“Geez!” I yelled nearly dropping my phone as I lay hidden under the covers on a Sunday morning. The shrill siren of “Ironside,” the fight scene background music from the Kill Bill movies, a favorite, started blaring on my phone, interrupting my oh-so-important Facebook trolling and Sugar Smash dominating. I looked at the number, forwarded from the clinic phone, and answered, “Hello, this is Dr. Stroupe,” as my husband started to stir next to me. This was our day off, so we were sleeping in, or my husband was, while I quietly hid the light from my phone under our large comforter until the emergency call came in. A local producer replied, “Hey Dr. Stroupe, sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a sow that’s farrowing and I need some oxytocin. Could I come up to the clinic and pick some up?” The sow was having some trouble. Oxytocin is a medication used to stimulate uterine contractions and helps with milk let-down. It is used in many species, but quite frequently with pigs. “Sure, I can be there in 20 minutes.” “Thanks, I’ll see you there.” It was 7:30 A.M., so it felt like an accomplishment to be able to stay in bed for so long, but my husband didn’t think so as he grumbled out of bed. “I’ll go in with you and then we’ll go for a run.” I have a great husband who is my running buddy and assistant on emergency calls, so we headed into town. I made it to the clinic just in time to grab some oxytocin off the shelf, make a drug label, throw in some syringes and a few different sized needles, as the producer pulled up in his truck for truck-side service. This is small-town America. We give great service to our hard working farmers. He said, “She already had two live piglets so I hope this will help.” “Give me a holler if you don’t see any improvement.” “Thanks,” and he drove away and we went on our way into town to start our run. It was a beautiful, crisp winter morning and the sun was shining. It felt great to shake off any remaining tiredness with a quick run in the cold air. As we ran our loop around town, dodging patches of ice that were melting on the road, and with only one mile to go in our run, the shrill siren started blaring again. The same producer was calling, “There’s a piglet stuck. Can you come out right now?” “I’ll be there as quick as I can,” and my husband and I picked up the pace, taking a shortcut back to my vet truck. I drove to the clinic to grab my insulated coveralls to go over my sweaty running clothes. As I was driving to the clinic, I called my most experienced technician, Omer, to make sure I knew where all of my pig dystocia (which literally means obstructive labor) tools were. I hadn't really visited that section of my vet truck...like ever. Howard County used to be speckled with small hog operations, but there aren't a lot of swine producers in our area anymore. The hog market bottomed out over a decade ago, and most of the farmers got rid of their pigs. This day and age, most swine producers are limited to large, confinement operations. Dr. Vroman and Dr. Taylor (the two older vets I've worked with) described a time when most of their work involved working with hogs, going out to farms and administering hog cholera vaccine. Dr. Vroman said he'd much rather take on a mean cow than a mean old sow. They're surprisingly fast for their size, and can knock you off your feet pretty easily. Their teeth are also quite sharp, and once they latch on, they don't want to let go. Naturally, my experience with hogs was limited. Once during my fourth year of veterinary school, I had actually delivered pigs. It was a pretty terrible situation. A potbelly pig came in to the veterinary school and had delivered one live healthy piglet the previous Monday...it was now Sunday. Obviously, at this point, the pig was horribly septic but somehow managed to walk herself into the clinic. Of all the students on the food animal rotation at that time, I had the tiniest hands, so I got the honor of delivering the rest of the piglets. My instructors told me to not even bother putting on gloves as they would take up too much room. They lubricated my hands and the sow thoroughly. I knew after several days of labor, the tissues would be quite fragile at this point. I very slowly and carefully slid my hand in, and I could feel the tissues give way. It wasn't a good feeling. I told my instructors what I felt, and they told me to do what I could and go ahead and deliver the piglets. I pulled out about five dead piglets, but by that point, it was clear that momma would not make it. She had been septic and fighting for far too long. I left the hospital later that night hoping I would never have a pig dystocia again. Hopefully this one would have a much better outcome. I found the tools I needed in the truck and headed out to the farm. As we pulled up to the barn, most of the other pigs were rooting around outside and basking in the sun, doing normal things that happy pigs do. I went into the barn, and the the sow was lying calmly in a farrowing stall. Luckily, this was not the picture of a mean old sow trying to bite me that I had in my head. The farmer, a healthy sized and pleasant man, was sitting on a bucket next to the stall. He said, “My hands aren’t small enough to help her.” Thankfully, this is my forte. She had two live piglets cuddled up under a heat lamp in some bedding. I placed my hands in my bucket of warm disinfectant water and instruments, lubed them up, and went right to work. There was a large piglet lodged in the pelvis. I tried to guide the piglet out just using my hands, but he was so large I wasn’t able to pull hard enough to get him out. I took my pig forceps out of the disinfectant, positioned them at the back of his head, and gently guided him out with the forceps and my hand. This would have been the largest pig in the bunch. Unfortunately, he was stillborn and attempts to resuscitate him were unsuccessful. I do perform mouth-to-mouth on newborn baby pigs and calves. Occasionally, but not often, you can bring them back to life with CPR. Yes, my husband knows where my mouth has been. The next piglet was just beyond my reach, so I gave momma a few minutes to strain and bring him closer to me. This guy was also large enough that I couldn’t bring him out just using my hands, so I manipulated the forceps to get them in the right position and guided the piglet out. This one was alive and kicking. We dried him off with a towel and placed him under the heat lamp. After a few minutes under the heat lamp, he went over to nurse. As my husband guided the new piglet to a teat and was trying to help the other two piglets back to teats, the producer said, “Careful now. She’s a Hampshire. That piglet squeals and you’re bound to lose a finger.” My husband chuckled, and made it back to the sow to help me with the next piglet. This piglet was about elbow deep, and I was able to guide her out with just my hands. This one was also unfortunately stillborn. The next piglet I could feel was alive and kicking from the inside. I exclaimed, “We got a live one!” The worry from my previous delivery experience was starting to fade. Because this little guy was so vigorous, he was actually a little harder to deliver. Every time I would get my hand in position, he would move or kick away from me. He even bit down on my finger with his little needle teeth. However, I pulled him out, dried him off, and he was kicking and squealing in no time. Throughout this whole process, we would take the placenta and throw it outside as we went. The dogs outside the barn were waiting expectantly for this little treat, and a black dog would even come to the door of the barn and look at us waiting for more. A couple of cats were also observing this process, but they preferred to stay on the warm bales of hay and couldn’t be bothered with the indignity of being thrown treats. Other pigs would occasionally peer in, root around, and grunt at us. I went in for the next piglet, and I could just barely brush his snout with the tips of my fingers. I decided to give momma a few more minutes to push him closer to me. During these “rest periods” I would have to get up, stand, and move my legs around. Kneeling on the ground for long periods of time in the cold right after running without stretching is a recipe for disaster. I went back in, and the piglet was just a touch closer but still hard to reach. Luckily, I was able to grasp her mandible (lower jaw) with my thumb and forefinger and pull her closer to me. As a veterinarian that has been practicing a few years, I have become quite adept at doing small movements, grasping, and manipulation in confined spaces during a dystocia. During my first year of practice, my forearms burned until I was able to build up the strength to easily make these manipulations, all while fighting straining from the animal, folds in the uterus, and slippery placenta. This piglet was also alive and kicking, but a runt. She was nearly half the size of her littermates. However, what she lacked in size, she made up for in spunk and vigor. She also stood up and nursed quicker than all of her other littermates. At this point, we had five live piglets and four stillborns. Not the greatest odds, but I was at least pleased to deliver some healthy babies. Time passed, and every time I checked her I didn’t feel another baby. I gave her some injectable calcium, as it often helps in these cases once the pig (and uterus) get worn out. After about 30 minutes and periodic checks, I told the producer, “I think that’s all there is to get.” “Yeah, I think that’s it.” “But watch her carefully. I’ve given her a few medications to help with energy and fight infection, but give me a call if she doesn’t act right.” It was a successful morning, and I was on my way. It was now almost 11 A.M., and I was getting quite hungry as I had left the house without breakfast or coffee. Despite being hungry and a little tired from caffeine withdrawal, a feeling of satisfaction was present. While I love working with companion animals (dogs and cats), you get a different sort of feeling after a farm call. Mixed animal practitioners develop a different kind of relationship with livestock producers, which is very different from the relationship with pet owners. With producers, you are often working side by side for sometimes a couple of hours (like in this case) as a team. You’re not only helping the producer with their animal, but you’re also helping them make money. While the livestock industry is certainly economically driven, you would be surprised at the number of producers that are quite attached to their animals. They truly care for their health and well-being (contrary to what PETA might tell you). This particular sow had a name and was basically a pet. This is why I love being a mixed animal practitioner so much. I have to get out of my comfort zone and do things I’ve never done before, case in point.
I went home, threw my soiled coveralls and clothes in the washer, took a hot shower, and enjoyed a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, fried potatoes, and bacon (oh, the irony). I love pigs. They’re adorable rooting around in dirt, and their piglets are incredibly cute. But let’s face it, they also taste amazing. Anyway, experiences like this help me gain confidence, so I realize that I can be thrown into a completely new situation and adapt and get a good outcome (not that I haven’t had my fair share of “Oh s#$%!” moments). The longer I’m in practice, the more I learn to take a deep breath, take things in stride, roll up my sleeves, and get to work.
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Jessica Stroupe, DVM
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August 2017
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