@sumac,
August 10, 2009
The Puppy Diaries
Illness and the Pack
By JILL ABRAMSON
I am one of those mothers who checked in the middle of the night to make sure my children were breathing. So it’s not surprising that I fret about Scout’s health. Especially because once, we had a puppy that was very sick.
A few years after we got Buddy, our beloved Westie, we decided to get a second dog to keep him company.
One of my colleagues at the time also wanted a Westie pup, so I arranged to collect two females from the same litter. Carting those two white fluff balls home in our van, I told my children, then 11 and 13, that we would let my colleague’s two small daughters, who had never had a dog, pick the one they wanted.
Unknown to me, Will, our son, had fallen head over heels for the smaller of the two pups. She had a vulnerable look that claimed his heart. Cornelia, our daughter, noticed that the little girls always expressed a preference for whichever puppy they were holding at the moment they were asked to pick. She successfully steered them to the bigger pup.
We named ours Dinah, but we also gave her the nickname Tiny. She didn’t grow as quickly as Buddy had, which began to worry me. Then, at about 4 months, her back legs began to tremble. During a routine vet visit for both dogs, I asked about this.
Our great, thorough vet, Dr. Kay Young, was concerned. She ordered tests and did further research. She wanted to rule out a rare, genetic neurological disease that was inherited by Westies and Cairn terriers. She sent Dinah’s tests to the University of Pennsylvania Veterinary School, one of the best in the country.
A week later we had our devastating diagnosis. Dinah, indeed, did have globoid cell leukodystrophy, also known as Krabbe disease. There is no cure. It is fatal. Most dogs die within a year. The disease also afflicts humans, and in infants it is often fatal before age 2.
After many tears, we immediately contacted the owners of Dinah’s parents, so that they would not produce more puppies that either carried or had the disease. My colleague’s dog, thank goodness, was fine (she’s still alive, in fact) and since she was spayed, she couldn’t pass along the Krabbe gene.
Soon Dr. Mark Haskins, a professor at Penn’s School of Veterinary Medicine, was on the phone to me. Having a dog with Krabbe would be valuable to his research, Dr. Haskins explained. He invited me to visit the large animal colony at Penn’s highly regarded veterinary hospital complex. Dinah could live there, he suggested.
The issue of giving her up was even tougher for our family to absorb than the fact that we would be caring for a puppy that would suffer seizures, blindness, deafness and loss of most motor control. We were prepared to give her our love, not to give her away.
Nonetheless, I traveled to Philadelphia to meet Dr. Haskins, a kindly man with a long white beard and mustache, and to check out the Penn veterinary facilities, which were impressive indeed. Still, I could not bear the idea of leaving Dinah there. Then, Dr. Haskins gave me a pile of newsletters to read.
They contained the accounts of parents of children with Krabbe, often accompanied by pictures. There were tragic and heroic stories of parents and doctors looking for useful therapies to ease the ravaging symptoms of the disease, and of their desperate search for effective treatment. All of this put some immediate and necessary perspective on our own family plight. If Dinah could help in the research of this fatal disorder, perhaps providing even a tiny step forward, how could we say no?
I asked Dr. Haskins if there was perhaps a middle way: would it be useful if we kept Dinah at home but took her to Penn, as frequently as he wanted, for testing and observation. He agreed. For the next eight months, we alternated. Sometimes we drove Dinah to Penn. Sometimes Dr. Haskins’ students or aides drove down to Virginia to pick her up. They treated her like a medical celebrity. Usually she was back home in a matter of days. Throughout this torment, she remained sweet and playful, a great companion to Buddy, and to us.
Although she did lose her eyesight, her quality of life was still pretty good as she marked her first year. But, as her limbs failed and she had frequent seizures, it became apparent that it was time to put her out of her misery. Because Dinah’s most valuable contribution to Dr. Haskins would be in an autopsy, I drove her one last time to Philadelphia. Dr. Haskins sat beside me for more than an hour to comfort me after she was gone.
Buddy, surprisingly to us, did not seem traumatized and enjoyed being the sole focus of our love and attention once again. And, for a very long time afterward, I wasn’t ready to risk losing another puppy to illness.
Until now. One lesson I took away from the experience with Dinah is how important it is to have a vigilant vet. Another, from our own experience and from talking to many friends who have nursed their dogs through cancer and other chronic illnesses, is that a sick dog is often especially loyal and lovable, and can bring the pack, dog and human, closer together.
I contacted Dr. Haskins recently. I hadn’t been in contact with him since Dinah died. He said that he remembered Dinah vividly and that she was the oldest dog with Krabbe that his team had ever seen. There have been some new developments in research and treatment, he reported, including a requirement in New York State that every newborn be tested and research conducted on cord blood transplantation. But still, unfortunately, there is no cure.