TO THE HOSPITAL

LH occurs when cartilage on one side of the larynx cannot open. Often the paralyzed cartilage is sucked inward on inhalation, further obstructing the airway. In severe cases, the resulting rattle of breathing can be heard from across an arena. Because the horse cannot get enough oxygen, another sign of LH is poor performance---abnormal fatigue when exercised, resistance to flexion and reluctance to work.

Warren recommended a resting endoscopy to look at Cory’s larynx. For the procedure, a long tube capped with a light and camera is threaded up the horse’s nasal passage. The camera transmits images to a computer screen, where you can watch the larynx open and close as the horse breathes. The test continues while the horse is standing quietly, after he swallows and while one nostril is covered.

The resting endoscopy showed that the left side of Cory’s larynx didn’t even flutter when he breathed; it just hung there blocking half his airway. LH is graded from 1 (normal breathing) to 4 (total paralysis), and Cory had Grade 4, which meant his breathing ability was reduced by 50 percent when he was standing still. We live at 6,500 feet elevation; there’s barely enough oxygen for any of us up here, even at full intake. No wonder the big fella was tired.

Further diagnostics would be needed, Warren said, but surgery to alleviate the blockage was the best bet. He phoned the nearest equine hospital that has a surgeon specializing in upper airway respiratory disorders: Colorado State University in Fort Collins. It’s about 450 miles away on narrow, twisting mountain roads.

I winced when Warren started talking price, assuming the cost would fall into the middle five digits and I would have to say no. Instead, he estimated $2,500 for a week’s hospital stay with 24-hour monitoring, a dynamic endoscopy and bronchial lavage, all anesthetics and medications, a full out prosthetic laryngoplasty (surgery on the larynx), and a ventriculocordectomy (removal of the vocal cord) by diode laser. The syllables alone should cost more than that!

A week later, Cory and I hit the road. Day One was slow, mostly two-lane roads, but passable with an Ivan Doig audiobook. Day Two was better until we hit Denver.

Now, I’ve done my share of freeway driving---nine years in Los Angeles--and I can handle a horse rig. But the eight lanes of I-25 narrowed as we delved into thick traffic, and a Then there were the construction detours, poorly marked interchanges and a posted speed limit that was a comedy. We were caught in a conglomeration of semis speeding at 85 Perhaps in solidarity with my horse, my larynx felt tight.

At last, we arrived at CSU’s James L. Voss Veterinary Teaching Hospital, a facility that treats all animals, from abyssinians to zonkeys. A gang of alpacas greeted Cory with the collective stinkeye as he unloaded. He blew in response but stepped into the equine breezeway with his dignity intact.

I met Eileen Hackett, DVM, PhD, who would be doing Cory’s surgery. An eventing rider who did her internship in Lexington, Kentucky--the heart of Thoroughbred country--Hackett told me she finds soft-tissue surgery “challenging and rewarding.

All signs pointed to laryngeal hemiplegia, a disorder commonly known as “roaring” because of its main sign–heavy, raspy breathing.