My Take Tuesday: The Courage to Change Course

In late September of 2011, a major typhoon hit the Philippines. Torrential rainfall flooded the streets and sustained winds exceeding 120 mph decimated everything in the path of the storm. Typhoon Pedring taught me an important lesson regarding the perils that Mother Nature can present.

I sat watching the sheets of rain falling down from the window of a small laboratory. I had spent the morning freezing water buffalo semen, an extensive process that takes several hours to complete. I made the decision to hurry and finish the job before heading back to the hotel. The storm was set to hit just about 4:00, just about the time the project would be complete. I thought it was worth the risk to just hurry and get things finished up. Little did I know that the massive storm was fast approaching and already bearing down on the small village.

As I peered out into the pouring rain, water quickly began to run down the streets. It was clear that the storm had arrived and that I had better get back to the hotel as soon as possible. I worried that perhaps I had made a foolish choice by remaining at the lab.

I flagged down a motorcycle taxi and gave him the address of the hotel. These taxis are popular in the Philippines. This unique form of transportation has a motorcycle in the front and two wheels in the back with a compartment containing a small seat that will hold two average sized Filipinos. My 6’2″ frame does not fit well in these taxis. I have to crouch down and lift my knees up to just fitting the seat. The ground clearance of the cab portion is only around 10 inches. The ride proved to be most uncomfortable.

As we headed down the street, the water continued to rise. The engine began to squeal as the driver desperately tried to maneuver through the fast moving water. The water poured through the open door and across the floor of the compartment I was riding in. There was no way I could readjust my position, as my knees were nearly touching my chest. All of the sudden, the raging water picked up the motorcycle taxi and carried it swiftly down the street. The driver began to panic, the tires were no longer touching the ground and we were floating in the wrong direction and had absolutely no control of our direction of travel. I was stuck and was absolutely helpless.

The taxi slammed against a cement railing along the side of a very large bridge. We were just a few feet away from plunging over the edge to certain death. Thankfully, the driver was able to get traction and maneuver the taxi out of the precarious situation and we safely continued on to the hotel. I arrived, soaking wet, in shock and very much grateful to be alive. The rain continued to pour down for the remainder of the day. Over 24 inches fell within a 24 hour period.

As soon as the storm passed, I boarded a flight from Manila en route to Utah via Nagoya, Japan. As we cruised at 30,000 feet just north of the Philippine Islands, severe turbulence began to toss our plane around. An unassuming passenger that was unbuckled was thrust so hard from his seat that his head hit the baggage compartment. It was clear that something was not right.

In the chaos, the pilot announced the following, “We are approaching Typhoon Pedring and if we continue on this course, this storm will rip this plane apart.” People could be heard screaming following this announcement. I couldn’t believe that the pilot would even suggest that the plane was in danger of coming apart. Just when things couldn’t possibly get worst, a lightning strike hit the plane. The damage was minimal, thankfully, and the pilot was able to change course and get us safely to Nagoya and then on to the USA.

Looking back now, I am grateful that the experienced pilot had the wisdom to know his own limitations along with the capacity of the airplane. His judgement, undoubtedly saved the lives of all on board.

In today’s society, there seems to be a misconception that quitting is failing.

We grow up categorizing each situation we encounter as being either a success or a failure.

Believe me, I’ve spent years of my life unwilling to quit things. Those who are stubborn will often go far — too far — to ensure it’s not a failure. But that is not always a smart choice. I submit that truly successful professionals often find that there is a time to reassess readjust, and if needed correct the course they are on.

Truly incredible individuals can vouch for this with stories of perseverance, resilience and success. I have also found that if you believe failure is the easy way out, quitting can often be far more difficult than continuing.

I recently read a book titled No Shortcuts to the Top. The book was written by Ed Viesturs. Ed has climbed Mount Everest six times and is the only American to have climbed all 14 of the world’s highest mountain peaks. Each of these mountains tower at least 26,000 feet above sea level.

On one climb Ed actually had to climb one mountain twice. The first time, he was forced to turn back back just 300 feet from the top as he did not feel that he could honestly claim the summit. In the pages of his book, he vividly describes fatal errors in judgment made by his fellow climbers as well as a few of his own close calls and gallant rescues.

Nothing in life comes easily. Success requires hard work. This path to success if filled with difficult choices, triumphs and even devastating failure. However, these failures are opportunistic pathways that, if they are navigated carefully, will lead to future success.

As Hesiod, the Greek poet so eloquently put, ‘Badness you can get easily, in quantity: the road is smooth, and it lies close by. But in front of excellence the immortal gods have put sweat, and long and steep is the way to it, and rough at first. But when you come to the top, then it is easy, even though it is hard.”

I learned a lesson the hard way on a rainy day in the Philippines. Since then, if my instincts are telling me something, I know it is best to trust them and listen.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Pictured is a view of a street during the severe flooding during Typhoon Pedring in the Philippines

My Take Tuesday: Forget Me Not

There is a flower that grows in the beautiful mountains of Alaska. It is a tiny plant that is easily overlooked, it’s small and unassuming stature is easily lost as the surrounding vegetation is observed. However, on closer look, this flower is a remarkable example of nature’s masterpiece. The dark green stems and leaves are much like those of other plants, but its flowers are what make this flower unforgettable. The sky blue pedals perfectly match the beauty of a clear, cloudless day. The tiny flower displays a most unique and unforgettable beauty. It is a true marvel of creation and is aptly named, “Forget Me Not.”

A few weeks ago, I visited a massive cemetery. I walked quietly along the long never-ending rows of marble headstones. Many were from the 18th and 19th century. Moss was visible along the base of many of the markers. Names and dates, weathered and worn, were fading on many of them.

As I looked around, the headstones numbered in the thousands. Who were these people? What were they like? What is their story? Only a handful are remembered, and unfortunately, most are largely forgotten.

I pondered as I read the inscriptions. I questioned, “Is this what is to come of me? When I go the way of all living things, will I be remembered? Will I leave a legacy?”

My mind turned to the small cemetery in the town where I was raised. Castle Dale, Utah is a small place, one easily overlooked by most. The cemetery is located on the north end of Center Street. I spent a summer during high school working as a caretaker there. Each week, I would mow the lawn. Care was taken as the grass was trimmed around each and every headstone.

Many of my ancestors are buried in the cemetery in Castle Dale. My great great grandmother, my great grandparents, grandparents, a beloved uncle and an infant cousin all rest in this special place.

My great grandfather passed away long before I was born. I have a picture of him smiling and sitting on the grass in a pair of bib overalls. He is aged and tired, but his character is still evident in the old photograph. It reminds me of a wise observation that Thomas Edison made concisely by stating, “I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of all of the kings of the world.”

My grandfather died when I was only three years old. My memories of him are largely limited to what others have told me. He served as county clerk for over two decades. Like his father, he was a dry land farmer. He worked tirelessly to provide for his six children. The ground he and his father tilled and planted year after year, still remains in the family today.

My uncle passed away in 2016. I owe my very life to my uncle Jerry. Once, as a curious 5 year old, I was standing in the doorway to his kitchen. Jerry had a bag of those pink chalky wintergreen disc candies. I placed one in my mouth, and somehow got it lodged inside my trachea. He must have sensed my panic, but he calmly walked over and gave a firm push on my stomach and the piece of candy shot across the room. If you are lucky enough to know my uncle Jerry Bott, then you have the privilege of knowing the best person I have ever met. There is no better example of loyalty, charity and love than he was.

All three of their graves are located next to each other in the south side of the middle section. Each lived wonderful lives. Each treated their fellow men in kind with an honest word, a helping hand and a smile. With the years and the long hard miles, each always did their best. When the storms of life broke loose, each valiantly fought with courage.

As long as my heart beats, each will never be forgotten.

They inspire me still. Their legacy invites me to be a better father, a better friend, and a better man.

Like the small unassuming Forget Me Not flower, each of us, no matter how small or inconspicuous we are, have an important part to contribute to the tapestry of our posterity and the majesty of creation and life.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Late Night Call

The phone rang at exactly 2:03 AM. I jumped out of bed and sleepily answered, “Hello?”.

Calls like this often come in the early morning hours. Animals, it seems, have the worst troubles while we are sleeping.

“Hey Doc, can you come out to my place?”

“What’s going on?”, I responded, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“It is one of my ewes, Doc, she has 5 hooves sticking out of her backside!”, he explained with a dramatic tone.

“Alright, I will be right there”, I replied, as I quickly changed my clothes and dressed for the outside temperatures. Situations like this seem to always occur in January, when the temperature is below zero.

I fired up my pickup truck and headed down the road.

Mr. Johnson was a long time client and a good sheep man. He knows enough to get through most situations and is good about calling me before all hope is lost.

Farmers like Mr. Johnson are becoming more and more rare. Large corporate companies have taken over so much of the agriculture industry and have forced the small guys out, sending along the notion that each individual animal has value simply because it lives. The loss of both equates to a disappearance of my favorite part of being a mixed animal veterinarian – the interactions I have with people. The ability to help individual people through service for their animals is the hallmark and joy of being a successful veterinarian.

Bravery and survival are sojourners, and Mr Johnson still fights daily to stay afloat and continue his 100+ year family legacy of sheep farming.

As I pulled into the Johnson ranch, my headlights hit the west side of the weathered old barn. Missing slats checkered the barn wood walls and added variety to the relic that can be seen during the day from the busy interstate, I-15.

As I stepped into the barn, Mr. Johnson greeted me warmly. “Hazel is making some hot chocolate for you Doc, we sure do appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night like this.”

He pointed me to the Suffolk ewe. She was indeed in distress, and sure enough, 5 legs and small hooves were protruding from her back side.

I calmly knelt down behind her and began my work. A trip a couple of years back to Auburn University provided me with a valuable trick in a situation like this. A small dose of Epinepherine was administered intravenously, and almost instantaneously, her uterus relaxed.

I gently pushed each of the legs back in and blindly felt around with my hand. A head was readily palpable, as was a tail, and a second head.

“Well, we at least have three!”, I exclaimed as Mr. Johnson anxiously looked on.

I continued to palpate until I was certain that I had two front feet from the same lamb and began the delivery. The first lamb was a large buck, nearly 18 pounds and jet black. The second and third were both ewes and were smaller and lighter in color. I then reached back in, and to my amazement, pulled out a 4th lamb. The last one was a buck and was much smaller in size compared to its birthmates.

All four lambs immediately began moving after being delivered. Mr. Johnson and Hazel gently rubbed each of them with warm towels as they coaxed them to breath.

After the delivery, mother and each of the quadruplets were doing remarkable well.

“We have never had 4 babies at once!”, Hazel exclaimed, “It looks like we will be busy bottle feeding!”

I sipped on my hot chocolate as I watched the newly born lambs stand for the first time.

I thanked the Johnsons as I pulled away.

As my headlights again hit the barn wall and then the straight long driveway of the Johnson ranch, the lights hit a barren tree along the fence line. The branches were covered in small ice and snow fragments that sparkled in the headlights. As I peered out my window, the barb wire strands seemed to glisten and sparkle as I traveled down the roadway.

I sat in amazement. Here is a simple ranch with a barn that is falling apart, yet on this cold winter night, it was a quiet serene paradise.

I pondered how fortunate I am. While the rest of the world is in bed, I have the privilege of bringing life into the world and seeing the majesty of God’s creation.

In this acquisitive world we must learn that in our lives we can’t have everything. But if we have freedom of spirit: to imagine, to question, to explore; then we have everything we need. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. The journey is the reward. I love being a veterinarian!

And that is my Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Christmas Cactus

I never did get to meet my paternal grandmother. Her name was Caroline Westover Bott. She died several years before I was born. I wish I could have gotten to know her. I have heard stories about her humorous personality and just how kind and sweet she was.

Her favorite plant was called a Christmas cactus. This plant  is a long lived plant with flat, segmented stems. Most of the year its appearance is fairly unassuming. It seems to be just a regular potted green in the corner of the living room.

Around Christmas, however, something magical happens.

With care, this plain looking plant will blossom with beautiful pink flowers. Because of this festive seasonal bloom, the Christmas cactus is a tradition in many European and North American homes during the holidays.

After my grandmother died, her husband and children continued to take care of her Christmas cactus.

Caring for this plant is much more intense than other common house plants. Despite its name, the Christmas cactus is not a desert plant, but rather has its origins in the tropical rain forests of South America.

In fall, night temperatures around 50-55 degrees will trigger Christmas cactus to form flower buds. A carefully monitored balance of darkness and sunlight will give you beautiful blooms in time for the holidays. My uncle Jerry faithfully took care of this plant year after year until he died two years ago.

One of my favorite Christmas memories is setting around this plant on Christmas morning and opening presents. I will forever treasure this family time and the pleasant memories that remain.

Another unique feature of this segmented plant is its ability to propagate. By transplanting a cutting of at least three stem segments into a small pot of soil (preferably taken from the pot of the parent plant). At least one segment is then buried. With care and time the plant will take root.

A couple of years before my uncle Jerry passed away, he gave me a small transplant from this Christmas cactus that belonged to my grandma. As it brilliantly bloomed during this holiday season, I longed to spend time with my loved ones that have passed away. I am so grateful for this tangible legacy that will continue to live on and be passed on to my children. It is my own little piece of a holiday tradition that lives on all year long. I cherish my Christmas cactus and the family ties it symbolizes.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Christmas

Growing up my family had some wonderful christmas traditions. I vividly remember each Christmas. I particularly remember the activities we had on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day each year.

Santa Claus will not leave any presents if you are awake when he comes. Each of us knew that for certain, yet the natural curiosity and excitement of Christmas made it difficult for us to fall asleep.

My dad was aware of this, and each Christmas Eve he would take us out for an activity to wear us out physically in the hopes that it would help us sleep soundly that evening. I remember each Christmas Eve we would go on hikes in the nearby hills or we would play a competitive game of basketball. Our endless energy would be spent, in part on these activities.

After the Christmas Eve activities, we would have a Bott family Christmas party. My fondest memories of this happened at my parents house. Uncle Chris and Aunt Diane would bring their kids. Jeannie, Jerry and Jeffry would also always come. We would laugh and sing and would have a wonderful meal. The highlight of the night was always opening White Elephant gifts. The gifts were classic gag gifts and were absolutely hilarious. Many gifts made yearly returns to the exchange. One would learn to decipher the weight and size of packages to avoid receiving these gifts. I remember in high school I had to work one Christmas Eve. I was so sad to have to miss the family party. I remember longing to be with my family on that particular Christmas Eve.

Christmas morning began early. My siblings and I were well accustomed to waking up at 5 AM to feed the animals and milk the cows. Sleeping in on Christmas just didn’t make much sense. We would wait in our bedrooms until dad came to lead us out. He would cover our eyes and lead us to the other side of the dark living room. Once we were all together, Mom and Dad would turn the lights on. We each had a spot for our presents. We would rush to these locations. We were allowed to only ask for 3 things for christmas, and we would first look for those items we wanted so badly.

Following this, we would head across the street to feed the animals and milk the cows. Even on Christmas this task was necessary. We would complete it as fast as possible, for the day was just beginning.

Upon returning to the house, we would eat breakfast. I remember Egg Nog always being there. We would also have fresh oranges and cereal.

In today’s skeptical fast-paced world, our busy lives often keep us from enjoying the simplest of life’s pleasures. One of my favorite Christmas traditions is to read an old newspaper entry that was written more than a century ago.

Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun in 1897, asking the direct question, “Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?”

The response by Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial:

“VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

May each of us take a moment to enjoy the simple things today. As long as there is a sunset, there will be always be moments of joy and gladness for each of us.

I recollect with fondness the traditions my family shared. The presents are gone. The shoes and clothes are all worn out, but the memories remain. The true meaning of Christmas is, after all, about love. Our Christmases were centered around family. We were together. How grateful I am for that. A quick trip down memory lane rapidly brings back the joy and love we felt each christmas while growing up in Castle Dale.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Rudy the Reindeer

As a veterinarian, each case I see presents a challenge. Emotionally, each day is filled with both happiness and sadness. Clinical outcomes vary, some patients make it, others do not. Regardless, I give my best to each. I hold a special place in my heart for those pets that couldn’t be saved even with all the resources in the world.

I am fortunate to have the privilege of working on a variety of species. As this month’s Facebook entries on reindeer continue, I am reminded of a unique case with a reindeer named Rudolph.

Rudy, as he was affectionately called, was a unique bull. He did not display the extreme aggression typical of intact male reindeer. He was docile. He knew his name and would come when called. His favorite treat was a handful of rolled corn. During the seasonal displays, he was always popular, especially among the children. Meeting a reindeer named Rudolph is exciting, even for many adults.

Rudolph played a role in my success in reindeer artificial insemination. He was the first male that we were able to successfully collect and freeze. His offspring carry the same docility and unique tractable nature.

Rudy became ill one evening in April. I traveled to Sandy to see what could be done. I found Rudy in rough shape. He was in obvious distress and having difficulty breathing.

After hours of intense care and medical treatment, Rudy did not improve. The cause, a small winter glove that had lodged in his intestine. A careless individual likely left the black glove in his pen during the christmas display season. For whatever reason, it had stayed in the rumen (largest stomach compartment) for several months before entering the small intestine. Reindeer are non discriminate eaters and will literally eat anything that is placed in their pen.

Reindeer are very stoic. They often do not show clinical signs until they are gravely ill. This makes surgical intervention almost impossible. Despite our best efforts, this magnificent animal did not make it.

Often, such is the case in veterinary medicine. Whether it be a dog or cat, or a reindeer or sheep, each deserves to live a life free of pain and suffering. I give up a bit of the peace in my heart each time one does not make it. We all do this. Over time, we feel those missing pieces of peace more and more. Although Rudy did not belong to me, I still had tremendous difficulty saying goodbye.

There is also some good that came from this experience. We were able to freeze over 100 doses of Rudy’s semen. This is stored in liquid nitrogen and will be good indefinitely. Thankfully, Rudy will continue to produce reindeer calves for years to come.

He was truly one of a kind.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: DocBott got ran over by a reindeer!

Many of the pictures I post are of Mountain West Animal Hospital’s resident reindeer. They are very docile and love the attention. Sven and Yuki will pose for photos and love little children. Sven even has a fondness for the color pink.

However, not all reindeer are like this. A male reindeer’s personality changes dramatically as the breeding season approaches. Circulating levels of testosterone dramatically increase in late August. This hormone will make an otherwise tame male become a raging, grunting and aggressive mess.

A couple of years ago, I received a call from a reindeer farmer in northern Utah. He had a male reindeer that had injured the base of his antler. August heat and fresh blood are a recipe for complications due to either a severe bacterial infection and/or disgusting maggots.

I arrived at the farm and immediately realized that the bull was in full rut. I had just left the office and, like a true nerd, had placed an external hard drive for my computer in my front pocket.

The bull was not very happy to be caught. It took three of us to restrain him while I treated his injury. His massive antlers could easily lift us off the ground and fling us in any direction desired.

Just as I finished the treatment, he broke lose. He immediately turned toward me. I had very little time to react. I stood there with empty syringes and iodine in my hands, helpless and very much vulnerable. His attack was swift. A single charge knocked me on the ground.

I lay there struggling to catch my breath. The sudden impact of the ground on my back left me with temporary paralysis of the diaphragm which made it difficult to take a breath. When I finally did breathe, I was bombarded with excruciating pain over the left side of my chest. I reached into my pocket and removed the external hard drive. It was shattered.

I was very much defeated and beaten, but overall ok after I got on my feet. The pain was caused from two cracked ribs. Other than that, I had no further damage from the incident.

I learned my lesson that day. Rutting reindeer cannot be trusted. They are the most dangerous animal I have ever worked with. They make a Jersey dairy bull seem like a young puppy.

I am glad I had the external hard drive in my pocket. The antlers would have easily punctured my lung and inflicted life threatening injuries.

If you ever see a male reindeer grunting, snorting and peeing on itself – STAY AWAY!

You have been warned.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: White Lightning

Reindeer rarely have difficulty giving birth. Fortunately, nature has provided this species with amazing vitality. Young calves stand within minutes of being born. Predation is the primary cause of death in newborn calves. To minimize this, cows synchronize their birthing. If all of the calves are born at the same time, fewer are killed by predators. Gestation length can vary as much as 45 days to accomplish this. Such synchrony is fascinating, but provides considerable challenges with domesticated herds. Occasionally, calves are born premature and lung development is not complete. Sadly, many of these calves die.

As a veterinarian, I perform a considerable number of artificial inseminations on reindeer each year. The calves produced by this procedure are especially valuable. Intense care is given to newborns to ensure the best chances of survival.

A few years back, a young male calf was born during the summer. He had a unique white marking on his nose. This calf was a charmer. We all instantly fell in love with him.

On examination, the calf showed considerable effort in his breathing. His lungs were not working as they should. Research has shown that these calves lack a chemical called Surfactant. Surfactant reduces the surface tension of fluid in the lungs and helps make the small air sacs in the lungs (alveoli) more stable. This keeps them from collapsing when an individual exhales. In preparation for breathing air, fetuses begin making surfactant while still in the the uterus. With some reindeer calves, this production is incomplete when they are born.

Treatment consists of replacement surfactant therapy. This is often not feasible in veterinary medicine because of the high cost of synthetic surfactant. When is is available, it must be administered within 6 hours of birth to be effective.

The second treatment is placing the calf in an incubator (very similar to ones used with human neonates) and administering oxygen. Some calves will improve with this treatment. We placed him inside the oxygen chamber and waited. Feeding was required every 2-3 hours. The first few hours were touch and go, but little by little, improvement was noted. His tiny lungs slowly began to function properly.

Fortunately, such was the case with this beautiful calf. We named him White Lightning, reflecting the distinctive white stripe on his nose.

Miraculously, on this hot summer day, a life was saved. As you can see in the photos, we were all happy to pose with the calf, with the exception of my youngest son, KW. He fortunately has overcome his fear of reindeer. 🙂

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM