Ezri’s Story
By Carrie and Danielle
We fell in love with the breed. We had never seen one other than in a book. But we fell in love with everything written about the Icelandic sheepdog… the breed’s intelligence, its loving nature, its loyalty, its energy, and its northern physique. I had never had a dog before, and we are both therapists and wanted to use our dog for work, so we spent a great deal of time researching a breed that would match us and our world. After we decided we had to have one, we found out they were a rare breed, especially in the USA. But we were determined, and we did our research.
Danielle found a well renowned breeder in Canada, and after speaking with her we decided it was the breed for us, and Val was the breeder who would find us a match. So we waited for Ezri. We waited for quite some time. And we drove to Canada to get him when he was old enough. He was a quieter one in his pack. We fell instantly in love. We spent a few nights in hotels, and at such a young age he did wonderfully well enduring being away from his family, waiting for a call name, and dealing with the small quarters and strange smells of hotel rooms. He rode quietly in my lap most of the way home. He played, he made us laugh, and we finally decided on the name Ezri. Ezri means "my help" which we thought would be good, given he would be working with children and teenagers who had been horrifically physically and sexually abused, were removed from their homes, and had no one to give them unconditional love or affection.
Ezri knew the minute he walked through the door that he had arrived at his home. He grinned from ear to ear, leapt and jumped, and did loops through our home (lots of open space). He was home. Ezri grew bigger and stayed happy. He did all the things puppies do, and brought us joy. I like to hope that we made him as happy as he made us. We read all the material (and Val gave us a lot), began training and he took easily to everything. He loved people instantly, adored other dogs, and was growing into his paws. He did wonderfully at work, he was so gentle with the children and met them where they were at emotionally. My work worshipped him, and he brought joy everywhere he went. We crate trained, took him to work, and started puppy class. We were all doing great.
A few weeks after he was neutered, we were driving to the train station to pick up a friend with our happy now six-and-a-half month old puppy safely ensconced in my lap napping. I know, I was setting myself up for when he needed to sit in the back, but I just couldn’t resist, he was so loving and cuddly. About twenty minutes into the drive, something terrifying started to occur. Ezri’s head began twitching in a tight, rigid way, he began whimpering, and I immediately began to comfort him. "Something is wrong." I said to Danielle, who was driving the car. The motions did not stop, but rather increased. He looked at me in terror and confusion. I cradled him and called his name in my best soothing voice, hoping this would help. I was trying not to panic. And then his eyes lost focus and began to roll in his head, his body began to go rigid and he was panting and whimpering horribly. I raised by voice frenetically, trying to comfort him and simultaneously alert Danielle to my level of panic and concern. "Danielle, SOMETHING IS WRONG!" I kept repeating it frantically, and she swerved on the highway to pull over on the side of the road to help me.
Ezri’s whole body went rigid, he began to convulse, and his legs began to move in rigid unnatural ways. Every now and again his eyes would refocus and look at me in stark terror, begging. His whimpering became less and less audible, and he began what anyone who has endured a grand mal seizure with a dog knows is paddling. I began to call his name, yelling hysterically. His head was twisting in odd positions, his body was completely flat and rigid, and then suddenly he stopped making the small noises, his eyes glassed over, and his whole body went still. "DANIELLE" I screamed, "HE"S NOT BREATHING!" Danielle grabbed him out of my lap and began shaking him, repeatedly calling his name. "Ezri…Ezri… Ezri…" she shouted in a firm you are not going to die on us voice. After what seemed like forever, his chest began to move up and down, and he began convulsing again. Slowly his body became more malleable and his convulsions lessened. Ezri’s eyes began to focus and he became more aware, but neurologically he still was not quite right.
We rushed him to the local animal ER and they whisked him away to do tests. He was still wobbly on his feet and could not walk in a straight line. We stood there helpless, wondering what was going on, and waited. The doctor came back and stated that Ezri had a grand mal seizure. They mentioned toxins, asked us questions, and stated they would keep him over night for observation and to be able to intervene in any other seizures given the severity. They had never seen the breed before and asked about his gum color. Eventually they sent us home after putting a down payment on the testing. That was the first payment of a long line of payments. We did not even get to say goodnight. He was only six months old.
We went home that night lost, exhausted, and fearful. I was covered in his saliva and he had defecated in the car during the seizure. We still had to pick up our friend who was still waiting at the train station, two hours later. The house was so empty. We were too overwhelmed to cry. What is a toxin? We prayed it was toxin. You know it is bad when you hope your puppy got into a substance that temporarily poisoned him. We barely slept that night, and jumped when the doctor called in the morning. They had cleaned out his system, they had done blood work. There was no sign of a toxin in his blood. Ezri had another seizure overnight, and they had given him valium to interrupt it. The doctor through out various phrases: Liver shunt? Meningitis? Brain abnormality? Epilepsy? He was very young to have epilepsy, they said. Liver shunts could involve surgery and be repaired, or cause death. The vet recommended we take him home and set up an appointment with one of the best animal hospitals in the state. They told us to take him there immediately if anything went wrong. "If anything goes wrong??" I thought to my self,, "it was all wrong." We had been so carefree just a day ago.
We took our puppy home. He was so tired, and his nose was rubbed raw from pressing against the wire crate in the hospital. He still wagged his tail at us. His leg was shaved where they had put in an I.V. tube. The whole house tried to pretend it was all okay. It wasn’t. We all tried to sleep, but we ended up just watching him sleep. Ezri tried to be okay. He tried to play, he tried to be his usually loving self. But he wasn’t. He twitched convulsively, his head moved at odd rigid angles sporadically. He was far from okay. He got worse as the day went on. Eventually it impacted his motor coordination and we moved from tentative hope and denial to panic yet again. He watched us with anxiety and hurt as we packed up his blanket and toy again, and rushed him back to the hospital
This time we went to one of the best animal hospitals in the country. It looked like a people hospital, with long benches, sitting areas, vending machines and televisions for those waiting. They came out in scrubs, and rushed him in. He looked back at us, with begging, bewildered eyes, but he never made a sound. We cried. They brought us out his tiny collar. I held it endlessly in my hands. We sat there for hours, waiting. We watched the endless stream of injured animals and their owners. We put down our deposit to treat him.
Eventually the doctor came out. They had looked at the tests done at the ER. At this time, and given his age, not much made sense. They had never seen an Icelandic Sheepdog before, and wanted to know if epilepsy or liver shunts were common. The doctor said they needed to do tests and they needed to keep him overnight and would start him on medication for seizure control. He was so young, they said, it could be a variety of things. Epilepsy in a puppy so young was worrisome and given the intensity of the seizure they were concerned. We were welcome to come back in the morning.
We left our puppy again that night, to go home to an empty, vacant house. We called Val. She said she had no knowledge of liver shunts or epilepsy in the breed but would call around and do research. When we returned the next morning, they still did not know what had caused the grand mal seizures. All the possibilities were terrifying for a dog so young. His prognosis was not good. He needed to stay in the ICU because another seizure like he had, if untreated, could kill him. He had stopped breathing after all. The doctors were friendly and gracious, they talked about how cute he was, how friendly, how sweet. They went over the treatable medical issues that they could test for, and treat with medication, surgery. Epilepsy is a "rule-out" diagnosis they said. They had to rule out everything first. A liver shunt could be treated or surgery could be done to fix it if caught in time. Meningitis could be addressed if caught in time. "What do you want to do?" they asked. "We want our boy to be okay." we replied. And we consented to the testing to find out what was wrong.
We went to billing, as nothing is covered. It is 100% the owners cost. You have to pay 50% up front, they said sadly. I could tell they felt bad, felt bad asking, felt bad taking. I wondered what happened to the animals whose owners did not have credit cards. Danielle and I looked at each other, and the credit card came out. A thousand here, a thousand there, the bills began to accrue. What could we do? He was our boy.
Ultra sound, spinal tap, IV’s in each leg, shaved belly, shaved legs, shaved back of the head. We lay on the cold floor of the visiting room with him, cuddling him, for as many hours as they would let us. He would sleep, eventually. He would only sleep well when we were there they told us. He looked at us begging, "why am I here?" he seemed to say "Why can’t I go home?". Don’t get me wrong, they were great with him. They loved him, they had great bedside manner. He was the only puppy there. They gave him toys, and when he barked himself into hysteria, and rubbed his nose raw against the wire crate, they chained him to a wall, on a blanket in the middle of the ICU, where he would be more relaxed. They played with him and gave him extra TLC. They let us visit him there, longer than the normal visiting hours, with his IV in, his cone on his teeny shaved head, surrounded by the moans, whimpers of animals in pain, and the low hum of machinery, helping animals to breath, to measure things, and tests. They tried incredibly hard to keep all the animals relaxed and loved. But like any hospital, it was still the ICU and the sterile environment, coupled with the palpable pain of the patients in close quarters was immeasurably painful and sad. We cried when we left the building. He was so young, so little, he barely weighed ten pounds. We cried at home, missing him, dealing with the pain that he probably did not understand why we kept leaving him there, day after day. He stayed there for a week. Val remained in close contact, she did research, and she waited for daily updates .She called all over the world looking for history. Were there any other Icelandics who had seizures? Liver shunts? Epilepsy?
Our friends and family rallied for us. They love him too. They offered the small amount of fiscal support they could, they sat with us in the ER. Our friend who is a doctor for humans did research for us, comparing treatment options. Testing here, testing there. We finally said enough. One test came back slightly irregular, was it a liver shunt? The internal medicine doctors stepped in. They discussed exploratory surgery. He had a team of doctors. Epilepsy is a rule out diagnosis. Finally, we drew the line. They were fairly certain they could rule it in, but wanted to continue tests because of irregular liver enzymes. Our puppy was a shell of what he had been. Sure, he tried for us, he wagged his tail when we entered the room, he gave deep sighs when we laid down on the cold hard sterile floor with him, and every now and again, he would try to play with us. His soul was the same, his sweetness, the love in his eyes. But he did not smile anymore. He did not fight the bandages, the cone, the IV, he was accepting. He was only six months old. We reached the painful conclusion that the testing was done. He was only a puppy and we would not cause him any more pain. If he was not meant to make it, and the seizures impacted his quality of life beyond measure, then we would do the humane thing. But we were damned if he was going to spend one more day of his short life undergoing intrusive testing.
Seven thousand dollars later we brought our exhausted, beaten down, bandaged, shaven puppy home, still unsure as to what diagnosis was accurate, and if he would survive. Truth be told, we were beaten down and exhausted too. We agreed to start oral medication, meet with our Vet regularly and would take it from there.
You are probably starting to ask when does this story get better? Well it does. Sure, we dealt with all sorts of things. It took all three of us weeks to unwind from the experience, the panic and the seizure activity. The medicine made our quick, sprightly agile puppy gangly and clumsy, exhausted and with constant stomach problems. But the agility issues passed. His barking became a huge issue, because he had learned in the week he was there that it was sure fire way to get what he wanted .We were just happy (initially) that he felt like barking. We dismantled the crate, and he slept at the end of the bed (still does) because his seizure activity occurred in his sleep and we worried that when his body went rigid we would not be able to get him out of the crate. We also could feel the bed shake if he started to twitch abnormally, and we became quite adept at interfering in shaking him awake if any seizure activity stirred.
Ezri was formally diagnosed with epilepsy at that time, although it had manifested oddly (in his sleep) which is rare. We watched him intently when he slept for months on end (still do, but are less hypervigilant). Our local vet ran simple blood work and found that his liver levels were normal, which was a relief to us. Ezri resumed puppy kindergarten and they welcomed him back. Ezri is amazingly resilient, his happy personality returned, and his hair grew back. The kids at work learned what epilepsy was and gravely agreed to follow any direction I gave if he had a seizure while they were present.
Over time the medication worked more effectively, and the seizure activity slowed. Ezri grew and time passed by. Although our anxiety remained, it lessened as we realized we could manage this, and so could he. He moved towards adulthood, we shared his successes with Val, and he is a cherished member of our family. He is grinning up at me right now, from his favorite place at my feet, even as I write this, waiting patiently for me to stop typing so we can play. He learned to swim, to play tag in the pool, and to bark at the birds from our bedroom window. He grew old enough for rawhide.
Time continued to move forward (as it does for us all) and Ezri continues to shine. He is a favorite at day care, loved by both families and follows us where ever we go. He is friendly and loving and clearly driven towards agility. About four months ago we realized his seizure activity had ended, and that he had not had any seizures in over eight months. His medication level it turned out was below therapeutic level (less than required to work). We talked to the vet and their team of doctors and agreed to try him off his medication.
Ezri has been off his medication for four months now and he looks great. His stomach difficulties decreased substantially (I always think he carries a bit of anxiety around with from the whole experience, goodness, knows, we do). He is seizure free currently. The doctors tell us that if he continues for another few months seizure free they will remove the diagnosis of epilepsy completely. If that happens, we will likely never have an answer to why he had the seizures, but quite frankly, as long as they don’t come back, we are all set. Ezri brings us countless hours of joy and love, and the sparkle and caring soul that showed through his eyes as a puppy remains. We feel privileged to be a part of his life. If you will excuse me now, I have to go, Ezri keeps pawing my leg and nosing me, waiting to play, and if our experience has taught us anything, it is that life, laughter and joy with our loved ones should be cherished, appreciated and acted upon on a daily basis.
Update for 2007, Ezri, Carrie and Danielle have a new Icelandic Puppy in the house, his name is Greenstone Black Moon, A lovely big Black tri half-Brother to Ezri, and they are best buddy's, Black Moon also goes to work with his owners.
Thanks for listening.
Fondly,
Carrie, Danielle & Ezri
Although it looks like Carrie, Danielle and Ezri are going to have a happy ending to their tale, seizures and inherited epilepsy in Canines is something that should never be taken lightly. If your ISD has seizures, please consider using the information below.
UPDATED MARCH 2006: Dr. Yuri F. Melekhovets, Laboratory Director of HealthGene Corp., Toronto, Canada, has announced that his group has located the gene responsible for producing inherited epilepsy in canines. HealthGene Corporation is the largest private veterinary DNA diagnostic and research laboratory in Canada. DNA-based testing for animal infectious and genetic diseases. HealthGene now is studying the various mutations that produce different forms of epilepsy in different breeds. Dr. Melekhovets requests that owners of dogs with epilepsy submit blood samples to further that research. Samples should come from dogs which have been medically diagnosed with epilepsy or have had symptoms of epilepsy for at least two years. Two vials of blood samples per dog should be sent in lavender topped tubes, together with a pedigree and brief health history (whether it has seizures, when they started, whether they are mild or severe, and what type of diagnostics have been performed). Send the samples by FedEx, using HealthGene's account number (#238368138), using FedEx's International Air Waybill with the following information for "ShipmentInformation":a) Commodity description: "Canine Blood Samples for DNA Testing";b) Total Declared Value for Customs is $1.00;c) international first; andd) 3 copies commercial invoice.Send the vials to this address: HealthGene Laboratory, 2175 KeeleStreet, Toronto, Ontario M6M 3Z4 Canada. Dr. Melekhovets may becontacted at: telephone: 905-669-5399; fax: 905-669-2235; email:dr.melekhovets@...Source http://www.cavalierhealth.org/epilepsy.htm
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