MWG Writes on Q
March 2015
Heart to Heart
did, so I reluctantly agreed.
Several phone calls later, I got some better news. At the hospital, Max showed some improvement in
his hind legs. There was a faint stirring of hope. The vet suggested neurologist referral and MRI,
which showed two prolapsed discs pressing on his spinal cord. Treatment was started with
necessary medicines. When Max could walk, though shakily, he was discharged. As I got these real
time updates, we felt the immediate crisis was past and could continue our vacation, though my
thoughts were always with Max. I sent all my prayers and positive energy to him. I also appreciated
the maturity and dependability of my children in this crisis.
Encouragingly, Max could walk with support of a harness I had got him before. He had bladder and
bowel control, but, he could not lift himself off the floor and needed to be helped up. He was moved
to my son’s house which had no stairs. As I heard of his progress, I relaxed and enjoyed the beauty of
Yellowstone though I was also eager to return home. From Pearson airport, we drove to my son’s
house. Poor Max was lying still, oblivious and unresponsive to my presence. I was depressed to find
him like this but my son assured me he will be okay.
Early morning on Thanksgiving, I showered and packed a few items, including a perfume spray to
get rid of the sickroom smell and a soft sleeping bag for Max to lie on. He looked more alert and
relaxed now. I determined to do whatever I could to help him recover- stroking his soft fur, talking
to him, hoping he understood my love and commitment. He wanted to get up, so I helped him and
walked him to the yard, where he passed a lot of urine- a side effect of the steroids. I noticed that
though his gait was unsteady, he was able to walk reasonably well. My hopes and spirits lifted. At
night, Max needed to go out 2-3 times, so we decided to take turns sleeping on the living room
couch. The next morning, I brought my work laptop to my son’s house and set it up. But work was
the last thing on my mind, Max was top priority. I took him out for periodic short walks and was
thrilled with his progress. Every step he took felt like a giant leap towards his eventual recovery. I
thought “My baby boy is getting better, together we’ll beat this!”
A week went by, some days good when he walked fine, some days alarming when his legs would
suddenly give way and he’d flop to the floor helplessly. I didn’t let that discourage us but focused on
the overall steady progress he made. I gave him his medicines diligently, though he resisted. I
planned to move him to our house, his home, but I had to figure out what to do about the many steps
we had inside and outside the house, even from the deck to the backyard. He had to make that trip
several times a day. I hoped he could be trained to use a pee pad, but for a house-trained dog like
Max, that was a big challenge.