Bye Bye Bubby

This morning, at about 8.30, our old friend Rishi slipped away.

On Monday (the 27th), Rishi had 4 seizures. The first one wasn't really a surprise: he's been having occasional mild seizures for a couple years now. We knew that they were the result of age-related brain degeneration, perhaps similar to Parkinson's Disease in humans. We've been on the lookout for a change in the severity or frequency of the seizures: if he started to have them more often than once a month, we'd know that steps needed to be taken. As it was, the seizures only detracted from his quality of life for a half-hour or so at a time, and they never occurred within two months of each other.

So if it's a bad sign to have more than one seizure in a month, it's a lot more than a sign to have 4 in one day. The second one convinced me that he needed to see a vet right away. The third one was in the car, on the way to the vet. The fourth was in the vet's office. I paid no attention to the clock, but there's no way that more than 2 hours elapsed from the first to the fourth seizure. This is Very Bad Indeed.

Rishi's been going to Indian Lake Animal Clinic since he was a 4-pound ball of fuzz, but their office is 30 minutes away (in good traffic), so we're glad to have Mobley Veterinary Clinic right around the corner from us for days like Monday. While we were waiting to see the next available doctor (and i was calling Jen to tell her what was happening) Rishi had his fourth seizure, and we got bumped to the front of the line. Dr Henderson quickly injected diazepam, which stopped the seizure and let Rishi have some much-deserved rest. Then all we could do was wait for the drug to wear off, and see if the seizures started again. I left him there at 2.30 Monday afternoon, snuggled in his favorite stripey beach towel, so the doctor could observe him. Since the seizures didn't return, we brought him home just after 6 that evening, knowing that only time would tell us if the seizures had done permanent damage.

Tuesday morning he was still in the sort of dazed state, as if he were still on the diazepam. He was also unable to stand or sit up on his own. Consulting with Dr Henderson again, we decided to give him a day to see if his condition improved. There was no way to know how long it might take, or if he'd improve at all. But we felt that, since he wasn't in pain, we could give the stubborn old guy another fighting chance. The fact that he wanted to get up and around was encouraging, as were his continued water intake (and, er, output), and the presence of some appetite. But we could tell by suppertime that he wasn't going to improve. I called Indian Lake and asked for their earliest appointment Wednesday morning. We knew that a second consultation would help us to know the right approach.

We saw Dr Gentry at 8.15 and told her about Rishi's last two days. She noted the same things we'd been seeing at home - his non-functioning back legs, his weak front legs, his near absence of equilibrium, his head's tendency to point up and to the left, his frustration and confusion. These signs point to a stroke. A stroke in a dog is darn serious on its own, but when it's accompanied by seizures...

Some people agonize over whether they should euthanize a pet, because every situation is different. Maybe there's another treatment that will work better, maybe his body will heal itself, maybe if God loves me or even likes me a little bit he'll fix this for me. But in this case, there was no need to wonder. Rishi's condition would almost certainly not improve, not even a little bit: his quality of life was all behind him. So it was both the hardest and easiest thing we've ever had to do, because it was the only thing we could do. We had to let him go.

Dr Gentry administered a large dose of pentobarbital. In small doses, it's an effective anaesthetic. In this case, the large dose first sent him quickly to sleep, just as if he were going to have a surgery, then stopped his breathing and his heart. As Jennifer held him, he was sleeping peacefully in a matter of seconds, and then several seconds later, he was gone. Dr Gentry cried with us, and we kissed our "Bubby" goodbye.

The pain of missing Rishi is immense and strange. It's an acute, specific thing, like a sharp stabbing sensation in the belly. But at the same time it's an enormous, shapeless, dark blob that touches everything at once. We've been talking about memories of him, the times when he was healthy and energetic and silly, and there are a lot of them. It hurts to remember, but at the same time, the memories are a comfort.

We owe a great deal of love and thanks to everyone who ever loved Rishi, which is pretty nearly anyone who ever knew him. But a special debt of gratitude is due to these: