Hopper is also known as an Australian Shepherd/Black Lab mix, a 5 year old, and as the sweetest dog to ever live. I've had her since she was 7 months old and we've been through a lot together. She was abused and has still not quite gotten over it, but is doing so much better today than when I first got her. She's really my BFF!
Recently she was diagnosed with a terrible disease called autoimmune encephalitis. The medical-savvy may need no further explanation, but encephalitis is basically inflammation in the brain. For Hopper, it is her immune system doing the attacking.
I searched high and low to find someone who was going through a similar experience so could know what to expect - have someone to relate with - but found little to no first-hand experience of the occurrence in dogs.. So I really wanted to tell my story and maybe someday someone will search "Dog encephalitis" and land here and find a friend to tell them what to expect and hear a story of (hopeful) success.
This all began in January of 09. She woke me up one morning whining beside my bed. She looked as if she wanted to jump up but couldn't seem to do so. When I stood up, she also stood up and started to walk. It was then I noticed a considerable limp in one of back paws. My first instinct was something stuck in her paw. I had her lay down and and looked but saw nothing. I gently squeezed up and down her leg and she seemed to wince a little around her elbow. Calm, but worried, I called the vet. They said she should come in.
I literally throw on clothes and go out the door and already it seems a little worse. She can't really jump in the car, so I help her and am surprised she lets me. Then I was getting worried. She's very independent and does not like help like that usually. We get to the vet and she gets out of the car okay. Still a little wobbly. On the slick floor in the vet's office, she slides a lot. I had noticed a little of that the week before, but hadn't thought much of it thinking that the bottom of her paw had lost a little grip or something. We see the vet and I tell her that it seemed to be in the knee. They do x-rays but nothing. I am told to rest her.
We go home and the limp seems to get a little worse but I am convinced it's her knee so try and encourage her to rest. The next morning it is unmistakable. There is a limp in both of her hind legs. I call the vet and they say come in immediately. We do. We're the first ones in the office that morning and they come and help her out of the car. At this point she's unable to get in or out by herself. I am told that it seems neurological. They think stroke. I panic a little. They explain to me that dogs recover from strokes a lot better than humans and that she needs rest and it will most likely get better in 24 hrs. If not, there's an emergency pet hospital I should take her to. It was so hard to hear the word "stroke" and not become cold and clammy with fear. I was light headed and hopeful, holding my dog's hind legs with a sling.
We spent the afternoon resting and I was really trying to act as if all was normal, but every time she walked my heart broke a little. I'm known for being overly-paranoid, so when I first saw a little unsteadiness on her front paws, I tried to brush it off. Around 5pm, I knew it was getting worse. She was hardly able to walk. I tried to coax her out of the door, but she could only walk a step or two before falling. I had a sling and was holding her harness, but she gave up walking completely just outside my door. Overcome with as many emotions as I could attempt to write here, I knocked on my neighbor's door and not-so-calmly asked for assistance getting Hopper to my car.
Once we got her there, I called the hospital and told them we were on our way. And she couldn't walk at all. They said they'd have a stretcher ready. A stretcher??! I drove shakily and extremely concentrated. Somehow making it in good time considering the usual LA traffic at that hour. They weren't kidding and come out with a stretcher. Hopper is not happy to be on it, but she takes it like a champ. Oh the woeful glances the dog on the stretcher and the tear-stained face girl get.
They take her back and put me in a stuffy room beside a box of Kleenex. They come in and explain she will have to stay overnight. They aren't sure what it is. Neurological...they say. They can't do an MRI here and we'll need to go to a neurologist tomorrow. $1200 for the night. They make me sign a sheet saying if I'd like to resuscitate her if necessary. Blood drains from my face and the tear stains become a bit larger. MRI...neurologist....$1200...none of this sounds cheap. I have no dog insurance. I have no expendable income to speak of. I had a small savings, (thank goodness), of $3000. And money is only an issue become in big bold letters across my brain is the question...what happens if I can't afford this? And I know the answer. I nod numbly. I have to pay for half here and now and thank goodness for mobile banking. I ask to say goodnight to her. I go in the back where she's in a sad cage. She just looked so sad. I told her I'd be back tomorrow and tried not to let her see me cry. I walked away and she barked. I heard her until I left the building.
The next morning they call and say the doctors checked her out last night and she needs to definitely go to a neurologist. I pick her up and we make the journey across LA to a little place we will soon call a second home. The Animal Specialty Group in Glendale, CA.
They pick her up and out of the car and take me into a room where I am greeted by two doctors. They check her out and then the possible diagnoses begin. Cancer, spinal injury, slipped disc, encephalitis. To name a few. MRIs need to be done. Spinal taps. Possible cat scans. Then the estimate. "Expect to pay $10,000." There was always the option of blindly treating her, but I couldn't stand the thought. I really felt like I couldn't breathe. But they were so nice. The billing manager made a call to my Care Credit to try and get me more credit. I had my American Express. I had a Visa. I said let's do it. She was checked into this hospital, to prepare for her tests the next day. As terrible as it made me feel, I was almost relieved that she would be in the hospital. I live alone. My dog is 75 lbs. The emotional pains were so terrible, but then putting physical pains on top of that was nearly unmanageable. Good hands. They kept saying she was in good hands. And I was alone, except for them, so I believed them and left Hopper with them and tried to lessen the burden I was feeling. Once I committed to paying as much as I needed to until all my credit cards were maxed out, I felt a little relief. Like it wasn't completely hopeless. That was the biggest thing for my mind. The ease of knowing I was committed. The first thing in the whole mess that was set in stone.
