06/05/2026
Before I say anything else, nothing Iām about to write would have saved Brioās life. I donāt regret a single dollar I spent trying to save him, and this isnāt about money. What it is about is how much suffering, heartbreak, and expense could have been avoided if we had understood sooner what was truly happening.
Maybe Iāve been spoiled by my regular veterinarian, whose last concern is ever money when discussing euthanasia or difficult decisions. But some of the interactions Iāve had with veterinarians over the last two weeks have left me shocked. The lack of compassion and willingness to listen was, at times, heartbreaking.
The second thing I want people to take away from this is simple: if you have even the slightest doubt that something isnāt right, get a second opinion. Get a third. Get a fourth. Advocate for your animal.
Brio was born premature at 322 days. Within an hour of his birth, I knew something was wrong. He was severely contracted, walking on the front of his legs, unable to stand and nurse properly, and his dam had retained her placenta. A veterinarian was brought out to examine him. He never laid a hand on the foal. He watched him from outside the stall and ultimately told me that we should āwait and seeā if he nursed by the end of the day, adding that if I really liked him and wanted him to live, I could take him somewhere else.
A newborn foal is not a wait-and-see situation. A premature foal is absolutely not a wait-and-see situation. And after spending months waiting for this baby to arrive and doing everything possible to help him, of course I wanted him to live.
We took Brio to another hospital.
The care provided to Grace was excellent, and I am grateful for that. However, on Brioās second day of hospitalization, I requested radiographs. I had done enough research to know that incomplete ossification and bone crushing are significant concerns in premature foals. I was told radiographs were not standard, not necessary, and would not be taken.
Brio spent six days hospitalized and was eventually discharged. Only then was I informed that he had been septic at birth. He went home without additional antibiotics and without ever having radiographs taken.
Would radiographs at two days old have saved his life? No.
Would they have prevented two weeks of suffering? Quite possibly.
Less than a week after discharge, I contacted the veterinarian again. Brio still had swelling in a fetlock and remained reluctant to bear weight on that leg. I had photos and videos. They were never reviewed. I was told everything was normal.
At that point, I began reaching out elsewhere. I contacted an orthopedic specialist, the team at Oklahoma State University, and my personal veterinarian. My veterinarian immediately stepped up. He spent an entire dayāduring clinic hours he didnāt have to sacrificeāspeaking with specialists, gathering information, and helping determine the best course of action.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with admitting a case is beyond your comfort level. In fact, I respect the veterinarians who do.
My regular veterinarian was honest from the beginning about what was outside his expertise. Thatās why Brio was sent elsewhere in the first placeāto a facility I believed had the knowledge and experience to give him the best possible chance.
Instead, every request I made was dismissed. I was made to feel foolish for asking questions and advocating for additional diagnostics. Repeatedly, I was told he simply needed rest.
Would any of those things have changed the final outcome? No.
Would they have spared Brio two weeks of suffering, spared me two weeks of hope followed by heartbreak, and saved thousands of dollars in treatment that was never going to succeed? Yes.
Through my veterinarian, I was connected with the team at Oklahoma State University. Their kindness was extraordinary. An internist personally gave me his cell phone number and offered to review radiographs, bloodwork, and answer questions at any hour. That level of compassion meant more than I can adequately express.
I eventually took Brio to another local clinic that assured me they could treat him. Again, I explained that I wanted radiographs because if he had crushed bones, no amount of treating the septic joint would save him.
Again, I was told they werenāt necessary.
Thankfully, while evaluating a small bandage wound, they decided to take radiographs. Since the machine was already out, they captured a few additional images of his legs.
Those radiographs changed everything.
Brio had crushed bones in his hocks. Crushed bones in his knees. Crushed sesamoids. His bones had simply not developed enough to support him. He was at risk of catastrophic fracture at any moment. He wasnāt going to survive.
Had those radiographs not been taken, we likely would have continued aggressive treatment for the septic joint, spending thousands more dollars while unknowingly prolonging the inevitable.
Would earlier radiographs have saved Brioās life?
No.
But they would have told us the truth sooner.
They would have prevented suffering.
And they would have allowed us to make informed decisions from the very beginning.
The veterinarians who ultimately diagnosed him were kind. They gave me all the time I needed to say goodbye. For that, I am grateful.
But I will never forget that after requiring a deposit, taking payment information before we could even enter the clinic, and moments after I said I was ready to let my foal go, the first question asked was whether I could pay for the euthanasia immediately.
Maybe thatās standard procedure.
Maybe it shouldnāt have been the first thing said.
I share this not because Iām angry about money. Iād spend every penny again for Brio.
I share it because owners deserve to be heard. They deserve answers. They deserve veterinarians who are willing to listen when something doesnāt feel right.
And most importantly, because if your gut tells you something is wrong, keep asking questions until someone listens.
š RIP A Lil Bita Grace aka Brio š
