Memories of Teddy, Teddifer, Theodore, Tugboat Jenkins

Seven and a half years ago, I was maladaptively dealing with a broken heart until I adopted Teddy.  His previous owners had to leave the country, and couldn't take him with them.  He was 2 years old, loved to put on sweaters, and rang a bell to go outside like a true gentleman.  My first week with him, he spent all day looking out the window waiting for his previous owners to return.  The picture was his first day with me, and he was looking out the window with extreme focus.  We kept each other company and slowly started to live our lives.  We went on daily walks, and got ourselves out into the sunshine.  He wagged his nub tail the minute I got home and jumped frantically with excitement.  Coming home to him made me happier, and living with him made me calmer.

It was not all sunshine.  Teddy pooped in my bed and my sister's bed (see post: Reasons to get a roommate besides Teddy).  He knocked a mocha into my car radio trying to sit on my lap while I was driving, causing the radio to make a horrible beeping noise for 2 hours until it stopped working altogether.  He bit my nephew Brayden when he was 3 years old, and I remember Brayden running round exclaiming, "Teddy bit mine finger in the kitchen."  His frequent ear infections unfortunately smelled like expired cottage cheese.  Despite all these things for which you can't really fault a dog, he was wonderful company.  He insisted on sitting as close as possible to you, and he would back his little doggy butt against you while he pushed your friend, or laptop, or boyfriend out of the way.  When I played guitar or piano, he sat underfoot and quietly listened seemingly soothed by the music.  When he slept on the bed, he somehow maneuvered himself until the bed ratio was 3:1 Teddy to me (see image).  If for any reason I was sad or crying, he managed to know and sat even closer.  While I was in medical school, he lived with my parents and younger sister for 2 years, and became a part of the family.

June of last year, Teddy developed elevated liver enzymes.  Already overwhelmed with the cost of treating his ear infections and possible doggy food allergies, I decided to wait to check them again until his next set of labs in December.  In September, he developed a sore by his nose.  After two courses of antibiotics from his regular vet, the lesion did not heal, new lesions appeared under his mouth, his paws were sore and cracked, and he was trembling regularly.  His labs showed further elevation in liver enzymes and anemia.  Through my penchant for diagnosing rare diseases, I did a literature search and became concerned about hepatocutanous syndrome.  I brought this up to my vet, and she dismissed the rare diagnosis which made me earn the nickname "Persian Fury."  I cannot recommend the Petsmart Banfield clinic to anybody after my experience.  After a referral to a specialist in November, the diagnosis was confirmed as Hepatocutatnous Syndrome - a rare and progressive liver disease with unknown etiology associated with painful skin lesions.  The vet told me that it was impossible to predict his life span, but I knew from aggressive googling and literature review that median survival after skin lesions develop was 5 months.  My friend was dying, my heart imploded, and I became frantic.

The only treatment was a permanent IV with weekly amino acid infusions, only palliative, not curative, and invasive.  I tried high protein diets, denosyl, vitamin E, carafate, iron supplements, antibiotics wipes, medicated shampoos, doggy shoes, and diaper cream to protect his sores without any improvement.  He didn't eat, or bark, or move from his chair.  I decided to finally get the amino acid infusions and in 3 weeks, the difference was amazing.  He was walking and playing, not as much as he could last Summer, but he would greet me at the door and wag his nub tail joyfully.  We tried to space out his treatments to every two weeks in late January with lousy results and return of his painful, cracked paws.  With weekly treatments, he improved again and I started to plan for his future, thinking he may even move to Boston with me.  Over the past month, I held my hopeful plans as I saw subtle deterioration with each passing week.  Every delicious snack I brought home would be tolerated for a day before it was dismissed.  He would limp after walking long distances, and lifted up his paws with discomfort.  I would carry him outside to use the bathroom because he was often reluctant to leave the sofa on his own.  Over the past week, he was breathing fast every night when he slept, developed a heart murmur at his last checkup, and started to refuse many varieties of food.  I knew our life together was becoming maladaptive again.  Over the weekend, I said goodbye to Teddy after a final trip to the park and ice cream treat.  It was one of the most difficult things I've every done.  I know loving Teddy was an important part of my life, but this is an impossibly sad experience.  If having a pet prolongs your life, going through the loss of a pet seems like it might shorten your life.  Anyway, I was terribly sad, so I thought I'd share this story.  I would like to thank my family and friends for helping me cope with my overwrought emotions with lovely stories about Teddy and notions of lovely meadows in pet heaven, and my internet readers (people who inadvertently end up here with a google image search gone wrong) for stopping here for a moment.

-By Farrah, who developed the term post-lacrimation emesis recently