After six days of waiting impatiently, I got a call back from the emergency vet Maggie visited last week. The good news is that the tests they ran confirmed the preliminary diagnosis of a urinary tract infection. After the long and growing list of canine ailments I’ve dealt with over the years, a run of the mill UTI was just about as good an outcome as I could hope to have.
Because in this household we can’t do anything entirely basic, Mag’s urine culture showed that the E. coli bacteria causing the infection wasn’t likely to be fully treated by the particular antibiotic originally given. It did, fortunately, help alleviate the worst of it. Since I’m looking for knock-down, drag-out eradication, though, I’m more than happy to spring for the second 10-day course of targeted antibiotics. It’ll be a small price to pay to get my girl to a place where she’s a) more comfortable, b) not as likely to pee all over the house in the dead of night, and c) can resume her duties as my 70 pound live action foot warmer.
A few weeks ago I laughingly posted on Facebook about a meme showing the average dog owner spends $1000 a year on care and feeding. That sounds awfully low to me, even for a bare minimum of food and medical care. As the science of human medicine marches forward, veterinary medicine marches along a few steps away… with the a corresponding increases in price for the kind of services that owners can now expect and demand.
I’m very thankful that this time around, we didn’t have to chase down anything too dramatic or crash into an aggressive treatment plan. You’ll forgive me, I hope. “Normal” illnesses are still something of novelty here.
English bulldogs are freaks of nature. I mean that in the nicest way possible, but the fact remains that anatomically they’re a creation that would not exist in nature. That’s what makes them endearing to “bulldog people,” but it’s also what makes them prone to all manner of genetic illness.
Currently, my Winston is battling another skin infection. That’s nothing unusual. Bulldogs seem born with skin problems that only get worse as they age. At nearly seven, my boy isn’t a youngster by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve been dealing with skin troubles with him since he was 2. The challenge this time is that the bacteria causing the infection has progressively gotten more resistant to typical antibiotic treatments. In fact we’re basically down to the last one that the vet considers reasonably “safe.” Beyond minocycline there are two others we could have used, but their side effects in dogs are generally worse than what they cure. Other options include a couple of daily IV therapies, but those have the unfortunate side effect of destroying the kidneys while they save the skin. That didn’t sound like a worthwhile trade off.
The long term prognosis for Winston fighting off this particular infection is officially “We’ll see how things look after he’s run the full three week course of antibiotics.” That’s not what I wanted to hear, but if there’s anything I appreciate in a vet it’s giving me an unpleasant truth head on and then working into what options are left from there.
Winston has come through infections before, he’s come back better than I could have hoped from leg surgery, he even fought off a MRSI about 18 months ago. I also know each infection and operation and round of meds take their toll. I’m not ready to start thinking about the decisions I’ll need to make if the options box dwindles down to medicine-induced kidney failure or an infection that will slowly spread across every inch of his skin and make him miserable in the process. We’re not there yet, but the vet’s Very Serious Voice on the phone this afternoon told me that we’re not as far off from there as I’d like to be.
All I can really say as we sit and wait is that I’m determined he’s not going to be left to suffer out of my own misguided desire to keep him around forever. But we’re not there yet and I’ll just have to burn that bridge when we get to it.
All that’s really left to do now is hope that at some point I’ll start feeling better. I’m not saying that I’m lying on death’s door or anything, but I’m feeling crusty enough that I’m pretty much not interested in anything – including writing. That’s saying something for a guy who likes nothing so much as the clickity clack of his own keyboard. The fact is, I’m mostly preoccupied with trying not to launch into a coughing fit at the morning meeting and sitting at my desk pondering what on earth could be going on in my sinus cavity that would turn mucus a disturbing blaze orange color. Seriously. Without getting overly graphic, my right nostril runs in blaze orange and the left in day glow green. Back in the good old days of cigarette smoke, I was no stranger to odd colored things shooting out of my face, but this new color palate is a little disturbing. Sorry about that. I know it was more sharing that you’re really use to here.
I’m sure there are plenty of other things that are comment worthy going on in the world right now and I hope you’ll forgive me for being a little self involved at the moment. All this is really the doctor’s fault if you’re looking for someone to blame. If he’d have just written the prescription I told him to, we’d be happily back to business as usual around here by now.