavishti Kokaram and I had been performing the routine pregnancy checks of a dairy herd from five until noon.  Dr. Kokaram called the Lander Veterinary Clinic to report that we had finished, and the office personal notified us of an emergency; a dystocia at a nearby dairy.  In the interest of time, we skipped lunch and headed straight over. 

            We quickly located the straining cow and were assaulted by the putrid, sickeningly sweet smell of decay.  Palpating around the legs of the fetus, it felt as if the corpse were doubled over and twisted downward past the point of my reach.  It was obviously an incorrect fetal position, although not a familiar irregularity.  Dr. Kavishti decided to pump sterile lube into the uterus and attempt to pull the calf.  Although we knew the fetus would likely remain trapped, we were hoping to reveal more about the nature of the dystocia.  Dr. Kavishti was correct; pulling had shifted the calf enough for us to feel additional abnormalities.  The fetus was deformed. 

            Removal of the dead fetus via a fetotomy was the most plausible solution.  Dr. K. prepared the fetotome and obstetrical wire saw.  After using the wire guide to position the wire, he instructed me to stand by the cow’s pelvis, brace myself, and prevent the fetotome from moving.  Sweat was pouring down his face when I offered to switch places.  He passed the handles to me and I sawed as quickly and forcefully as I could, using every ounce of my strength.  Suddenly, I felt a release in pressure.  The first cut had been made.  Little did we know that it would require four more cuts to fully remove the convoluted calf.

            The dam fell after the third slice, increasing the difficulty of our endeavor and my anxiety that she may never stand again.  Now we were sitting in a pool of diarrhea, lube, and blood, desperately trying to position the fetotome accurately.  My arms were limp and fatigued from sawing and stabilizing the fetotome, the fetor made it difficult to breath, and dehydration was setting in.  However, I was so engrossed in our struggle that the thought of quitting never crossed my mind. 

            After a three-hour battle, the last set of legs slid out.  I had pushed myself beyond my physical limit to finish our grueling task.  My exhaustion subsided as I began to rejoice in what we had accomplished.  Remarkably, the cow could stand.  She had survived the delivery of an eight-legged calf; and so had I.