22/08/2024
R.I.P. our sweet Izzy girl!
Your generous spirit and all the love we shared will always hold space in our hearts and be celebrated til the end of our days.
Izzy’s Goodbye and Final Reflections : Post-Mortem Reveals Cause of Death
It’s been 3.5 weeks since we had to say goodbye, and I’m still struggling to piece together the fragments of my shattered heart and soul. Your kindness and support during this time have meant so much to Hugo, Chris, and me, and I want you all to know how deeply we appreciate it.
I’d like to share what happened, as I’ve tried to do throughout this journey to the best of my ability.
When I sent out Izzy’s early retirement notice on Thursday, July 25th, she was content and happy. She even barked at me—something she rarely did—because I couldn’t stop crying after making it official that we’d be training a new family member to take over for her. I think she knew I needed a little break. We spent the day cuddling and napping together. Her tummy was starting to improve with the new herbs we added, and we only had to go outside twice that night.
The next morning, Friday, we had one of the best walks we’d had in a long time. Izzy was happy, alert, and fully engaged in all sorts of games, with her wobbles at a minimum. I was so hopeful and optimistic…
After social hour that day, we hung out, and she seemed tired, which I assumed was due to the morning walk. Around 3 pm, she got up, came over to me, and started having seizures. These seizures were different from the previous ones, resembling a mix of focal seizures and vestibular disease symptoms—her head tilted, her eyes turned backward, and she experienced rapid eye movements. I called the neurologist and immediately began the cluster protocol, administering seizure medication. Although she briefly came out of the seizures, she would quickly start another. Her ataxia was so severe that she fell over while trying to p*e.
At this point, I had already discussed with the neurology team about bringing her in if it seemed necessary. The four of us got into the car and headed towards CanWest, but during the entire drive, Izzy continued to go in and out of seizures. Not even the nasal administration of medication seemed to have any effect.
Upon arrival, Dr. S. assessed her and was uncertain whether these were seizures or something else entirely. Izzy was admitted to the ICU, and we all thought that perhaps she had flushed out her medication due to her diarrhea. Despite the situation, we remained optimistic. Izzy even had her first solid p**p in two weeks right in front of the hospital before I handed her over to the ICU team.
I called at 10 pm that evening, and they informed me that the episodes continued despite her being on IV medication. When I called again at 5 am, they said the episodes were still ongoing, which is when I realized this was serious. I waited for Chris to wake up at 7:30 am, and by that time, I had packed food for her, assuming she might need to stay in the hospital longer, refusing to give in to the dark feeling that was creeping up inside me.
We were almost at the hospital when Dr. S. called. The news wasn’t good. We spoke for about five minutes, and I asked her to continue the conversation in person. It became clear that, whatever our next steps were in trying to help her brain heal or at least stop the episodes, we would need to add more immunosuppressants—medications that came with side effects Izzy was already suffering from. From the beginning, I had asked Dr. S. to prioritize Izzy’s quality of life above all else. Ensuring the best quality of life for all our pups is, and always will be, my top priority. I couldn’t agree to further treatment when it was clear that we would only be buying time, and that time would come at the expense of Izzy’s well-being.
I knew after that phone call where this would end, so I wasn’t surprised when we were led to a quiet room instead of the usual consulting room. When Dr. S. walked in, our eyes met, and we both knew… We had lost the fight. We discussed how Izzy had been during the night and morning, and it was evident that her body and brain were no longer responding to the medication. I thanked Dr. S.—and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life—for providing the best care we could have ever asked for. She is not only a brilliant neurologist but also a truly remarkable person, and I’m grateful to Izzy for bringing her into our lives.
They had to carry Izzy into the room because she could no longer walk. As soon as she saw us, she went straight into another episode. I moved her into my lap, held her paw, and she began to breathe calmly and sleep—no more episodes, just peaceful breathing in my lap. She was ready, though neither of us was, nor ever will be. You’re never truly ready to say goodbye to your four-legged friend, partner, soulmate, and wingwoman. But it is a true gift to be there for her, to help her feel safe, to comfort her, and to help her take her last breath pain-free and worry-free. For this, I am deeply thankful to Dr. S. and the entire team at Canada West.
I had discussed with Dr. S. my desire to have a necropsy performed to learn more about the condition that took Izzy from us. Science and research are fundamental pillars of my life; I believe in them and have personally benefited from studies, and I will continue to do so. The only way medicine and science can continue to advance, developing better treatments and cures for diseases, is through the knowledge gained from necropsies. Trust me, it was absolutely heartbreaking, but Izzy always loved working, teaching, and guiding others, and this allowed her to continue doing so even in her death.
Today, I received the post-mortem results. Izzy did not suffer from MUO (meningitis of unknown origin); instead, she had a neurodegenerative disease that specifically targeted her cerebellum. Neurodegenerative diseases are conditions where cells of the central nervous system stop functioning or die. These disorders typically worsen over time and have no cure. They can be genetic or caused by factors like tumors or strokes. In Izzy’s case, there was no tumor, and she did not suffer a stroke. While it’s impossible to say with 100% certainty that this was genetically caused, the fact that one of her littermates, Mocha, was euthanized in February 2024 due to similar symptoms suggests a genetic link. Dr. S. is asking for any of Izzy’s relatives who might show neurological symptoms—such as dragging of the paws, seizures, or ataxia—to come and see her. She has the complete medical histories of both Izzy and Mocha. I have passed this information on to the breeders.
What stands out in Izzy’s case is the rapid progression of the disease, which is uncommon for neurodegenerative conditions. Looking back, there was nothing we could have done differently or better. Does this help? I hope it brings some comfort to Dr. S., knowing she did everything right, and I believe Izzy’s case study will contribute to finding answers and hopefully lead to better outcomes for future dogs suffering from this unnamed neurodegenerative disease.
As for me, does it help? Maybe just a tiny bit, but it won't bring her back, and it won't heal my heart.
The pure, unconditional love and special bond we share with our four-legged friends bring us our best days and our hardest days. Yet, this love is everlasting. Izzy will live forever in my heart, and I know there won’t be a single day when I don’t feel her presence.
Even knowing the outcome, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to do it all over again because every single moment I shared with Izzy is worth this excruciating pain. We are incredibly fortunate to have experienced such profound bonds and the intense love that accompanies them. I am eternally grateful that Izzy chose me to be her mom, and I will miss her with every breath I take for the rest of my life.
She taught me so much! She helped so many dogs through our work together. She was the best little big sister Hugo could have ever wished for. Her love for him and her support during his health struggles will forever leave me in awe. My tiny, little wobbly roadrunner, who would come find me no matter how deeply asleep she seemed when I got up—she was always there. When she wasn’t working with me, she would supervise from the bedroom upstairs, sitting on the bed looking down into the yard, or sitting in the living room at the window, eagerly waiting for me to come and get her to help.
Her pure joy during our walks was unmatched. She loved life and didn’t waste a single second. She happily snored under my desk while I studied or did admin work, always ready to go as soon as I was. She never wanted to miss a moment with me. Oh, girl, how am I supposed to do this without you? But I won’t ever really be without you, because you are and always will be a part of me. I love you with all my heart and soul.
I’m sorry it took me this long to write this post, but I wanted to wait for the report so I could let you know what it was that took her from us.
Love, B
