Walter had a seizure

First of all, he’s fine now (whew!), and has an appointment at the vet on Monday for follow-up, but 5-year-old Walter had us deeply scared Friday morning.

Our home is very “medical” because of D’s issues, so I want to explain the scene: D was on his oxygen concentrator, receiving oxygen via nasal cannula, sitting on the couch playing on his iPad. His wonderful personal care attendant (PCA), E, was here working with D while I frantically panic-write more of my next book - er, while I carefully and emotionally pour my heart and soul into my current work in progress…

E and I both noticed Walter “scratching” at the top of the steps. We have a home where you go up 6 steps, then there’s a landing to French doors to a family room. Walter hangs out on that landing a lot. It’s one of his favorite spaces.

Photo of said favorite spot from a viewpoint above it. We have no idea why he likes this. He has a dog bed elsewhere and a 3-seater couch he’s colonized and of which he’s declared himself emperor.

He also scratches on the glass of the French door to get into that side of the house, so we all know that sound, and we all get up and go open the door for him.

But this scratching E heard - I heard it too, from my office - was different. It was like scratching on the wood floor, not glass. Walter doesn’t “dig” on the hardwood floors, so the sound didn’t make sense, hence both of us following it.

We both went to the source of the sound, and Walter was at the top of the stairs, on the landing, right on the edge of the stair. He wasn’t moving, but was standing, his back legs contorted, chin down, nose touching the floor, eyes glazed.

D has seizures, and plenty of what are called “absence” seizures (used to be called petit mal), and E has a lot of experience with humans with seizures as well as dogs in general (and, I now know, even dogs with seizures), so we both immediately went to “Is Walter having a seizure?” mode.

I tried waving, calling his name, etc. while standing at the base of the stairs. He was not alert or aware, completely non-responsive, yet because he remained standing, we were confused. When D has a “staring” seizure, he leans or slowly falls and cannot remain upright, stops breathing, but his eyes are open, he doesn’t become super rigid, and he doesn’t foam/drool from the mouth.

A convulsive seizure (used to be called grand mal, now called tonic-clonic) is different. D drops suddenly (and can get head injuries or other painful hits, like when a shoulder/knee/hip takes the brunt of the drop), his muscles contract and curl in with a contorted look, he shakes/tremors, sometimes he drools/foams at the mouth, and his eyes “loll” and roll in his head.

And sometimes, D has focal preserved consciousness seizures (used to be called partial seizures), where he does rhythmic movements and stares out into space, but if we shake his shoulder he can partially come out of it. He’s had only 2 of those.

D’s first seizure (that we’re aware of) was a HUGE tonic-clonic seizure that got him his second-ever 911 call and an ambulance ride with me (the first was when he was 2 and choked on a tortilla chip, and I had to do the Heimlich repeatedly to keep airway open).

That first seizure was summer 2023, and it was awful. D now has intractable epilepsy - that means despite using 2 or more medications, he continues to have break-through seizures. Some people use the term “treatment-resistant” epilepsy.

So, sadly, we know a fair amount about seizures around here, which is why we attuned to poor Walter’s troubling behavior so quickly.

When a dog has a seizure, you do not touch them automatically (I didn’t know this until later, just instinctively worried he could be disoriented and get violent - Walter is sweet but he’s still a dog). He was visibly shaking, but not convulsive - we’ve seen D during convulsive seizures, so we know how to compare.

Walter was, to put it simply, frozen. But his back legs/hips were twisted in an unreal pattern that looked like he’d broken his pelvis, and it was terrifying. I would have touched him to keep him safe, to prevent him from falling down the stairs. But I didn’t have to, though the calculus was constant in the moment.

Our oldest came through the family room and slowly called Walter, who began to come out of the seizure, but looked “drunk” - a common post-ictal (that means your state after a seizure) behavior. As the brain struggles to come back “online,” it neurologically has to reconnect to all the processes it controls, including limb movement, breathing, vision, hearing, awareness/alertness, etc.

Walter is deeply bonded to our oldest, so as he came out of the seizure and our oldest held him, I approached, too (oldest is the one Walter’s bonded to, but I’m the one Walter views as dominant) and Walter struggled to walk to me. He couldn’t get his hind legs to work. We were so worried, but everyone was calm, and E instructed our oldest on what to say as we called the veterinarian.

At this point, we thought Walter’s behavior was a seizure, but we were also worried he was poisoned by something he ate. We live on 8 acres of woods, Walter will chew on ANYTHING green, and he gets a daily walk along our country-ish road, so it’s not out of the range of possibilities.

The veterinarian (thank you, Hudson Animal Hospital!) was FANTASTIC - whoever answered the phone took our information, responded with compassion, put us on hold and came back to report that the vet agreed it was likely a seizure, and gave us three pieces of information to watch for over the next few days, until Walter could be seen for a regular appointment Monday. FYI if this helps anyone who has an animal experience a seizure:

1. If he has another seizure within 24 hours of the first one, go straight to a 24/7 veterinarian or come to the regular vet during open office hours.

2. If he has a seizure that lasts 5 minutes or longer, go straight to a vet.

3. If he has a seizure but doesn’t return to “baseline” (normal behavior) within 10-15 minutes or so, and seems lethargic/groggy/has balance issues, go to a vet immediately.

I told the woman on the phone that those are similar instructions for humans with seizures, and that I have a teen with epilepsy in the house, but that unlike humans, I assume there are no rescue meds for dogs, like nasal benzodiazepines (you spray a special version of Versed up a human’s nose under certain circumstances when they have a seizure).

She laughed (kindly) and said no, there isn’t rescue spray like that for dogs, and that yes, the protocols were similar, and while it’s not “good” that I know epilepsy protocols, it’s good in the sense that we’re more experienced and will know how to monitor our dog.

She then emailed us a list of 24/7 emergency vets with neurology specialists on staff. I never thought I’d need a neurologist for my DOG. My kid has a pediatric neurologist, a neuro-immunologist, a sleep medicine neurologist, a physiatrist with a specialty in neurology, and he’s seeing a neuromuscular specialist soon and likely a neurogeneticist - WE HAVE ENOUGH NEURO EXPOSURE IN THIS FAMILY.

Of course, we’ll do whatever Walter needs, because he’s the bestest doggo in the world.

I recently became a Board Certified Patient Advocate (BCPA) and have been working as an advocate for a couple of clients (don’t worry, still writing, and still full-time writing!), but am mostly focused on advocating for my own kid and husband. Now do I need to use my powers for my dog? Hmmm… is that even a field? Veterinarian Patient Advocacy? How would you do an intake with the animal? Telepathy?

::light bulb:: I’m feeling a new series idea emerging… :)

We hit the 24-hour mark, so praise the heavens, no second seizure for Walter. I said after the crisis ended, “NO ONE ELSE IN THIS HOME IS ALLOWED TO DEVELOP A SEIZURE DISORDER!”

Clark’s exclamation was more concise: “WHAT THE ^%$#??”

Poor Walter. As he recovered and it was clear he was back to baseline, I gave him two rather good-sized chunks of cheese (he is a cheesehound), and then we let him have his regular food. He stared at me like, “What? You expect me to eat peasant gruel after giving me that manna from heaven?”

So, yeah - he’s back to baseline.

He’s in my lap right now, insisting with those big, beautiful human eyes that it’s HIS turn to tell you the story, so I’ll hand this off to good old Walter No:

Walter No here, reporting in from the Kent household.

I’d like to remind you that I have been your faithful correspondent for years now, writing the factual, real-life, no-varnish, authentic truth about what really happens here in the Kent home.

The ugly truth, the unseemly underbelly, the cruel way they open cheese and share none. The horrors are hard to witness but I persist, nonetheless, because at their core, Julia and Clark are trainable and I hold out hope that they can be redeemed, and if not, perhaps I can brainwash them into filling my silver food bowl with queso.

MORE ANIMALS. FEWER HUMANS.

·

January 8, 2024

Walter No here, sitting in for Julia as your faithful correspondent. If you have no idea who I am, that is entirely your fault, but I forgive you.

On to the “sea sure.” I was guarding the landing as I always do, performing the exceptionally hard work of laying in a patch of sunshine while being assaulted daily with statements like, “Must be nice” and “I want a dog’s life” and “Walter, move!”

A typical morning.

Julia was with E, who is a nice young woman who comes into the house smelling like Big Dog, so I submit to her. They were using the beep beep red light thing that D hates, measuring something called Oxy Jen and Hartrait. Hartrait sounds like Heartguard, a yummy treat I get every month so I don’t get worms. I don’t know why Julia and Clark think I’d ever get worms, but I’ll take any treat I can.

The other day, D’s Oxy Jen was 88, which sounds pretty high to me, but I don’t know numbers. I do know they were worried about it, and I heard them talking about hype-ox-ee-uh, which has the word ox in it too, which is a BIG animal, but then the world just went… weird.

And then it was weirder.

Julia stood there at the bottom of the stairs, calling my name and I couldn’t woof. E joined her, then The Sucker - the nice but weak one who walks me every day and gives me so many treats Julia and Clark don’t know about - was holding me. I tried wagging my tail but it didn’t work. It was like it was detached and moving a few seconds after I told it to.

My hind legs didn’t want to stand properly - they went in opposite directions no matter how hard I tried, and I am a warrior defender dog, so I am strong! - and The Sucker was on the phone, talking to someone about how I was shaking and staring without responding. I know this is a lie because I am a Good Boy and I always wag my tail when Sucker and Julia are near me, because I know it gets me satisfying scratches and sometimes cheese.

Never enough cheese.

E went back to help D with his Oxy Jen and Hartrait and a nice woman from the place where they stick needles in me (I protect myself by pissing on the floor, try it sometime) talked to Julia about Sea Sures. I heard them talk about squirting something in my nose, then Julia joked about putting Oxy Jen up my nose, too, with a fresh nasal cannula, because D’s doctor’s protocol for Sea Sures has D on it in his post-ick tall phase.

Post-ick tall - does that mean after you puke, you get taller?

D has Sea Sures, and I know how scared Julia and Clark get when they happen, but are Sea Sures contagious? I let D pet me a lot so did he give me Sea Sures? Or did I have Sea Sures all along and gave them to D three years ago when he started having them? I lick his face sometimes after he has one, so…

More to worry about. I think I’ll go find someone to pet me so I can stop worrying.

No one else in the house has Sea Sures, but after the Needle Doctor told Julia what to do, and said something about Needle Doctor clinics that are open 24/7 and when to take me there, I decided to stop listening and went back to the landing to find my friend, the sun.

Julia and Clark worry so much about going to Emm Ee Ee Eye for a different Needle Doctor to put medicine in Clark’s eye (I only get needles in my hind legs!). The Needle Doctor puts something called anti-VEGF in his eyeballs, which sounds like they stick vegetables in there, and I love vegetables. Romaine heart scraps and carrots are my favorite.

But I hate needles.

They also worry about Clark getting a train plant put in his eye this summer (which confuses me, but I guess humans get trains and plants put in their eyes so they can see better? Do they shrink the train? I hope so). He had one in 2020, too, in the other eye, to save his vision. I wasn’t even born then, and Clark does not have a big train or plant coming out of his face, so this must be a human thing I don’t understand, like most of what these people do. They are a mystery. I just report what I see.

They also talk a lot about D and his new-row-musk-you-lur dee-gen-er-ay-shun and something called a moo-tay-shun (is D part cow?) that causes it. A nurse comes to the house next week, four days a week, to help take care of D.

Maybe I can get her to give me cheese.

This family confuses me. I love them so much. I can protect them from the grass monsters outside (they call them bunnies but we all know what they really are), the snake that invaded my pee area under the deck, and the delivery truck dude who smells like skunk lemons all the time - Julia calls it terpenes - lots of barking does the trick! Especially at 3 a.m. when the Hoot Hoot in the woods decides to start sh!t talking. I bark as loud and hard as I can then, because he’s not the boss of this land.

I am.

I can pee on the trash can, chew up the leftover French toast container from when the family goes out for brunch, painstakingly use my teeth to pull 198 out of 200 tissues from a box then growl at them when they try to take my prize, pee on the base of the toilet (WHAT? The humans pee on it, so why can’t I?), bark at the hawks in the sky, and yet…

I don’t know how to defend the household from Clark’s cancer, new-row-musk-you-lur dee-gen-er-ay-shun, or cow problems. Cows are really big.

And now my humans are worried about me.

Julia always says that’s what love is about, though: you accept what life throws at you and everyone does whatever it takes to make sure we all get what we need, because we’re a family and that’s what you do when you love people (and a doggo like me).

We don’t need any more Sea Sures.

But this family does need to give me more cheese.