I feel a connection to Jana Rade and her dog, Jasmine, although we’ve yet formally meet. Dogs often bring people together, and that is certainly the case for me: The majority of my friends and connections (both online and off) are “dog people.”
A fan of Jana’s Facebook group and her blog, I also find that our dogs have something in common:
Until they found the right veterinarian, things were really screwed up.
This is a story of two “tails:”
- Find the right veterinarian and never give up until you do;
- Always trust your instincts – your dog relies on them;
This is my calling, working for and with dogs, and doing something to make a difference.
Pet bloggers/writers have the power to make a difference, but the same holds true for pet parents in general.
If we know more, we can do more and do better at that.
It took me about a month to muster up the courage to write this piece. It has been ages since something caused such a mental roadblock in me, but here I sit, tears streaming but attempting to impart my experience to save another.
On May 22, 1998, my Cocker Spaniel, Brandy Noel, jumped from the bed to chase a tennis ball and upon landing, developed an extreme hobbling.
I did what any diligent pet parent would do: Called the emergency veterinary clinic in the area, alerted them we were coming, and drove my wailing dog to the clinic in the wee hours of the morning.
Emergency rooms for both people and pets are much akin to a like from Forrest Gump, “you never know what you’re gonna’ get.”
After an examination, series of x-rays and probable diagnosis of a torn anterior cruciate ligament, my dog was given an injection of a “pain medicine,” a take-home prescription, and orders to have our regular veterinarian check her for further care.
We brought her home and the madness ensued.
She developed rapid breathing, had an insatiable thirst, and was very fidgety. I stayed awake all night, soothing my little girl to the best of my ability. In my gut, I knew something was not right.
Two hours later, I called the emergency clinic and found out she was administered a steroid for any inflammation, which I was told causes these side effects.
The side effects did not subside. I saw our regular vet locally, and he was perplexed but attributed the symptoms to steroids. He told me “not to worry” about the leg until the side effects subsided. Like any good pet parent, I did what the vet told me, but that gut “twinge” would not go away.
Cutting to the chase: We took Brandy to a university animal hospital out of the area where indeed the leg was of concern, but secondary to the symptoms that would not subside close to a week later.
Only after repeated phone calls to the original emergency clinic did I find out the veterinarian on call had never worked there before, worked in aviary medicine, and he injected Brandy with a steroid dosage suitable for a dog 4 times her weight! The university told me I had a very sick girl on my hands.
After IV treatment, two nights of intensive monitoring and watching her closely at the university, the symptoms began to digress. I was never so grateful in my entire life to see that little nubbie wagging when she saw me. The leg injury ended up being a patellar luxation and surgery was required since it was so severe. I slept on a mattress in the living room for 6 weeks while my dog recovered and to prevent her from jumping from the bed again. I look back and it seems like a lifetime ago. Some wounds run deep.
In the months that followed, I pursued what had happened.
Dogs are property, I learned—the same as if someone damaged my kitchen table, someone had “damaged” my dog.
I asked the clinic to take responsibility for their actions—they declined.
So I did what any diligent dog mom would do: I got a pro bono dog-loving lawyer to take the case and sue for damaged property. They would not admit they gave her too much medicine and almost killed her.
The case was taken to magistrate’s court, and I received $1,000 towards the damages to my “property.” Brandy received some vindication.
Most regrettably, I was informed, in court, by the clinic manager that if I were a good pet owner, my dog would not have been at the clinic after midnight!?!
Boiling mad would be an understatement. Coupled with his ignorance and my proof, the case was closed.
I just wanted this clinic and the veterinarian who nearly killed her to know it is unacceptable to lie about the dosage of any medications administered.
The dosage was written on the records, yet was denied by the veterinarian on call.
Had I not requested records of the dosage dispensed, I may have never known.
Fast Forward: I lost Brandy to complications of irritable bowel syndrome on October 11, 2008, a week before her 15th birthday. With her, she took a huge piece of my heart. We have since found a new veterinarian who is located close to two hours from my home, but whom we adore. We have an emergency clinic in the area but I hesitate to use it unless life and death depends upon it.
Like any good dog mom, I would do whatever it takes for my dog.
The moral of my story is two-fold: Always go with your gut and always ask questions. Your dog’s life may depend on it.
***
As guest speaker at conferences and seminars about dog products and travel, she also has a passion for growing social media and helped one client land the “best dog blog” honor. A repeat nominee from the Dog Writers Association of America and writer for Dogster, she also works with BlogPaws pet blogger social media community and conferences and is founder of her own canine-centric magazine-style dog blog, Fidose of Reality.
Related articles:
A Word On Second Opinions
Our Own Emergency Vet Horror (Part I)
Our Own Emergency Vet Horror (Part II)
Really Angry Vet: Winston's First Seizure
Bulging Disc and The Importance Of A Second Opinion
Misdiagnosis: Spinal Cord Injury
Suki Doesn't Have A Tumor And She Doesn't Have Cushing's: Suki's Story
Trust Your Gut! The Story Of Blind Maximus
Puppies Pee, Huh? Koda's Story
0 comments:
Post a Comment