Rough morning
He didn't even have a chance to get up on the wrong side of the bed.
Only moments after waking this morning and promptly stretching his front paws skyward, Big Dog -- my gentle, good-natured, generally gentlemanly, occasionally aloof 82-pound canine companion -- felt out of sorts. I could see it immediately in his eyes.
He was blind.
I knew what was coming. I have been here before. Too many times to mention.
A seizure was on its way in freight-train fashion.
Seconds later -- just enough time to grab him by his harness, get him into a safe position on the floor and get my arm under his neck to protect his head -- his body seized violently. His legs extended stiffly from his body, his claws outstretched. His mouth opened widely with his lips retracted sufficiently to reveal his sizable teeth. His eyes closed shut firmly.
Then it was on.
An uncontrollable full-body clench enveloped him. His paws moved violently, as if he was trying to escape hastily from the villain that had so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so mercilessly descended upon him. The tension within his body was immeasurable.
I hung on for the ride. I rubbed his left hip and spoke softly, encouragingly to him as my arm under his neck and head provided the slightest bit of comfort.
For about a minute Big Dog's entire being was well out of his control. The foam his mouth produced in that short time proved as much.
Then it was over. Done.
Big Dog, still on the floor, still in my arms, looked toward me. I could tell he was still blinded by the episode. Then, almost instantly, he recognized me. Still dazed, he precariously lifted himself from the floor and moved toward me. He shook his body and was back. He had regained control of his body and his vision returned.
He joyfully wagged his tail and wanted to play. I let him outside and he ran around the yard for a few moments. When I let him back inside, he grabbed a tennis ball to play. He had rebounded completely. Quickly.
It isn't always this way. I know this much. Today was only Big Dog's second seizure -- as far as I know. The first came on Oct. 24. He responded just as well after that one.
But one of the dogs with whom I previously shared my life -- Swoosh, perhaps the smartest dog that ever lived -- didn't respond so well from seizures. He had so many of them. Had them in clusters, in fact. Had to be hospitalized in intensive care at the University of Minnesota's Veterinary Hospital on multiple occasions as the result of his cluster seizures, which always elevated his body temperature to dangerous levels and sometimes caused lack of bladder and bowel control and prolonged periods of blindness. Spent the last couple years of his life on medication -- phenobarbitol -- to better control his seizures.
Swoosh died prematurely. He was about five years old when he succumbed to liver failure. His death blindsided me. There was no hint of liver damage prior to his final day of cluster seizures -- double-digit seizures within hours. Even the U of M's incredible veterinary staff couldn't save him, no matter how many blood transfusions they gave him.
His liver failure might have been the result simply of all of the seizures his organs endured. Just as likely, I think, it was the result of the phenobarbitol he was forced to take for the final year of his life to control his epilepsy. Initially, he was on the lowest dosage possible, administered twice a day. As the seizures persisted and became more frequent -- the time between his first and second seizures was three months; eventually he was experiencing cluster seizures every three week or less -- the dosages increased. Just prior to his death, I had switch him to another medication -- potassium bromide -- that was thought to be gentler to his liver. He didn't live long enough to find out.
That's what scares me so much about Big Dog's seizure today. It's not the seizure itself, but what it might portend. Four months passed between Big Dog's first two seizures. Will they, too, become more frequent, more severe, as they did with Swoosh? Will he also have to be administered drugs multiple times a day to control the seizures? If so, what toll will it take on his body?
Big Dog is only about six years old and is in otherwise perfect health. If these episodes are going to be part of his life, he couldn't have a better home. I'm plenty familiar with canine seizures, thanks to Swoosh. I'm no longer terrified by them. I know what to do, how to do it. I'll ensure he gets the best care possible.
I just hope he doesn't need it.
Only moments after waking this morning and promptly stretching his front paws skyward, Big Dog -- my gentle, good-natured, generally gentlemanly, occasionally aloof 82-pound canine companion -- felt out of sorts. I could see it immediately in his eyes.
He was blind.
I knew what was coming. I have been here before. Too many times to mention.
A seizure was on its way in freight-train fashion.
Seconds later -- just enough time to grab him by his harness, get him into a safe position on the floor and get my arm under his neck to protect his head -- his body seized violently. His legs extended stiffly from his body, his claws outstretched. His mouth opened widely with his lips retracted sufficiently to reveal his sizable teeth. His eyes closed shut firmly.
Then it was on.
An uncontrollable full-body clench enveloped him. His paws moved violently, as if he was trying to escape hastily from the villain that had so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so mercilessly descended upon him. The tension within his body was immeasurable.
I hung on for the ride. I rubbed his left hip and spoke softly, encouragingly to him as my arm under his neck and head provided the slightest bit of comfort.
For about a minute Big Dog's entire being was well out of his control. The foam his mouth produced in that short time proved as much.
Then it was over. Done.
Big Dog, still on the floor, still in my arms, looked toward me. I could tell he was still blinded by the episode. Then, almost instantly, he recognized me. Still dazed, he precariously lifted himself from the floor and moved toward me. He shook his body and was back. He had regained control of his body and his vision returned.
He joyfully wagged his tail and wanted to play. I let him outside and he ran around the yard for a few moments. When I let him back inside, he grabbed a tennis ball to play. He had rebounded completely. Quickly.
It isn't always this way. I know this much. Today was only Big Dog's second seizure -- as far as I know. The first came on Oct. 24. He responded just as well after that one.
But one of the dogs with whom I previously shared my life -- Swoosh, perhaps the smartest dog that ever lived -- didn't respond so well from seizures. He had so many of them. Had them in clusters, in fact. Had to be hospitalized in intensive care at the University of Minnesota's Veterinary Hospital on multiple occasions as the result of his cluster seizures, which always elevated his body temperature to dangerous levels and sometimes caused lack of bladder and bowel control and prolonged periods of blindness. Spent the last couple years of his life on medication -- phenobarbitol -- to better control his seizures.
Swoosh died prematurely. He was about five years old when he succumbed to liver failure. His death blindsided me. There was no hint of liver damage prior to his final day of cluster seizures -- double-digit seizures within hours. Even the U of M's incredible veterinary staff couldn't save him, no matter how many blood transfusions they gave him.
His liver failure might have been the result simply of all of the seizures his organs endured. Just as likely, I think, it was the result of the phenobarbitol he was forced to take for the final year of his life to control his epilepsy. Initially, he was on the lowest dosage possible, administered twice a day. As the seizures persisted and became more frequent -- the time between his first and second seizures was three months; eventually he was experiencing cluster seizures every three week or less -- the dosages increased. Just prior to his death, I had switch him to another medication -- potassium bromide -- that was thought to be gentler to his liver. He didn't live long enough to find out.
That's what scares me so much about Big Dog's seizure today. It's not the seizure itself, but what it might portend. Four months passed between Big Dog's first two seizures. Will they, too, become more frequent, more severe, as they did with Swoosh? Will he also have to be administered drugs multiple times a day to control the seizures? If so, what toll will it take on his body?
Big Dog is only about six years old and is in otherwise perfect health. If these episodes are going to be part of his life, he couldn't have a better home. I'm plenty familiar with canine seizures, thanks to Swoosh. I'm no longer terrified by them. I know what to do, how to do it. I'll ensure he gets the best care possible.
I just hope he doesn't need it.
posted by RTG at 9:53 AM
4 Comments:
What a sad story! 5 yrs old is far too young.
That is certainly a tough way to start your day. Thank goodness Big Dog is ok.
On a running note, sounds like you had a great run the other day!
I can't tell you what will happen with Big Dog, coincidence or divine intervention I don't know, but either way he is going to be well cared for.
Go online and look up a product called DynaLode and DynaTaurine.Using these two nutriceuticals in combination may completely control the seizures on Big Dog, and in any cas they will drastically reduce the severity. In addition he can be on them the rest of his life without any side-effects.
Hope Big Dog is feeling better, and that he has no more of these episodes.
And Swoosh - rest in peace. What a beauty.
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