Learning Patience
To Unexpected Journeys
Grief is a lifelong condition, or so I’m discovering as time goes on. I find that much of the time I spend grieving London is spent grieving her disease: that her life was interrupted again and again and again, no matter what we tried: medications, natural remedies, reducing her stress, even special diets.
I’m not in the best of headspaces to confront epilepsy, but no one ever is. I’ve found myself straying dangerously into memories, getting stuck in the awful moments. As uncomfortable as I am writing this vague acknowledgement of what happened in the past, I know that there are dogs and their people facing this reality right now.
So here I am, one voice, asking that you take a moment with me to become aware.
Thank You for Being Here.
Most of epilepsy is spent waiting. Waiting for the seizure to end, waiting for the post ictal period to pass, waiting for the vet to check in, waiting for the medication to reach theraputic concentration, waiting for the next seizure to strike… I remember feeling as though I was always waiting for the next thing, even when I was engrossed in the tasks of actively responding to an emergency. It is tiring and draining and never-ending, yet when your beloved pet has this disease, what else can you do?
It is normal for that sense of waiting to overtake everything in life, from work to school to fun and play. Then, without the express purpose of jumping to death, it is normal for the waiting to continue even once they’re gone. Canine epilepsy trains you into the sense that the next emergency is around the corner, and you must be prepared to confront it. From this, you learn new kinds of patience, level-headedness, and preparedness that you never wanted. It’s a recipe for therapy, which I highly encourage.
For people whose dogs are epileptic, try to understand the strain and sacrifice, the care that goes into these dogs’ lives. If you ask a pet parent why they do what they do, it’s because the dog is so happy and healthy otherwise. How can we cut short a life when the dog so clearly wants to live? If we can shoulder the burden of handling the stress and terror of their seizures, it’s the least we can do as they experience the disease itself. If you are a pet parent with an epileptic dog, take what little comfort you can from this common experience: you’re not alone, and your efforts in every little moment are invaluable.
In London’s life, she met an amazing team of vets and techs – an entire hospital of dedicated veterinary souls who cared for her. I like to think her case furthered their individual studies and the study of canine epilepsy as a whole. Continuing that impact is why this blog and my fundraising effort to raise money for the Texas A&M Veterinary Neurology Fund exists.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read. I hope in the coming year to have the courage to update this blog more than once.