Sep 13 - lost my buddy

Breakfast at The Farmhouse and our ensuing Randonneurs Ontario Annual General Meeting (always referred to as the AGM) went well; both of Stef's restaurant recommendations were outstanding ! 

When I got to Stef's, my pocket buzzed.  It was Sandy calling me urgently.  Abby had had another seizure during the night, was acting very strange, and she wanted me home asap. 

About one week into our trip, Abby had two seizures in one day.  They were "Grand Mal" seizures, the kind that people and animals get from epilepsy.  We hoped against hope that this was one more, and final, residual from that dratted anti-inflammatory medicine with all the side effects.  We didn't hear anything more until we returned, when we learned that she'd had one more at Sheryl's two weeks later.  We still hoped for epilepsy, controllable with anti-seizure medication.

I headed north.  Sandy called to say that Abby was having another seizure and she was going to call Art to get some help getting Abby up to the car and would meet me in Parry Sound.  Then I heard back from her again, she'd tried everyone on the lake, even Ernie, who wouldn't be able to help himself but might know someone, and there was no answer anywhere.  It was Sunday and a number of those she called might have been at church.

My ETA was looking like 2:30, still two hours off.  Sandy called back again, huffing, that she'd gotten Abby up to the car -- I have no idea how she managed to carry her -- and was headed to Parry Sound.

I got there a little before her, filled up at the Canadian Tire gas pumps and waited for her at the vet's.   She arrived 10 minutes later and immediately went inside.  I opened the back door to see how Abby was doing.  She was awake and alert, head up; I sat with her.  Sandy said that the vet was dealing with another emergency and as long as Abby was quiet, we could wait.  Yes.  I was content to sit with Abby. 

Sitting there with her, she started another seizure.  It's hard to describe but it went on for quite a while with whole body going, then tongue hanging out, a keening sound coming from her, not conscious per se, in the grip of whatever was happening in her brain.  A few minutes later the vet came out and gave her an intravenous injection of valium, which is what they use to calm a seizure down.  It helped, but was taking a long time to take hold. 

The other emergency now dealt with, I carried Abby inside, mostly limp but still trembling.   Her body was calmer once laid on the examination room floor, the cool floor probably helping. 

The vet came in and we talked.  This was way too quick to be epilepsy, had to be a tumour.  Benign or cancerous, it really didn't matter.  Our only option would be to take her to Mississauga for them to diagnose; minimum 3k, likely closer to 10k.  Blood work, x-rays, ultrasound, MRI, they'd find whatever was going on.  Then what ?  Surgery ?  Huge expense and poor prognosis.  Medicine ?  Also poor prognosis at her age and the seizures were doing brain damage.

Basically we were left with no choice, but I wasn't ready to make that decision.  Sandy was; she'd been with Abby the past 24 hours through the one seizure in the middle of the night, an ensuing 12 hours with Abby completely agitated, wandering all over, inside, outside, not recovering, likely in pain.  We sat with her for a little while, the vet out of the room.  We sat with her but she was out cold.  Once out from under the valium, what would we find ?  Would this seizure even be over ? 

We couldn't put her through more of this.  Not a brief seizure and then on with life, this pair of episodes had gone on for at least 4 hours and who knows when it would end, would she have brain damage anyway ?  The vet had checked her pupils for response and got none; figured that she might have gone blind ... I doubted that, but who knows.  I guess that there should be pupil response from the brain even if in a deeply medicated state.

I went out and talked to the vet.  We were ready.   She gave her the needle.  Abby was gone.  We left as we came, in separate cars, hearts very heavy.

Abby was the first one with me in the morning.  We ate breakfast together.  She joined me in the den.  She followed me outside.  We sat by the fire together when it was cold.  My yard buddy, my fishing buddy, barking at the birds, barking at the beavers, chasing minnows; other than when I was on my bicycle, she was with me.  We snacked together at 5pm; she spent time at the supper table with us after we were finished eating; she came to the den or downstairs with me to watch TV.  When we were building the cottage, she plowed her way over to the site through the snow in the early morning; as much a part of the construction -- one of the guys -- as anyone else. 

Up until the last 24 hours, she'd been a happy dog.  Clearly though, the issues with her back end, on and off her food, were being driven by whatever was growing in her brain.  She'd had a tough couple of weeks with the anti-inflammatory medicine before we went to Europe; a tried but failed attempt to get at the root of what was going on.  Other than the seizure episodes, she'd had a good time at Sheryl's, her coat coming back nicely, putting on weight, eating popcorn with Jim in the evenings. She was so happy to see us once we wre back, happy to get in the car and drive north with us; happy to be home here, happy to go for a boat ride with me ... and then no more.   

My big lap dog is gone.  Man's best friend is so cliche, but so true.  All our friends knew her and she knew them all.  Even at almost 12 years old she was always so excited when anyone showed up at the door. 

Onward, with a heavy heart.