I see the Thestrals

For the uninitiated, Thestrals are the great, black, skeletal flying horses, invisible to those who have not seen and understood death. The thestrals pull the school carriages at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the masterful Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. Sadly, death visited the farm Sunday night in a very close and personal way that could not help but bring instant understanding.

Honey went into the final stage of labor at about 8:30pm. William and I were there with her, watching the progress carefully. This was her first child and she was a bit jittery so we just stayed out of her way and observed, ready to help when necessary. She didn't want to stay laying down to deliver, but after getting up two or three times, finally went down and pushed the baby out well within the normal time parameter. I was kneeling behind her and as soon as the foal's knees were visible I opened the sac around it's nose.

I was excited to see the pure white nose that signified the birth of a double creme dilute. That excitement was quickly replaced by the sickening knowledge that something was terribly wrong. The foal was completely limp and inert when I attempted to roll it onto it's chest. I urgently asked William to look up the section in our manual about emergency resuscitation of the foal. I squeezed down the foal's muzzle to clear it of any liquid and held it upside down to encourage drainage from the lungs. William read the instructions and I straightened out the foal's neck, pulled it's tongue out the side of it's mouth, clamped my hand over it's mouth with my thumb over one nostril. I puffed baby breaths into the exposed nostril.

At this angle, I had a clear view down the foal's neck, across it's shoulder, to it's ribs. I could see it's tiny heart beating. I could see it's chest rising with my puffs of air. I could also see it's soft, trusting, bright blue eye gazing into mine. It is that sweet, calm, trusting eye that I cannot forget.

I paused a few seconds every 5th puff or so, hoping desperately that the foal would gasp and begin breathing on it's own. My husband called the vet to see if there was anything else we could do. Load them up and haul them the hour drive to the vet clinic was his only other suggestion and if we did that A. the foal would likely die on the way and B. the clinic would probably have no better an outcome. He verified that we were doing everything correctly and stayed on the phone with my husband while I continued to work, and hope, and breathe and watch that little heartbeat, and gaze into that calm, blue eye. Until that calm blue trust turned to black and the tiny heart ceased to flutter.

I wonder what I didn't notice that I should have noticed while Honey was giving birth. I wonder what I could have done faster or better. I close my eyes and I see that calm blue gaze and I wonder how I could have better served that trust. I see Honey staring blankly at the other foals and I am so horribly sorry.

I see the thestrals.