On August 12, 2008, we arrived home with Curly Joe. We introduced him to Tank in the street (neutral territory), but Tank was so excited to see me, he barely even looked at Curly Joe. As for the puppy, he loved Tank instantly. A split second was all it took for Curly Joe to consider Tank one of his best friends.
I wasn't really all that surprised. I had only known Curly Joe for a couple of hours before I realized how special he was. It's hard to pinpoint, but there's something about him that just sucks people in. His eyes? His ears? The way he immediately flops over on his back for belly rubs whenever someone approaches him? His penchant for sleeping in suitcases? Whatever it was, I saw it when we walked around Boulder with LaShea and Chad, and I saw it the entire drive back home to Oregon. He is impossibly cute. Sometimes you can't even stand to look at him, he's so cute.
But I digress. It took a couple of weeks, but Tank finally climbed up out of his depression and warmed up to Curly Joe. The cats are a different story. I think Curly thinks they're puppies because every time he sees one, he jumps on it.
One of the things I noticed early on was how much water Curly Joe drank and, inevitably, how much he urinated. I'd been planning on taking him to my regular vet anyway, to find out if he had any lingering issues from being poisoned. Now I was concerned there was something wrong with his kidneys. So on August 19th, I took him to my vet for blood work. On August 20th, the vet called told me that Curly Joe's kidney values were perfect, but his liver values were off. She said it could be one of three things:
On September 24th, I took Curly Joe to NWVS for his surgery. On September 25th, they operated on him. (They like you to bring your animal in the night before so they can get a catheter all set up.) About four or five hours after they started surgery, the doctor called to tell me that she had been unable to fix Curly Joe's shunt. It turned out to be intrahepatic (inside the liver), and she couldn't get to it without compromising him. There were no exit vessels to clamp off, and she cut up into his chest cavity a little to see if she could find a way through there. She was basically telling me there was nothing she could do. One of the two options I was given when Curly was diagnosed was surgery or managing the condition with diet and medicine. (l/d and lactulose.) Knowing Curly Joe would die without it, I chose surgery. I was devastated when the doctor told me there was nothing she could do. She then told me that she would look into other surgery options for Curly; there were other vets out there who had experience working with intrahepatic shunts, and she said she would keep researching. She also said that Curly Joe might need a blood transfusion.
An hour later, she called me again, this time to tell me that Curly Joe was still intubated and not waking up as fast as he should. I tried to keep myself from freaking out, but all I could think about was something my regular vet had told me a few days before Curly's surgery: a third of the dogs she'd seen go through this procedure never woke up.
They put him in an oxygen cage and covered him up with warming blankets because his temperature was low. He had lots of fluids going into him, too. They checked his pcv (packed cell volume) and it was low, so they consulted their critical care specialist who recommended giving him half a unit of blood, recheck in an hour and then give him the other half if needed. This was basically for supportive care. The doctor said she hadn't seen any evidence of seizures or clotting problems, but was a possibility.
At around 2:00 a.m. I got another call from the hospital. Curly Joe still wasn't doing well. His blood pressure was really high and his protein was low (which means he wouldn't be able to heal). The doctor asked for my permission to give him another blood transfusion (which I did) except this time it would be plasma. She said there was no guarantee that he would be better in the morning. He was responding to them, but not getting up on his own. They considered him a very guarded patient.
Six hours later, the doctor called again. She told me Curly Joe had developed hemothorax and was not improving. After some discussion, she said she didn't think that Curly Joe would recover from this. I asked her if she thought he was suffering and she told me that he was on two different pain meds and wasn't in pain. I told her I would call her back. My sister (who works from home as a transcriptionist) was working in her office. I went in to tell her what the doctor had told me and made the decision to euthanize him.
I called NWVS back and told them we would be coming in and then went to get ready. 20 minutes later, I called them back to check on Curly and make sure he was comfortable and able to hold on until we got there. I talked to the tech who assisted Curly's surgery and he told me that the doctor wanted to talk to me. My heart sank. My first thought was that Curly Joe had died before we could get there. Then the doctor got on the line and told me that she had consulted with another doctor at the hospital (one of the many great things about NWVS is that it's full of specialists). He examined Curly Joe and said that he didn't see a dog who was ready to die. He took radiographs (at no charge to me) to see just what was going on inside Curly's chest. They revealed that he did have blood in his chest, mostly on the left side where the doctor had made the incision to look for another way to get at the shunt. She said she would like my permission to do a chest tap and use the blood for an auto-transfusion. He would still have his shunt issue to deal with afterward, but she wanted to get him through this first. They wanted to give him a chance. She said he was interested in food and wagging his tail when people stopped to say hi to him. They didn't think it was time to give up yet.
At that bit of news, I told the doctor that they should do all they can for him, hung up, walked into the office and started sobbing. My sister immediately walked over, gave me a big hug and said, "See? This is good news!" I was so afraid to hope, but I stayed positive for Curly's sake.
There were a lot of people pulling for Curly Joe, most of whom had never even met him.
Next up: The power of positive thinking and a little dog who doesn't know the meaning of the word "quit."
But I digress. It took a couple of weeks, but Tank finally climbed up out of his depression and warmed up to Curly Joe. The cats are a different story. I think Curly thinks they're puppies because every time he sees one, he jumps on it.
One of the things I noticed early on was how much water Curly Joe drank and, inevitably, how much he urinated. I'd been planning on taking him to my regular vet anyway, to find out if he had any lingering issues from being poisoned. Now I was concerned there was something wrong with his kidneys. So on August 19th, I took him to my vet for blood work. On August 20th, the vet called told me that Curly Joe's kidney values were perfect, but his liver values were off. She said it could be one of three things:
- Hepatitis.
- A shunt problem.
- Leftover toxins from when he was poisoned.
On September 24th, I took Curly Joe to NWVS for his surgery. On September 25th, they operated on him. (They like you to bring your animal in the night before so they can get a catheter all set up.) About four or five hours after they started surgery, the doctor called to tell me that she had been unable to fix Curly Joe's shunt. It turned out to be intrahepatic (inside the liver), and she couldn't get to it without compromising him. There were no exit vessels to clamp off, and she cut up into his chest cavity a little to see if she could find a way through there. She was basically telling me there was nothing she could do. One of the two options I was given when Curly was diagnosed was surgery or managing the condition with diet and medicine. (l/d and lactulose.) Knowing Curly Joe would die without it, I chose surgery. I was devastated when the doctor told me there was nothing she could do. She then told me that she would look into other surgery options for Curly; there were other vets out there who had experience working with intrahepatic shunts, and she said she would keep researching. She also said that Curly Joe might need a blood transfusion.
An hour later, she called me again, this time to tell me that Curly Joe was still intubated and not waking up as fast as he should. I tried to keep myself from freaking out, but all I could think about was something my regular vet had told me a few days before Curly's surgery: a third of the dogs she'd seen go through this procedure never woke up.
They put him in an oxygen cage and covered him up with warming blankets because his temperature was low. He had lots of fluids going into him, too. They checked his pcv (packed cell volume) and it was low, so they consulted their critical care specialist who recommended giving him half a unit of blood, recheck in an hour and then give him the other half if needed. This was basically for supportive care. The doctor said she hadn't seen any evidence of seizures or clotting problems, but was a possibility.
At around 2:00 a.m. I got another call from the hospital. Curly Joe still wasn't doing well. His blood pressure was really high and his protein was low (which means he wouldn't be able to heal). The doctor asked for my permission to give him another blood transfusion (which I did) except this time it would be plasma. She said there was no guarantee that he would be better in the morning. He was responding to them, but not getting up on his own. They considered him a very guarded patient.
Six hours later, the doctor called again. She told me Curly Joe had developed hemothorax and was not improving. After some discussion, she said she didn't think that Curly Joe would recover from this. I asked her if she thought he was suffering and she told me that he was on two different pain meds and wasn't in pain. I told her I would call her back. My sister (who works from home as a transcriptionist) was working in her office. I went in to tell her what the doctor had told me and made the decision to euthanize him.
I called NWVS back and told them we would be coming in and then went to get ready. 20 minutes later, I called them back to check on Curly and make sure he was comfortable and able to hold on until we got there. I talked to the tech who assisted Curly's surgery and he told me that the doctor wanted to talk to me. My heart sank. My first thought was that Curly Joe had died before we could get there. Then the doctor got on the line and told me that she had consulted with another doctor at the hospital (one of the many great things about NWVS is that it's full of specialists). He examined Curly Joe and said that he didn't see a dog who was ready to die. He took radiographs (at no charge to me) to see just what was going on inside Curly's chest. They revealed that he did have blood in his chest, mostly on the left side where the doctor had made the incision to look for another way to get at the shunt. She said she would like my permission to do a chest tap and use the blood for an auto-transfusion. He would still have his shunt issue to deal with afterward, but she wanted to get him through this first. They wanted to give him a chance. She said he was interested in food and wagging his tail when people stopped to say hi to him. They didn't think it was time to give up yet.
At that bit of news, I told the doctor that they should do all they can for him, hung up, walked into the office and started sobbing. My sister immediately walked over, gave me a big hug and said, "See? This is good news!" I was so afraid to hope, but I stayed positive for Curly's sake.
There were a lot of people pulling for Curly Joe, most of whom had never even met him.
Next up: The power of positive thinking and a little dog who doesn't know the meaning of the word "quit."
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