but she threw us a life line.
Let me just start by saying the ride down to Massachusetts for Enzo’s neurology appointment wasn’t any where near as bad as I thought it would be. He held it together for a solid hour before he began to unravel. In an effort to appease him and take his mind off the ride, I played with the windows. We had started the journey with them up, the AC at full blast, and the radio on. Now, I rolled the front windows halfway down and the back windows all the way down so the novel smells could blow right in. He drew in deep, sniffy breaths and seemed somewhat mollified. Ten minutes from our destination though, he let out one loud, explosive bark as if to
say shout, “Enough of this!” I assured him we were nearly there.
When I opened the back to let him out, he waited patiently to be released. I noted that despite my best efforts, a new seat belt would be necessary… (how? when? oh never mind.) I offered him a cool drink, but he was more interested in the sounds, sights, and smells in the parking lot. Once he was acclimated, I called the number I had been given to let them know we had arrived. Due to Covid-19, I would not be meeting the neurologist in person, nor would I be allowed inside with Enzo.
The vet tech who answered the phone had a kind voice and I had spoken to her twice, briefly, the day before. She wanted to double check some information and I began to panic… I had left Enzo’s seizure journal at home, knowing I wouldn’t be allowed in and knowing that my vet had faxed all his records here. She assured me there was no problem and they had indeed received all his records, but verification of all his medications and the dosages of each was needed. I calmed and answered her questions. Then she asked, “So, is there anything you’d like us to know?” “Yes,” I said softly as my throat closed over. “I want you to know how much I love him.” I could tell my answer wasn’t expected, but after a moment’s pause she responded, “I will do everything I can to make sure this exam is as stress-free for Enzo as possible. I promise to take very good care of him and I will bring him out to you directly as soon as the doctor is done with him if he’s anxious or upset.” I closed my eyes and nodded my thanks, not trusting myself to speak. It was only later that I realized she couldn’t see me.
When she appeared to collect him, he greeted her warmly, like an old friend. She was delighted and told him what a good, handsome boy he was. (All true.) He was fitted with a hospital collar, much like the bracelets we humans don upon admittance to a hospital. Then with absolutely no hesitation what-so-ever, he trotted briskly off with his new friend, stumpy tail wagging, not a care in the world. I grinned through tears. Such a good boy– I’d had visions of the tech wheedling, cajoling, and possibly even having to pull him along. I had been so worried–about so many things–the travel down, not being able to give him his breakfast in the morning, not being with him, on and on. This jaunty boy was a balm to my heart.
Thirty-five (long) minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was the tech calling to inform me that the neurologist had completed Enzo’s exam and would be phoning me shortly. She then asked if they could take pictures of Enzo for their Instagram page- he was having a ball, charming technicians and doctors alike. I laughed heartily. Of course they could take his picture, and if he was having such a fine time, he was welcome to stay inside, where it was cool until it was time to leave. Outdoors, the temperature was rising and it was getting hot. I got off the phone, grinning from ear-to-ear. That boy.
I had an informative and thoughtful conversation with Dr. Weiss. I liked her style. She was sensible, thorough, and compassionate. There was a warmth in her voice as she laid out the options, then her recommendations. For instance, although an MRI was an option, she did not feel it was warranted as she was 99.9% sure his epilepsy was genetically based; therefore, it would provide her with little, if any, useful information. She felt the same was true for the spinal tap. The only viable option she felt justified in making at this point in time she told me, was medicinal.
She was also blunt: Enzo’s seizure disorder is severe. It’s not going to get better. In fact, in all likelihood as he grows older, it will get worse. But for now, she feels he is an excellent candidate for pulse therapy. His next seizure, (and there will be another one) instead of immediately giving him a dose of his phenobarbital, I will immediately administer a medication called clorazapate and then again every 8 hours for 3 days. The goal is to stop the clustering. The goal is one seizure and one seizure only in a thirty day cycle. She feels this protocol may be able to provide that for Enzo.
I am glad to have the new information, even though some of it was hard to hear. I take comfort in knowing we have a therapy that may bring relief. It’s a life line, and I’m holding on fast….