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I buried my dog Maximilien today


goosifer
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In a spot in the middle of the backyard that we can see from the kitchen. When he was younger, we'd sometimes see him as a white blur streaking across that spot. When he was older, we'd see him just moseying around, sniffing the grass with seemingly unlimited interest. He was 10 when he died. Not really old for a dog his size, but given what he'd been through, it's miraculous that he lived as long as he did.

Looking at him, he looks just like another one of those cute, spoiled, yappy dogs, which he was, but I think he was the toughest dog I'll ever meet. About 4-1/2 years ago, the day before the Fourth of July, we noticed him walking funny in the backyard, like the caboose was loose from the rest of the train. It was presumed he had herniated a disc, common for long-bodied dogs like him. (His breed is Coton de Tulear.) We immediately scheduled him for back surgery with a local vet surgeon. Immediately prior to the back surgery, the surgeon did a myleogram to identify which disc was herniated. There was none. The surgeon called us and said for us to come pick him up the next day. When we walked into the surgeon's office, Max looked horrific. He was stuporous, nearly catatonic, paralyzed in his hind legs, blind, his whole body curved in a crescent shape, and circling uncontrollably (dragging himself with his front legs). The surgeon mumbled sorry and something about a disease called GME [Granulomatous Meningoencephalomyelitis]. [Basically, GME causes the body to create excess white blood cells in the nervous system, which leads to inflammation in the brain and spinal cord.]

Not knowing what else to do, we drove 3 hours to the Cornell Companion Animal Hospital, run by the Cornell Vet school, arguably the best in the country. The neurology department took him in via their emergency room and immediately started treating him with steroids, immunosuppressants, and chemotherapy. Within a few days, he had regained his vision and partial use of his back legs. It was amazing. What then followed were months of periodic chemotherapy and ongoing medications, physical therapy, massage therapy and laser therapy. In time, we were able to rehabilitate him and keep his GME symptoms at bay. Except for one back leg that would always look "kick standed" out to the side, you'd never know how sickly of a dog he was. We maintained that status quo for a couple years or so.

This past January, he started circling much more than usual [a common GME symptom]. He was having a GME relapse,  and we restarted the chemotherapy and high doses of steroids to battle the disease. (He had previously been weaned off of these treatments.) Also, Max was increasingly sensitive by the side of his stomach, and sometimes wouldn't eat. A sonogram diagnosed an enlarged gall bladder, a side effect of all the steroids he had taken over the years. We rejiggered his GME meds and added some liver/gall bladder supplements to his diet. This seemed to help for a while. Every month when we would take him to Cornell for chemo, they would do a sonogram on the gall bladder. For a while, it actually shrunken a bit, but then it started to get bigger again. Between the friable (thin, papery) condition of the outside of the gallbladder and the increasing amount of solids inside it, a burst gallbladder and or mucocele (plug) was imminent.

Last month, we were given three choices: 1) keep doing the same, and hope it doesn't burst, 2) put him down or 3) operate to remove the gallbladder. The surgery is a very risky surgery in general, but especially so for Max given he was immunosuppressed. We opted for #3, figuring at least it would give him a chance. I was thinking his odds of survival were 50/50, but in retrospect, were probably more like 33/67. The surgery was done on Halloweeen. It went OK, and he seemed to be OK immediately afterwards. But later that night, major medical complications occurred. I won't go into the details, but I'll just say they had him in the ICU for over two days trying to stabilize him and get his blood pressure up. Nothing worked. On Saturday, after we had exhausted all of our options, we were basically told his body was shutting down due to low blood pressure and lack of oxygen to his organs. At that point, we instructed the ICU vet to euthanize him. We turned his body over to the neurology department so they could do a necropsy for research purposes. GME is a funny disease in that the diagnosis can't be confirmed without a sample of brain tissue.

From his initial diagnosis of GME, Max lived for about 4  years and 4 months. Most dogs diagnosed with GME usually survive somewhere between never leaving the vet to maybe three years. As we understand it, Max is the longest surviving GME patient in Cornell's history, and one of the longest surviving in the country (not like there is an official database for this sort of stuff). With his 4+ years of case history, it is our hope that he will be able to help Cornell figure out a better way to treat this horrible disease. That, we hope, will be his legacy.

Through it all, Max never let the disease, or all he endured in being treated for the disease, get him down. Even though his stamina was greatly affected and he constantly endured a level of neuropathic pain, he still enjoyed playing, barking at the TV, car rides and all the other stupid stuff that dogs enjoy. So to me, for all he went through, and for all we hope his case contributes towards the treatment of GME, I think he was a very special dog. If you made it this far in the post,  I thank you. I wanted to share some sort of tribute to him, and this is the only online forum in which I am active.

Max2.jpg

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Sorry for your loss Goosifer. Sometimes it's tougher to lose a dog than you ever thought possible. They are a part of your life for so long it is almost the same as losing a family member. One thing is that you always have lots of fond memories to draw on. My family has lost two in the last 5 years and it was tough to go through.

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1 hour ago, goosifer said:

In a spot in the middle of the backyard that we can see from the kitchen. When he was younger, we'd sometimes see him as a white blur streaking across that spot. When he was older, we'd see him just moseying around, sniffing the grass with seemingly unlimited interest. He was 10 when he died. Not really old for a dog his size, but given what he'd been through, it's miraculous that he lived as long as he did.

Looking at him, he looks just like another one of those cute, spoiled, yappy dogs, which he was, but I think he was the toughest dog I'll ever meet. About 4-1/2 years ago, the day before the Fourth of July, we noticed him walking funny in the backyard, like the caboose was loose from the rest of the train. It was presumed he had herniated a disc, common for long-bodied dogs like him. (His breed is Coton de Tulear.) We immediately scheduled him for back surgery with a local vet surgeon. Immediately prior to the back surgery, the surgeon did a myleogram to identify which disc was herniated. There was none. The surgeon called us and said for us to come pick him up the next day. When we walked into the surgeon's office, Max looked horrific. He was stuporous, nearly catatonic, paralyzed in his hind legs, blind, his whole body curved in a crescent shape, and circling uncontrollably (dragging himself with his front legs). The surgeon mumbled sorry and something about a disease called GME [Granulomatous Meningoencephalomyelitis]. [Basically, GME causes the body to create excess white blood cells in the nervous system, which leads to inflammation in the brain and spinal cord.]

Not knowing what else to do, we drove 3 hours to the Cornell Companion Animal Hospital, run by the Cornell Vet school, arguably the best in the country. The neurology department took him in via their emergency room and immediately started treating him with steroids, immunosuppressants, and chemotherapy. Within a few days, he had regained his vision and partial use of his back legs. It was amazing. What then followed were months of periodic chemotherapy and ongoing medications, physical therapy, massage therapy and laser therapy. In time, we were able to rehabilitate him and keep his GME symptoms at bay. Except for one back leg that would always look "kick standed" out to the side, you'd never know how sickly of a dog he was. We maintained that status quo for a couple years or so.

This past January, he started circling much more than usual [a common GME symptom]. He was having a GME relapse,  and we restarted the chemotherapy and high doses of steroids to battle the disease. (He had previously been weaned off of these treatments.) Also, Max was increasingly sensitive by the side of his stomach, and sometimes wouldn't eat. A sonogram diagnosed an enlarged gall bladder, a side effect of all the steroids he had taken over the years. We rejiggered his GME meds and added some liver/gall bladder supplements to his diet. This seemed to help for a while. Every month when we would take him to Cornell for chemo, they would do a sonogram on the gall bladder. For a while, it actually shrunken a bit, but then it started to get bigger again. Between the friable (thin, papery) condition of the outside of the gallbladder and the increasing amount of solids inside it, a burst gallbladder and or mucocele (plug) was imminent.

Last month, we were given three choices: 1) keep doing the same, and hope it doesn't burst, 2) put him down or 3) operate to remove the gallbladder. The surgery is a very risky surgery in general, but especially so for Max given he was immunosuppressed. We opted for #3, figuring at least it would give him a chance. I was thinking his odds of survival were 50/50, but in retrospect, were probably more like 33/67. The surgery was done on Halloweeen. It went OK, and he seemed to be OK immediately afterwards. But later that night, major medical complications occurred. I won't go into the details, but I'll just say they had him in the ICU for over two days trying to stabilize him and get his blood pressure up. Nothing worked. On Saturday, after we had exhausted all of our options, we were basically told his body was shutting down due to low blood pressure and lack of oxygen to his organs. At that point, we instructed the ICU vet to euthanize him. We turned his body over to the neurology department so they could do a necropsy for research purposes. GME is a funny disease in that the diagnosis can't be confirmed without a sample of brain tissue.

From his initial diagnosis of GME, Max lived for about 4  years and 4 months. Most dogs diagnosed with GME usually survive somewhere between never leaving the vet to maybe three years. As we understand it, Max is the longest surviving GME patient in Cornell's history, and one of the longest surviving in the country (not like there is an official database for this sort of stuff). With his 4+ years of case history, it is our hope that he will be able to help Cornell figure out a better way to treat this horrible disease. That, we hope, will be his legacy.

Through it all, Max never let the disease, or all he endured in being treated for the disease, get him down. Even though his stamina was greatly affected and he constantly endured a level of neuropathic pain, he still enjoyed playing, barking at the TV, car rides and all the other stupid stuff that dogs enjoy. So to me, for all he went through, and for all we hope his case contributes towards the treatment of GME, I think he was a very special dog. If you made it this far in the post,  I thank you. I wanted to share some sort of tribute to him, and this is the only online forum in which I am active.

Max2.jpg

Very sorry for your loss. There are times loosing a beloved pet is harder to handle then loosing a friend. Pets just get inside that special place in our heart and soul that nothing else can.

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