Two weeks ago Brock was having a sleep over with his buddy, Rosco. They woke me up around 6:30am and went straight outside to play. About 20 minutes later they came running back in and scarfed down breakfast. Rosco took Brock’s normal spot on the couch and after some whimpering Brock went behind the couch to nap. He threw himself on the tile near the front door, which I didn’t really think too much about. Rosco’s just a pup so I figured Brock was tired and overheated. A little later he got up and came around the corner dragging his left leg. I immediately freaked out and made him stop. He didn’t seem to be any pain and willingly stayed still. I had no idea what was going on and tried to calm myself down thinking maybe he’d be fine with some rest. Unfortunately, it became quite clear whatever this was wasn’t going to pass. In about 90 minutes Brock went from being a normal dog to having no use of his hind legs. I still wasn’t entirely sure how much of an emergency this was, but I knew he needed to see his vet. I called at 9 when they opened and the girl told me to go ahead and bring him in. They had a full slate of patients that day so I was just going to drop him off. I filled out a drop off form and someone took him to the back. They told me to go home and someone would call once the vet examined him.

I reluctantly left, but before I could put the car in reverse a gentleman had me come back inside. I was put in an exam room and knew it was bad as soon as I saw the vet. She said he had some sort of neurological issue, but couldn’t be sure without an MRI. They referred us to Summit Referral Hospital in Tacoma about 30 minutes away. By the time we got up there Brock knew something was wrong and was visibly shaking. I was only in the waiting room for about 20 minutes but I swear it felt more like hours. When they called me back I thought it was odd they didn’t take me to an exam room. It was more of an office. I have no idea why, but I thought Brock would be waiting.

The Attending Vet went through all the possibilities of what could be wrong with him. From what I remember (which isn’t much from the day) she said the majority of dogs who present with Brock’s symptoms have suffered some sort of disc injury. It could be a rupture or a contusion, but wouldn’t know for sure without an MRI. She mentioned that he could have suffered what’s called a fibrocartilaginous embolism (FCE), that’s a fancy word I can’t pronounce for stroke, and I should be prepared for all possible outcomes. She reiterated this wasn’t an immediately life-threatening situation, but I would likely need to make a quality of life decision. Did he need surgery? Could they make him better? How was I going to figure out what’s best for him?

Side note: It was unfortunate to have this conversation with an attractive woman. I’m trying to concentrate on Brock but couldn’t help looking to see if there was any evidence of a ring. Yes, that probably makes a terrible parent but Brock isn’t mad. He gets it.

He wouldn’t get the MRI for several hours, and I spent most of the day reminding myself he wasn’t going to die. However, I knew I needed to think logically about what quality of life actually means. I needed to think about all those questions. I was preparing myself to make decisions about the next steps in his treatment. I wasn’t at all prepared for the news he had a stroke and there wasn’t much more they could do. This was going to be a wait and see how he recovers kind of deal.

Hi, I’m Rosco and playing with me probably caused Brock’s stroke 😦

The Neurologists I met with that night went through his diagnosis and what it meant. I remember her telling me that Brock had suffered significant trauma and might not ever walk again. That, of course, is when I totally lost it. She advised me to go home and research everything I could find on strokes. Sleep on it, try to process all the information, and not make any decisions that night. I remember her saying if Brock is the kind of dog worth the effort (definitely not her exact words) I should try, but this was going to be A LOT of work.

They took me back see him, and that was by far the most brutal part of the day. I thought he was going to be all drugged up, but he knew exactly who I was. He jumped up (sort of anyway) and was so happy to see me. Thinking back it was so awful looking at him knowing just 12 hours earlier he was running around the backyard with his buddy. It was so hard telling him I couldn’t take him home that night. This was easily one of the worst moments of my life.

As awful as all of this was, I was also so thankful for my friends that dropped everything to be there for us. I couldn’t be more thankful for the all the people at Summit. Not just the way they cared for Brock, but the empathy they showed me.

She told me he had been such a good, sweet, boy. Imagine my surprise when I saw all the dogs in crates in this big open room. He’s kind of a dick with that bark. Everyone went about their business but were so respectful of the space I needed with him in that moment. I don’t remember how long I was with him but I knew I was leaving him in good hands. He had pillows and wrapped up in a warm blanket.

The next day, the attractive Attending Vet from the day before called to give me an update. She said there wasn’t much of a change, but he ate. I was so overwhelmed by the situation, but as soon as she said that I knew I had to bring him home. To me, if he was willingly eating then he wanted to live and I needed to just figure it all out. He stayed in the hospital until Tuesday and bringing him home that afternoon is when our adventure really began.