Bosco's story, Part I

I begin this blog with the goal of sharing my experience of having a young French Bulldog diagnosed with a brain tumor. As a disclaimer I wish to make clear that I am not a veterinarian, dog breeder, dog expert or a medically trained person. I am simply a fan of the French Bulldog breed and would like this blog to be a forum where other Frenchie owners can comment and share their experiences. My own experience left me with so many questions - many still unanswered - and perhaps by sharing our stories with each other, this blog can become a source of information and support for those making their way through the difficult journey that is this tragic disease.

There have been two Frenchies in my life. The first, Omar, was a black brindle male (30lbs, he was a big boy!) who lived to be one month shy of his 13th birthday; the second, Bosco, a honey-pied male (23lbs, he was the sporty model!) was diagnosed with a brain tumor at age 4 yrs 5 months and died at age 4 yrs 10 months. It is my process of dealing with Bosco's illness that inspire this blog and I hope that these writings can assist those who may be going through this process with their dog.

Bosco

Omar

Discovering that your companion has a terminal illness is disorienting and heartbreaking in the extreme, especially if he/she is young. Added to the tragedy is that the diagnosis is only the beginning, as the journey you will take  - and like me, you will have very little choice but to take it - has many twists and turns as you attempt to gather and glean information, select treatment, manage medications, weigh the financial costs, and accept the impending loss of your sweet friend.

My own journey began with Bosco and I on vacation in Sonoma County, California. On a warm September night we had retired to bed, me propped up with pillows reading a novel, and Bosco settled into a comfy niche beside me. At four a.m. I was awakened by strange coughing and clicking sounds and sitting up could not locate Bosco. Getting out of bed I saw wet spots on the carpet, then a pile of excrement, and turning toward the hall, found Bosco looking wild-eyed, his ears pushed back in a distressed position and foaming at the mouth. In my confused disorientation I picked him up and put him out on the patio, thinking that I must first clean up the mess, but snapping out of my auto reflex, I turned back to take a closer look at him and noticed he was crouched, trembling and limping as he moved around. It was disturbing to witness my formerly healthy, energetic little fellow acting so wounded, helpless and confused.

Quickly searching online I found a local 24 hour pet emergency hospital (PetCare Veterinary Hospital in Santa Rosa) who said "Bring him in immediately." When we arrived they took us into an examining room, asking questions about what he may have eaten: "Were there mushrooms or moldy walnuts (highly toxic it turns out) or snail bait or any other poison in the garden or anywhere that he may have gotten into?" "Not that I know of" I replied but mentioned that at the beach the day before he had chewed up an empty crab shell, enjoying the crunch and activity of destruction, but spitting out the pieces. Could this have made him sick, I wondered?

   Crunchy Crab Tasting

Bosco stayed at the emergency clinic the rest of that night as the doctors monitored him. They called in the late morning to tell me that his fever had gone down as had his accelerated heart beat and that he had begun passing the charcoal formula they had given him to draw out any poisons. They would keep me posted on his progress and if all went well, I could pick him up later in the day.

Later that day I got another call, the doctor saying that they were concerned because as the anti-seizure medication they'd administered had worn off, Bosco had begun to have facial twitches and seizure symptoms again - they wanted to keep him overnight. I agreed to let him stay and drove to the clinic to visit the little patient. When I arrived, other than finding him a bit woozy, he was still the adorable little boy that I knew and seemed happy to see me. I stayed and hung out with him for awhile before heading out to meet friends for dinner. At this point it just seemed that the doctors were hoping that whatever had made him ill would eventually leave his system and he would return to his healthy self.

But the next morning I had another, more distressing call. Overnight Bosco had continued to show more facial seizure activity. The charcoal formula they'd given had long since passed through his system and any toxic response should have subsided, yet he was still showing symptoms that the doctors now believed were neurologic in nature, and not the result of poisoning. They said they could offer no other treatment and that I must transfer him to another clinic where he would need to see a neurologist. They referred me to VCA Animal Care Center of Sonoma County.

At VCA Dr. Melanie Campbell examined Bosco, who's' face was still twitching, looking as if he were nipping insects flying around his head. Along with the twitching came profuse drooling. Dr. Campbell said there were several possibilities - perhaps it was bacterial, like meningitis, or perhaps something more obscure, and suggested a blood test and an MRI to begin the search for possible causes. I agreed to the tests, knowing it would be costly but with Bosco showing such strange, troubling symptoms, feeling that I had no other option.

It was at about 3pm that I got a call from Dr. Campbell in which I heard her say that the MRI had shown  a "mass" in Bosco's brain. Stunned and speechless for a few seconds, she recommended that I "come in and go over the images" with her. From her utterance of the word "mass" forward, things seemed to become strangely slow and the world went eerily quiet as I walked out of the house and got into the car to drive the 20 minutes to the clinic.

I remember Dr. Campbell walking into the examining room and putting up the MRI imagery on the light box, pointing out the "mass" and area of swelling (edema) so large that it seemed to be pinching a main artery in the brain almost shut. I began to blink back tears and glanced into the her eyes, which I'm certain had begun to tear up as well. Though it is now difficult for me to remember the order of things from that day, I think she offered to bring Bosco into the examining room and came back holding him in her arms, handing him to me. There was that solid little guy with his gorgeous honey, caramel and black watercolor shaded spots and his big beautiful brown eyes. He wasn't drooling or twitching and seemed to have bounced back from the anesthesia they'd administered for his MRI session. Dr. Campbell continued, explaining that tumors were nearly impossible to diagnose with 100% certainty and that doing a spinal tap could be helpful to discern if something viral were occurring. I agreed to the spinal tap and another specialized blood test that would be done at UC Davis Veterinary School and would be the most comprehensive blood test for anything bacterial or viral in nature.

Because the spinal tap was yet to be done, Bosco was to stay the night and I would pick him up the following morning. Dr. Campbell strongly recommended immediately putting Bosco on a strong dose of Prednisone, a steroid, to reduce swelling in the brain and Phenobarbital as an anti-convulsant. I agreed.

The next morning I was anxious and excited to see Bosco but also tense because not only would I be picking up my now seriously ill dog but we were to fly to New York the following day. The doctors and I had some concern about how my little guy's head would feel with the pressure of the altitude changes but there was no postponing my flight as my job demanded I return to close several important real estate transactions -  income that would surely be needed for whatever treatment route Bosco and I might embark upon.

I was shown into a different examining room with a red love seat, a small desk and grayish mauve carpet. Bosco was lead in on a nylon leash. As I got down on the floor to be closer to him, he wandered around the room, sniffing everything and somewhat ignoring me. Then he stood still and began to pee on the carpet. I lunged toward him to try to get him to stop but he just looked at me helplessly and continued to make a large puddle. This was a sign of things to come.