My Take Tuesday: Black Friday

It was a beautiful Friday in late November. The animals were standing, by the thousands, crowded in the isle. The primitive fight or flight instinct had clearly pushed towards the fight response on this day. This mammal known as man is best avoided on the day after Thanksgiving. In years past, I stood in these massive lines just to get a good deal, after all, nothing says “America” like fighting over a TV at Walmart.

But this Black Friday was different. I spent the day not in crowded stores but driving to farms in Utah County, tending to sick animals. What started as a promising day quickly took a turn for the worse.

The mare’s name was Dollar – a stunning sorrel who had recently delivered a healthy filly.

Shortly after foaling, she developed severe lameness in all four of her feet. Her condition quickly deteriorated, and she was barely able to walk when I arrived. To make matters worse, Dollar had developed severe colic, a term referring to abdominal pain in horses. Her intense pain was caused by gut spasms and every few minutes she would suddenly drop to the ground and roll.

I examined her carefully, noting her distress. To help alleviate her pain, I administered a mild sedative intravenously and passed a tube through her nose into her stomach, pumping in a half-gallon of mineral oil. The next step was pain management.

For colic cases like Dollar’s, veterinarians typically use non-steroidal anti-inflammatories (NSAIDs) like phenylbutazone (commonly called “Bute”) or flunixin meglumine (marketed as “Banamine”).  That day, I opted for Banamine.

With the needle in my right hand and the syringe in my shirt pocket, I held off the jugular vein with my left hand. Dollar didn’t flinch as I quickly slipped the needle into her vein. With dark blood slowly dripping out the needle hub, I reattached the syringe and steadied my hand against her neck. Just then, a gut spasm hit, Dollar jumped up and staggered sideways. I quickly sidestepped to remain in a position where I could inject the medicine.

Without warning, and before I had injected any appreciable amount of Banamine, she reared up on her back legs. I retracted the needle immediately and instinctively stepped backwards. The momentum of her rearing up and me pulling back made me momentarily struggle with my balance. I then pulled my right arm abruptly to the side of my body to avoid falling over. As I did so, the large bore 18-gauge needle plunged over an inch and a half straight into the right side of my abdomen. The needle entered about 6” to the right of my navel and 3” below my last rib. I felt intense pain as the needle cut through my skin, subcutaneous fat, and abdominal muscle. The hub of the needle was nestled flush against my brown Carhartt Jacket. During my split-second of inattentiveness approximately 2 ml of Banamine was injected directly into my abdominal cavity.

Grimacing, I yanked the needle out. Blood spotted my jacket. The mare’s owner stared, wide-eyed.

“Are you ok?” he inquired, “Did you just stab yourself?”

“I sure did,” I groaned.

The pain was excruciating—a fiery, unrelenting burn that felt like a branding iron pressed against my abdomen. I collapsed onto the barn floor, hoping the agony would subside. After about half an hour, I mustered enough strength to finish treating Dollar properly. Then, I climbed into my truck and drove straight to the doctor’s office.

There are some veterinary drugs which are fatal when injected into humans; fortunately for me Banamine isn’t one of them. Although it relieves pain when administered intravenously in horses, I learned that day that when administered outside a vein, the effects are the total opposite.

It stung far worse than any insect sting or abdominal pain I have experienced.

“You what?”, The doctor blurted out, “How much did you inject?”

My physician is unique. His father is a veterinarian. He was raised at a veterinary clinic and spend his youth helping his father in a general mixed-animal practice. Fortunately, he knew exactly what Banamine was and what he needed to do to treat me.

After ensuring I’d be fine, he gave me some parting advice, chuckling as he said, “Hey Doc, next time, keep the needle pointed away from yourself!”

I most certainly learned a painful lesson that Back Friday.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM