The emergency phone rang at 4:35am and I woke up with the racing heart that it always seems to cause when I’m deep asleep. The young woman spoke through tears, deep breaths, and sniffles to tell me that her pot-bellied pig was having difficulty breathing. She was panicking. She is a regular client of another doctor in our emergency rotation, so I agreed to make the drive out to her, 45 minutes from the office.
I arrived to a cute home in a small neighborhood to be greeted by a kind lady I would learn is the mother of the lady who called. There were unicorns, rainbows, and lots and lots of pig decorations around the home. I pulled up a few medications that I thought I would need and went inside. I found the pig and her owner lying in the living room floor. The pig was on her side, wrapped in a blanket, and I could hear her struggling to breathe from the foyer. “Please, help her!”, the owner asked.
I knelt down beside the pig, rocked her up to her chest so that I could listed to both sides of her chest. She was approximately 150 pounds, but rather round and easy to roll. She didn’t resist or even acknowledge me – a very concerning behavior for the typical, grouchy house pig. Her upper airway was severely restricted and her lung sounds were completely overtaken by wheezing and rattling fluid in her inflamed airways.
I offered her some albuterol to dilate her bronchi, a small dose of atropine to reduce some of the bronchial secretions, some saline in her nostrils to loosen up any thick debris, a dose of steroids for swelling, and started broad spectrum antibiotics. Her breathing started to sound less labored, but her state of consciousness remained unchanged. I sat with her for 15 minutes monitoring for any change, but her vitals continued to diminish. I announced to the owners that I was afraid that she had gone too long without sufficient oxygen and her lungs simply are not able to function. Her chance of survival was very poor and I suggested we consider euthanasia to prevent her from needless suffering. “No, no, no. This pig cannot die. She needs this pig”, the mother said. “She has MS, and this pig keeps her going.”
I could hear the daughter on the front porch pleading with God aloud through tears to the neighborhood at 6am. I made it clear to the mother that there was nothing further to be done, and that the pig was near death. She walked out to the porch and shared the news. “No!!! Why?! God, why?.” They both came back inside. I remained knelt by the pig, my stethoscope on her chest, listening to her heart now fibrillating as she took her final breath. I looked up, removed my stethoscope, and said, “I’m so terribly sorry. She’s has passed.”
The sadness that occurred next was gut wrenching to witness. She stormed down the hall, yelling that she wanted to die, that the pig was all she lives for. Her mother chased behind her, pleading with her to remain calm. At some point, they returned with a debit card and I told them I would be right back. I stepped out to the truck to run the card and take a deep breath.
When I came back inside, I could hear more of the same lamenting from a back bedroom. I returned the card to the back of the chair where her wallet was laying. I inched down the hall to the doorway of the bedroom where the young lady laid in a fetal position on the bed.
“I am so very sorry for your loss. I can tell how important she was to you. I think you have a very special gift with pigs. Pigs are often misunderstood and end up in a rescue setting. I take care of a large pig rescue and I would love to connect you with them. Perhaps you could share your gift with another pig, maybe even adopt one if you feel up to it. I just think it would be shame for your talent to go to waste.”
She thanked me for the visit and for speaking with her. I left, 6:30am. I got back in the truck to drive back, mentally chewing on all that had just transpired. I got only a small glimpse of this lady’s personal struggle in a time of crisis. I know there must be so many layers to her response that are above my medical training and knowledge of psychiatry. You just can’t help but want to help and understand. It is just my nature to want people to feel safe, stable, and be able to appreciate the joy that life can bring. All I could do in the moment was pause and give her the space to have whatever emotional response she needed, without judgement. It was admittedly shocking to me, having shared similar news with countless other clients. Seeing her mother’s response and how she handled her daughter gave me some insight that this was a mother who has helped her daughter through some very dark times. Her mother seemed accustomed to these sorts of responses. While that gave me some comfort that the young lady likely wasn’t going to cause harm to herself, it also just made me sad that it seemed normal for her mom. “It’s just a pig”, some might say. I’d be lying if it didn’t cross my mind for a split second. But, no. Not true in this case. This was a companion who was tightly wound into her caretaker’s daily routine. This pig was a creature who did not pass judgement on this lady, and was happy to spend time with her owner, and give and receive affection. There have probably been a number of people of who have become exhausted by this lady, judged her, isolated her, belittled her. There are so many people battling mental illness that bond to animals, and it makes total sense.
I hope that I didn’t make her feel embarrassed. I hope that I validated her feelings. I hope that I said enough and remained quiet enough. I hope that I left her with some hope for better days ahead.
I was lucky enough to find some fuel on the way home during this shortage. While it was pumping, I sent a message over to the pig rescue to put in a good word for this young lady should she try to adopt. I hope I’ll hear an update somewhere down the road. The pig was the easy part this morning. This lady’s health is certainly not my responsibility, but my heart does want the best for her.
Take care of one another today.
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