Entire Dog Blog

This is Part One in a series detailing what I have learned in caring for my dog George, who was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver.

It was four months ago yesterday when my wife and I noticed that the stomach of our 6-year old Cocker Spaniel, George, was severely distended and rock-hard. 10:30 PM. We had noticed him getting a little bit heavier over the few preceding weeks, but we chalked it up to inactivity. I started him walking on the treadmill, which he took to splendidly. But at that moment, 10:30 PM, it had become clear that something was seriously wrong. We weren't quite sure what it could be, but we knew that it required a trip to the emergency vet.

We did our best to hide our near-panic from George as we loaded him into the car and began the 15-minute drive to our nearest emergency veterinary hospital. We'd both had close relatives die from cancer during recent years. We knew a build up of fluid was not a good sign.

George was not aware of any of this. He was his normal, friendly self when we arrived at the hospital. Pom-pom tail wagging frantically, he explored as much of the waiting room as his leash would allow while we filled out the paperwork. In just a few minutes, he was taken back into the examination area and my wife and I were left to our own increasingly fatalistic thoughts.

"Maybe its worms," I said, forcing my mind to go anywhere that could possibly mean this was something a few pills and a little attention could cure. "Maybe he ate something in the yard that's creating a blockage, or a reaction." It would mean surgery, but it was curable.

"Maybe," my wife said. She wasn't buying it any more than I was. None of our dogs is left unattended in the yard long enough to eat anything.

I did what I always do when there's trouble: I paced. I walked every inch of the expansive waiting room. I tried to focus on the wall-hung flat-screen television, but I couldn't. My wife sat silently on the hard bench. There was no one else there.

It was the longest forty-five minutes you could imagine. Seconds ticked by like minutes, and minutes took hours to pass. And the longer we waited, the less I was able to fool myself into thinking any good news would be coming out of the examination area.

The look on the emergency vet's face when she came out to lead us into the consultation area was confirmation that we were in for a devastating blow.

It was clear fluid that was filling George's belly. It could mean a number of things, and none of them were good. Based on her examination and preliminary blood work, she had determined that the problem was with George's liver. Something we hadn't known was that Cocker Spaniels are prone to liver disease. It was hard for her to determine the extent of the damage to George's liver, as the fluid was pressing on George's liver and kidneys. But, no matter the cause or how far it had progressed, it was not good news. There wasn't going to be any good news, only varying degrees of bad news.

She did not think it was cancer. She thought it was chronic cirrhosis of the liver. Whatever it was, the blood tests indicated that George was in liver failure.

We agreed that George's fluid should be drained, and to pretty much any treatment she thought would help George be comfortable. George would be spending his night in the hospital, and was scheduled for an ultra-sound in the morning.

The doctor suggested that we think about how much treatment we were going to give George, and at what point we would want to put him down. We didn't even need to think about it. We knew how we felt on the subject.

Our rule is this: George would not be put down because of expense or because it was too much work to help him live.  However, if it became clear that George was suffering or in pain or had no enjoyment of life left, the only humane thing to do would be to end his suffering.  We wouldn't keep him alive just because it made us feel better to have him around.

The emergency vet assured us that liver disease such as what she thought George had was not painful. There would be times when George would feel run-down and times when George would feel listless, but pain is not associated with chronic liver disease in dogs.

The emergency doctor thought that George's time would be measured in weeks. Maybe a month or two. It was devastating news.

George's hospital stay lasted two fretful days.  We took him on a Wednesday night, visited him on Thursday afternoon, and decided to bring him home on Friday. We were given constant updates on his condition the entire time, and encouraged to call any time for these updates. George was observed to be perky, friendly and active during his stay.

That Friday, we arrived at the hospital to pick George up and consult with his attending vet.  In the next installment, I will examine what treatments and prognosis traditional medicine had to offer.