My River

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“Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time?” That the river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past nor the shadow of the future.” ― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

On Friday, March 13th, 2020, the senior doctors, hospital manager and I gathered in my office preparing for what I anticipated would be a massive decline in business and an onslaught of lay-offs. We made plans to conserve oxygen and supplies and figure out how to survive. Like everyone else in the world, we were terrified. Everything I had worked for and built was hanging in the balance. While losing the business was frightening, my greatest fear was losing a loved one. Veterinarians had a particular insight to Covid-19. For decades, we dealt with coronavirus in cats as a high morbidity and mortality disease and we watched in horror as the world shut down to a variant of a virus that we knew so well. In hopes to protect ourselves, our families and the business, we masked up and opened the clinic to curbside appointments only. A few weeks later, this was the general recommendation of the American Veterinary Medical Association. We cut down to minimal staff, separated in different rooms of the hospital, and were assigned one technician to minimize exposure. For the next year, we worked in almost complete isolation. 

What happened during Covid was a phenomenon in veterinary medicine that no one could have predicted. We had a few weeks that were quieter than usual and then came the business boom. Our hospital became busier than it ever had been. An unexplained dramatic rise in emergencies put pressure on us to get these patients seen and cared for while keeping our staff safe and isolated. It is no wonder that during these times, business catapulted to an unsustainable level of overwork. Fear was palpable in most households and that fear magnified with the pets.

We moved about the hospital sharing tools and locations as little as possible. My staff who thrived on personal interaction was suffering deeply while the demands became increasingly intense to save the patients’ lives. There was little room for error. Loss and death hung in the air suffocating us. And all the while we thought about our counterparts in the human world. How could they possibly hold up during this time? Each morning I sent out a silent thank you to those frontline workers in the trenches with Covid. 

My staff was exhausted as the days turned into weeks into months. While Americans worked so hard to unite in the initial months of Covid, the political climate became intensely hostile and that small crevice between us became a canyon that could not be crossed. Every single American felt it, lived it, breathed it. The loving, peaceful environment that I had worked so hard to create became a battlefield of political beliefs. While clients were typically full of respect, the recent social climate degradation, frustration and anger shifted our interactions. I will never forget a client that had been loyal to us for years before, stood in our courtyard screaming in anger over our “no mask, no service” policy. In my courtyard built from love and compassion, he stomped his feet and yelled profanities like a small child not able to get his way. In this moment, I stood by the door watching him and knowing this marked a stark shift in the energy of the world, in my country, in my town, in my little corner of the world. 

I fired more clients in a month than I had fired in my entire sixteen prior years combined. It was alarming at how fast things had changed. Slowly we emerged from the isolation, we put the hospital back together and we once again were practicing medicine together. But nothing would ever be the same for any of us and I suspect nothing would ever be the same for every single person in the world that dealt so intensely with Covid. It exhausted us in a way that left us ill, depleted and anxious. I had no reserves to deal with this. I used it up to keep the business afloat and financially it was thriving. But personally, I was not the same optimistic, motivated human that jumped out of bed in the morning ready to heal my patients. What had once been so easy and thrilling, had become arduous and draining.

In an attempt to draw attention away from my suffering, I did an incredibly stupid thing. There is really no other way to describe it. It did, luckily, turn out to be one of my better decisions, however it could have been an absolute disaster. I had dreamed of owning a horse ever since vet school even though I had never ridden or been around them for any great length of time. When life got stressful in the small animal ward from patients crashing or clinicians grilling us on physiology, I would sneak off to the barns and watch the horses. I stood right beside them and inhaled the smell of hay and leather. Sometimes they watched me back but mostly they would just slowly munch their hay paying no attention to me at all. There was something so calming about most of the horses. Of course there were also the terrifying stallions, but I tended to be attracted to the slow and easy horses that seemed to know a lot more than they were saying. A horse’s eyes are soulful and deep. I was enamored with their beauty and their spirit. 

So when my friend decided that she might buy a horse, I thought maybe a horse would help me return to my brighter mental state. One Saturday morning, she texted me that a horse auction was happening online out of Ocala, Florida. Now all horse people know, not me of course, that in order to buy a horse, it is most important to go see the horse, ride the horse, or at least talk to someone that can give you any information on the animal of interest. I have no idea what came over me that day but I found my little Haflinger at number 176. Previous to that day, I would not have known a Haflinger from a Holland Lop, but he looked really cute in the photo and I needed something to snap me out of it all. 

I carried my phone around all day waiting for number 176, a horse with no name and no history. Finally at my daughter’s soccer game, sitting on the sideline and holding my phone, number 176 was up. I braced myself to bid against anyone who wanted him. I had to have him. I entered my bid and instantly it was called out over the microphone. I was watching in real time as the bidding started. And within 5 minutes, I had a horse but no idea what to do with said horse. I had no trailer, no food and the auction gave me until the following day at noon to pick him up. Suddenly the reality of my impulsivity was staring at me in the face via a photo of a horse that I knew absolutely nothing about. 

My friends jumped right in and even drove a trailer to pick him up. I will never forget meeting him for the first time as he paced in the stall anxious to know where he was going next. He whinnied and it scared me. It was a loud noise and I didn’t know if he was angry, nervous or excited. He loaded on the trailer beautifully and for 2 hours I drove slowly behind the trailer and watched him. My daughter sat beside me. He stood perfectly still in the trailer with his blonde mane and tail blowing in the wind. 

As we drove back to his new home, we were presented with the task of giving him a name that was regal enough for him. Almost immediately, my daughter suggested River and I knew that was his name. A river flows gently like his long mane and tail. A river provides nourishment, transportation, cleansing and so much more. It was perfect for him. During the drive, I rested my hopes on his ability to nourish my soul. 

River jumped out of the trailer in his new home and dropped to his belly, rolled on his back and kicked his legs. He was delighted and I was overjoyed at his delight. Over the next few months, I became a horse mom. I was not used to being completely ignorant about an animal and I found myself in a new uncomfortable position. But even learning how to halter him, groom him and feed him, I could read his energy better than any other animal I had been around. He was very patient with me. I could sometimes feel him rolling his eyes at my ignorance. He tried to boss me a bit but we came to an agreement. Laid back with a splash of stubbornness, this horse quickly became my soul animal. We had made a powerful connection. 

I spent so much time in the pasture with River. Because I was a brand new rider, I worked more with him on the ground. He quickly learned to play soccer with a giant yoga ball and I taught him many tricks using a clicker. He ran alongside me in the field and followed me wherever I went. I could not help but smile in his presence. But all the while I felt like he knew that even he was not enough for what was happening to me. 

While River did nourish my soul, more importantly, he made me face my unhappiness instead of hiding from it. He would look me in the eye and hold my stare until finally I would say, “Ok, River, I get it.” It is no wonder that the horse is often used for therapy. They are massive, grounded on four legs and have a way of immediately connecting us to the earth. Grounding us at times when we need it the most. This is why our job as veterinarians is so critical. We are charged with caring for our spiritual animals and we understand what they mean to their guardians. 

I gave River a home, but he gave me far more. He gave me the strength to do what I needed to do for myself and my family. But I had to be present and listen to him and I had to be fearless and act on what I knew I needed to do. I would have so many talks with him while he just chewed his hay slowly and stared at me. I would argue why I could not do what I knew I needed to do and he would just chew and chew and stare until I gave in and let him win the argument. 

If we are so lucky to have a soul animal come into our lives, it is beautiful and can be a transformative time. I am remarkably inept at social media and feel vulnerable and uneasy with the publicness of my blogs. So I go to the River and I tell him and he chews and stares and chews and stares. Finally I say, “OK River, I will write what I know.” 

Find me on The Veterinary Compassion Fatigue Project Spotify Podcast, my website, Facebook and YouTube @TVCFP. Let’s keep talking about what we face in the veterinary and animal care world and ways that we can help each other. Reach out if you have a particular topic you would love to hear about. Subscribe to hear updates on our annual restoration retreat to be launched in Spring of 2025. As always, I hope you find what you are looking for and share it with anyone who needs it. 

With love and hope, 

Dr. Erin Holder