Yesterday morning, our 11-year-old dog, Juno, collapsed. We thought she might have had a seizure and lost control or awareness of her legs. She’s had seizures before, but not like this. My partner called me out of the bedroom in a bit of a panic. He says he thought, in that moment, that this might be it for her. When I got to the room, she was laying on her side in front of the love seat, looking a little worried.
Our regular vet was in a surgery, so the receptionist said we should take Juno to an emergency vet clinic. The emergency clinic said we should just make an appointment with our regular vet if we think it was a seizure and she’s had them before. So we called the regular vet back. They insisted that if she collapsed, she should be seen right away, and that means taking her to the emergency clinic. The emergency clinic conceded, and my partner spent the rest of the morning there with Juno.
Because of the pandemic, he sat in our van in the parking lot with Juno in the back. Someone came to retrieve her. They called to update him on her status and to comment on her outstanding disposition, and eventually they brought her back. I wasn’t there, but it seems so strange to send your dog off with a stranger instead of comforting them during their appointments. Of course, more importantly, I’m extremely thankful that places like this have found a way to continue serving their clients in such a confusing and concerning time and I hope the people working there are able to stay safe.
After ultrasounds and blood work, the staff was able to tell us that Juno is seriously anemic. I learned that normal red blood cell count (at least for dogs) is about 50% and 20% is dangerously low and requires transfusion. Juno was at 25%.
They said they couldn’t be sure what was causing her anemia, and the best way to begin searching for answers would be to send her home with steroids and antibiotics because the culprit could be something as simple as a bad infection. If her red blood cell count rebounds after several days on those prescriptions, she’s probably just fighting something and needed some help.
We made an appointment with her regular vet for Monday, to see if the count comes back up. But if it doesn’t, we’ll have x-rays to do in order to determine which of the other possible options she has. It might be an autoimmune issue that will mean she has to be on steroids for the rest of her life (to help her maintain a decent count), or cancer in her major organs. So… it could be anything from doggy flu to cancer.
None of us are dealing with this especially well. I find myself thinking about it almost constantly, as though thinking about it is going to fix it somehow. I’m a fairly logical person. I know it’s important to remember that we don’t know what we’re facing and that we’re doing everything we can with the information we have (and we have all the information we can possibly get). But that doesn’t keep me from wishing I could go back and fix it before it got this bad… or at least jump forward to Monday and know already. Not knowing is painful.
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