A Prolapse, Cutting the Cord and Bobby Brown

I experienced a first the other day.  Sadly, it was a bad first.  A cattle prolapse.  Don't know what that is?  A prolapse is defined as "an abnormal repositioning of a body part from its normal anatom­ical position."  In layman's terms, a body part falls out of the cow.  In this case, her uterus.  Sadly, it happens.  Thankfully, we haven't had one happen to any of our cows.  It was so sad.  The poor Mama had just given birth when the prolapse occurred.  Unfortunately, the kids are the ones who discovered her.  The Lees were here and all the kids were running wild at the barn.  Sam, Cannon and Cade ran into the chicken barn and seconds later, ran out yelling all sorts of nonsense. 

It went something like this, "A cow.  Oh, no!  Her head's been eaten off.  A coyote got her!  I'm serious, Lala!  Her head is just, just gone!"

Me, being the naive ranch hand I am, assumed that indeed the boys had discovered a cow that was now headless thanks to a run in with a coyote.

Joe, being the smart, experienced ranch hand, immediately said, "Show me where boys."  And as he turned to follow them, I heard him mumble, "I sure hope she hasn't prolapsed."    Sure enough after following them into the chicken barn and looking out one of the windows into the small lot across from the barn, we saw her.  I had heard of a prolapse, but had never seen one first hand.  Let's just say, it's something I could have gone my whole life without seeing.  

It was so sad and my child-bearing self, ached for that poor first time Mama.  It was clear to see why the boys thought she had been beheaded by a coyote.  She was laying with her head down, her bottom towards us.  And in all honesty, her back did look like her front had been beheaded.  Her insides were laying in a heaping mess underneath her and when the poor girl tried to walk, it drug along the ground.  I watched her twitch and kick at the mangled mess hanging from her and I winced when Joe explained to me that she was still contracting and didn't understand what was happening.  She was trying to deliver what was hanging from her body.  At first we thought she hadn't calved yet, but soon we saw the large black calf, brand new, still wet and trembling, laying nearby.  I took a picture but I'll spare you the sight.  It was bad.  Really bad.

Jody got home minutes later and moved the calf to a stall of the barn.  The bull calf was very big, which is likely the cause of the rupture.  Everyone was anxious to give him a quick rub.

Joe called the vet and we all headed home.  There was nothing to be done until the vet came to stitch her up.  This involves cleaning the uterus really well to prevent infection and pushing it back inside her before stitching her up. Her calf bearing days would be over and the goal was only to help her survive, hoping she'd be able to raise her first calf, the only one she'd ever have.


Jody headed back down to meet the vet after dinner and said he'd be home shortly.  Two hours passed before he stepped inside my house like this.

I documented all this nastiness for two reasons:

1.  To show off my mad stain removing skills.  After initially vowing to throw his blood stained clothes straight into the burn barrel, I made it my mission to get make his shirt and jeans spotless.  Spotless and sanitized.  I applied an insane amount of stain remover ran the sanitize option on the machine twice.   Four hours later, the clothes emerged squeaky clean and germ free.  Stain removal is my thing.

2.  Most importantly, I took these pictures for proof.  Proof that my husband did, indeed, hold a cow's very large uterus for an hour and a half while the vet tried to sew her up.  Not only did he hold the bloody uterus, he caught it the two times it fell back out of her body during the procedure.  He left their incident covered in blood and matter, sweaty and shaking from sheer exhaustion.  He stood in the kitchen barely able to stand and didn't walk right for two days.  Why does this matter?  Because this is the same man who couldn't cut the cord of any of our three boys in the delivery room because he thought it was gross.  His stomach couldn't take it.  "He just couldn't do it,"  he told me.  And I believed him.  Especially after he nearly passed out during Sam's birth.  Yes, I was pushing with all my might, unsure of what to expect next (seeing as it was my first time) and the next thing I knew, all attention quickly diverted from me and I heard my doctor yelling, "Sit him down!  Sit him down!  Ok, put your head between your legs!  Just breath.  Keep your head down and breath!"  My doctor and nurse had to coach my husband out of passing out.  And when he was able to stand again, they kept his mind preoccupied by asking him all about birthing cows and pigs.  And he gladly began a nice, long discussion on all the ins and outs of birthing farm animals.   While I pushed.  And gave birth.  A part of me even felt sorry for him.  My big, masculine husband weak in the knees over childbirth.  It was even a little endearing.  Until he marched into the house covered in blood from holding a cow's over sized, bloody uterus with his bare hands.  He owes me. Big time.

Oh, I should tell you what Jody named the calf.  Bobby Brown.  Yes, after that Bobby Brown.  All the news coverage over Whitney's death (which I was glued to and so saddened by) was a little fresh in his mind, I guess.  "Too soon?" he asked. "Um, ya' think?" I answered.  Unfortunately, the Mama cow died the next morning and the calf is being bottle fed twice a day.  Will loves the little thing and talks about "Bobby Brown Cow" all the time so there's no changing his name.  I really hope Bobby Brown Cow is off the bottle and out of the barn stall before Sam's class visits in April for a field trip.  I have no desire to introduce him to his classmates and their parents.