Andi, although nearly 10 years old, is still a puppy in many ways. When she suddenly became paralyzed for no reason, it was terrifying for her and heartbreaking for me. I couldn’t tell her that things would be okay. I couldn’t explain to her what had happened. Mitch Traphagen photo.
I am a father on a technicality. Over the years, we’ve been the parents of three foster children, the youngest, at the time, was 10. Thus, I’ve always been able to communicate with my children. I’ve always been able to ask them “What’s wrong?” if I could see something was troubling them. I’ve always been able to attempt to control my indecipherable (to an adolescent) adult voice into something that they might understand, if even only a little.
I’ve never been the father of an infant, nor for anyone with whom I could not communicate in the same language.
Well, except for a small herd of quadrupeds, that is.
Andi was approximately six months old when she simply showed up at our home. She somehow walked into our fenced yard where our other two dogs were playing and joined in. She was starving, each rib was visible on her tiny frame, yet there was a joy in her heart that somehow easily transcended any hard times she may have endured in her short life.
We already had three dogs, so Michelle went about finding her a home — and she was successful. Just a few days after arriving at our house, Andi was taken to her loving new home. She was a good and happy little dog, and we were confident she would do well.
The next morning we received a call. Andi’s adoptive mother said that Andi cried all day and all night and was there any way we could come right now to pick her up again?
So Andi came back home to live with us. We are her forever home.
That was nine years ago.
She approaches life with such seriousness that I often joke that Andi has no mirth. But the truth is that there is real joy and unconditional love in her heart.
If the eyes are windows to the soul, then Andi’s eyes are picture windows. I’ve never known a dog to make such eye contact, and with such feeling. The intense, loving look from her brown eyes is enough to melt the heart of a serial killer.
She loves so much that it seems at times she gets frustrated that we don’t understand that leaping into the air to face-smash us is love in its most earnest expression.
She seems to try to fly when she runs. And she would run so often. She would tear off, leaving a cloud of dust with intermittent leaps that reminded me of the young reindeer in the classic cartoon Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as they were attempting to learn flight. They’d leap but it took a while before they’d fly. That’s how Andi leaps. She did not give up hoping that she could fly. Her energy level, even approaching 10 years of age, is astounding. It is exceeded only by her love for us.
A week or so ago I came home from the office to let the dogs out, grab some lunch and make an effort to get back within two or three months of being behind on my overflowing email inbox.
Andi and Casey were anxious to get out, so I took to that task first. Andi tore off at light speed and then … seemed to crash into the bush growing in the far corner of our fenced yard. I saw her get up in the bush and spin in circles. I thought, perhaps, a branch was wound around a leg or something. And then she emerged from the bush, and I noticed that her back legs weren’t working, nor was her left front leg. She was dragging herself solely on her right front paw.
I felt as though I had been hit by a lightning bolt as I followed her path, tearing down the yard as fast as I could. I thought her back had been broken, so I quickly examined her and decided to gently try to pick her up. She didn’t cry out in pain, but the sheer terror in her eyes was heartbreaking. I carried her into the house, sat on the floor with her in my lap and again gently checked her back and then her legs for breaks. She was shivering convulsively, but she didn’t even have a cut or scratch on her. Yet she was paralyzed. And she was so very frightened by it.
Dr. Hal Ott’s Ruskin Animal Hospital took her in immediately as an emergency case. For Andi’s entire life with us, she has been a picture of perfect health, so they haven’t seen much of her. She receives her annual shots but has never had a health problem. Despite her age, she is more a puppy than a senior.
But now she was paralyzed.
Dr. Greg Heaton examined her and quickly diagnosed the problem. He told me that I didn’t see what I thought I had seen. She didn’t wipe out in that bush. She was running, something possibly catastrophic happened to her spine, and then she wiped out.
He, accurately it turns out, diagnosed her with fibrocartilaginous embolism, or FCE. An embolism came loose and lodged somewhere in her spinal column. To me, it sounded like she had suffered a spinal stroke. He took X-rays to make certain nothing was broken. Nothing was, which only served to confirm his diagnosis.
According to Heaton, some dogs recover at least some or most of their abilities, others don’t. There is nothing that can be done, so only time would tell. No one even knows why or how it happens. He said that sometimes people come home from work to find their dogs suddenly paralyzed.
It’s not entirely uncommon for dogs to suffer from this. It is apparently less common for humans, although, for us, too, this hidden, unpredictable danger exists. The National Institute of Health has an article about a 16-year-old who suffered back pain and progressive paralysis within 36 hours of lifting weights. X-rays and an MRI suggested that FCE was the cause. The article also stated that it is possible that FCE is more prevalent in humans than previously thought.
My wife and I spent the rest of the day stroking Andi’s little furry head. By the end of the day, her right rear paw was coming back to life. She is an overly energetic bundle of sweetness — the last dog that I thought should suffer like that. The terror in her expressive eyes was being replaced by what seemed to be sadness.
Within a few days, she could jump up on her little papasan chair and on the couch. Within a week, she tried a few times to jump up to face-smash us, the ultimate show of love.
She has been able to jump up on our bed a few times, her favorite daytime napping place (yes, with her head on my pillow), although she doesn’t try often. She has even torn across the yard, although slower, differently, making no attempts to fly. And then it seems she remembers and wants to come in.
I’m happy and surprised that she goes into the backyard at all. Andi has a long memory, and the first few days she was scared to go out there. Even now, she doesn’t want to go alone, as if whatever caused her problem is still lurking to get her again.
I am grateful to Dr. Heaton and to the staff at Ruskin Animal Hospital. I am grateful to God for restoring most of her health. I could feel when she was scared, I could feel her sadness, but not being able to communicate in the same language, I couldn’t reassure her.
I couldn’t communicate to her that she was going to be okay and that, no matter what, she had a family that loved her and would always take care of her. I could only hope that petting her head and holding her communicated as much of that as possible.
Three of Andi’s four legs were paralyzed. Yet today she can run again. I can only hope she tries to fly again. The sadness in her eyes is mostly gone.
For anyone who goes through this, or almost any catastrophe, keep in mind that there is hope. There is always hope. And where hope isn’t enough, where words fail, love and prayers seem to help fill the gap. Perhaps especially love.
