RIP Alvin
For those of you who don't already know (and I'm guessing it's most of you) earlier today we had to put one of our dogs of 6 years down. Why, you might ask? Well, here's the story.
Saturday night, sometime around 11:50PM, I heard a huge thumping noise coming from upstairs. I didn't think much of it at the time, but it was loud enough to wake up my mother. Panicked, she yelled to me from upstairs that she thought Alvin had just had a seizure. While technically speaking Alvin isn't my dog, I'm worried and I rush up to help her.
At this point, he is under the bed. What woke her up was him thrashing around beneath it. One of his legs is caught in the wiring under the box spring, and the only indication that he is, in fact, alive is that we can see his side rising and falling. We call to him and he doesn't respond. Eventually, one of us had to crawl over, unhook his leg, and then we had to tear up both the mattress and the box spring to get to him.
At this point, he has lifted his head up, but he's making no indication that he recognizes either of us and doesn't seem fully aware. It's around 12:30AM before he manages to get to his paws, and he's barely walking. After calling the Urgent Care Facility in our area, they told us in no short words that, while having a seizure is terrifying, we didn't need to bring him in unless he had another one.
I want to bring him in that night, but I'm vetoed by my mother and brother. At this point, I am terrified because he is part Beagle and part German Shorthaired Pointer - breeds that are prone to epilepsy. I try to convince them that taking him to Urgent Care is in his best interests, but I had no success.
Fast forward to Sunday. I'm woken about around 10:30AM by my cellphone ringing next to my ear. I consider letting it go to voicemail, as it's fairly early in the morning for me and the activities of the previous night have exhausted me. In the end, I pick up the phone.
It's my mother, from downstairs. Alvin has just had another seizure, and she needs my help to take him to Urgent Care. At this point, I'm terrified. I run down the stairs, get dressed, grab my things, and manage to help her get Alvin into the car. She calls Urgent Care to let them know we're coming in, and it's about a 20 minute drive before we're there. Once we're inside, we're ushered to an Exam Room where we're asked a series of questions.
Describing his seizure, has he eaten anything strange, etc. About 20 minutes later, the on duty vet comes in. We talk a while about Alvin's history while he looks him over. No physical trauma, no serious disease (excluding Kennel Cough from when he was a puppy), and no past seizures that we know of. He decides to do some bloodwork to make sure all of Alvin's levels are normal. Ten minutes later, they come back, completely normal.
It's at this point that he tosses out epilepsy as a major possibility. He tells us flat out that the prognosis isn't good. Alvin is going to have to be on Phenobarbital for the rest of his life. A drug that he will eventually get addicted to, and a drug that he will eventually become immune to. He tells us the immunity could happen at any time, it could be 5 weeks or 5 years. We have no way of knowing. In addition to this, due to him being mostly Boxer, there is a high chance that his seizures will eventually be further complicated by tumors.
So he gives us a small prescription for the medication and tells us to double the dose for the first two days to even him out as quickly as possible. We're supposed to see our regular vet by Monday.
At this point, I tell mom it would be best for us to put Alvin down. I have seen this play out before through a kitten I owned when I was 9. I know, instinctively, that the ending will not be pretty. The drugs are expensive, and we're barely scraping by. They'll stop working eventually, and then he'll be in severe pain and have to go through withdrawal, which will only make his condition worse.
She says she'll talk to the regular vet and we'll see.
By Tuesday, we've seen what effect the drugs have on him. He's lethargic, his hind legs aren't working properly, and he stumbles and staggers horribly. By this point, I have told my mother that I want no part in prolonging Alvin's life. It goes against everything I believe in, and isn't what I think is in his best interests. (I believe my specific words were "Do not use my check to pay for his medication, do not ask me to give him his medication, and do not ask me to watch him while you and my brother are out. I want no part of this.")
That night, we make the decision that he should be put down. He is no longer the same dog, and he never will be. He only seems lucid half the time, and the way he's staggering even on his reduced dose. The appointment is made for Thursday at 3:15PM, and we don't give him the Phenobarbital on Wednesday so he can spend his final day as lucid as possible. At this point, it's obvious we'd made the right decision. Even off his medication, he isn't entirely lucid, and he's staggering worse than ever. Before I got to bed that night, I give him as much love as I can, because I know that he'll be gone by the time I wake up. (I'm a fairly late sleeper, and at this point it's normal for me to sleep until 4pm or 5pm. Of course, part of this is because I'm up at odd hours of the night.)
When I got up today, he's gone. I text my friend to let her know what happened, and she comes over to take my mind off of things. It helped, but I think this is what I might really need.
A final memorial for Alvin, even if it's in the form of a goofy journal entry.
So here's to you, Alvin. You will always be in our hearts.