Ready? Or Not?

September 17, 2012 By

Leap for JoyHomeopathy can bring downright exciting results to animals treated properly with it. Humans, too, of course, but I mostly deal with animals.

Chronic, grinding, bothersome diseases like the itchy, smelly ears that would never improve. Seizures that necessitate constant drugging to stay at bay. Joint disease that all but cripples a young dog, too young for the arthritis diagnosis

When these things just let go, after a proper remedy, and the animal comes out of treatment full of enthusiasm again, shiny of coat and gleaming in the eyes, you can’t help but smile. You’ve just seen a miracle.

Miracle?

Well, it sure seems like one. A lot of hard work went into it, of course, searching for symptoms, modalities that make those symptoms better or worse, trying to see the remedy that most closely matches those symptom patterns in the patient, deciding what potency to use, to repeat or not to repeat the dose.

And then evaluating the response or lack thereof. What got better? What didn’t? What’s new? And, what’s next?

But BOOM, when the remedy is well chosen and the dose was correct, and the repetition or its lack was well done, Way Better emerges. Wow! emerges.

“I’d forgotten he used to do that!” “She played like I haven’t seen her play since she was a pup!”

Shout!

And you want to tell everyone. Shout the glories of homeopathy from the rooftops, to your grocer, your office mate, your mother in law! And they might look at you with that “Bless her heart” pity, smile wanly, and move on to their next distraction.

I’ve had a few clients eagerly send people to me. Friends, family, acquaintances. People who should have never come. People who, when they got here, were obviously not expecting to hear what I have to say, to answer the myriad of questions I need to ask about their animals, or to even consider that they could be doing healthier things for their animals that I suggest they might want to consider.

Squirm.

I try to be gentle. I can be very understanding. I don’t push, but suggest, explain, give examples. But I can see in their faces that they wish they weren’t here. That this is not their model of a veterinary visit. That it’s just too much for them to shift gears into.

And so, it goes nowhere. In one instance, after I spelled out the possibilities of what “getting better” could look like, I could see in the sick dog’s owner’s eyes that that wasn’t desirable or even acceptable. Disease + drugs for life was far preferable to the picture I was painting. So I never even prescribed a remedy. The dog and his human went home. Never to know the glorious possibility of miracle that could come to be.

After having had a handful of cases like this, where zealous clients have proclaimed, unsolicited, to other animal owners, that they just HAVE TO see Dr. Falconer for this poor animal’s condition, I now quietly ask the client to please send them to my website first. So they can get a taste of who I am, how I see health and disease, how I treat illness.

And prevent the awkwardness of landing in a place where they didn’t want to be.

Patience.

All things need to come when they are ready. Pushing holistic medicine on someone who is not seeking it doesn’t help that person or holistic medicine.

Best just to share your miracle with those who are genuinely interested. It’s yours, after all. And your animal’s.

Filed Under: Musings Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Sometimes, It Just Hurts

July 8, 2012 By

Name’s Jeeter. Pleased to meetcha.

I’ve had the good fortune to be able to work with a band of horses owned by Travaasa Austin, an upscale resort in the Texas Hill Country, not too far from where I live. These horses, besides the usual trail riding work, also help people to connect with horses in a manner that many, especially city folks, have not had the opportunity to partake in.

It pretty quickly becomes apparent when you spend some time around these big brutes, that they are very sensitive creatures. While they are big enough to run you over and cause untold mayhem if panicked, they are also very respectful and kind.

One of the reasons I became a veterinarian, in fact, was early teen experiences I had with a herd of horses. And later, when my crazy brother who was my role model for some years, got a hankering to own Clydesdales, and I got to interact with these giants, I really was in awe of how responsive the horse can be. Walking into a narrow slip stall next to a huge 2200 pound Clyde and seeing her step out of my way with the gentlest of urging, sold me: I want to work with these guys!

When there’s not much to tell but, “I hurt!”

Jeeter is a quarter horse, one of the band at Travaasa, who was presented for treatment a month ago when I made a farm call there. He was described to me as “just uncomfortable,” and “unpredictable,” especially when he was asked to do anything more than just walk. Even with no one on his back, no lines and no saddle on, Jeeter really objected to being asked to run in the round pen, and he told everyone this by pinning his ears back. Ouch. He hurt!

His rear legs were deemed slow, dragging, compared to the other horses. Jeeter’s discomfort made it impossible to use him for trail rides. The wranglers could ride him, but had to be prepared for him to buck. Something just didn’t feel good, and it sounded like his spine was involved. A common place for discomfort in this species, as man is often sitting on this spine, perhaps on an ill-fitting saddle!

Digging Deeper for Clues

When a homeopathic vet treats a patient, it’s important to find out who this individual is, what makes him stand out. The name of the game is to find the patterns of how this particular individual shows his illness, as well as his unique nature.

So, Jeeter hurt, probably in his back. And, it was made worse by exertion, by bending, “gathering himself,” as horse folks say, meaning the digging in, flexing the body to run, getting his feet under him to propel himself forward. This is asking more of his anatomy than just walking around easily did.

But what else? It’d be very hard to prescribe accurately on one symptom, in any patient. I had to hear more.

Luckily, I had three wranglers present, all of whom knew Jeeter’s temperament and habits. And I valued all of their input, and took notes.

Here’s what else I learned:

    • Jeeter had an intermittent cough
    • He loved the company of people
    • He loved being brushed
    • He was pretty low in the pecking order of his herd
    • I felt the glands under his chin, and they were swollen
    • While being brushed, he was the only one who “dropped his penis” — meaning his penis relaxed and fell passively out of his sheath.

A Swing and a Miss

Okay, and, like way too many of my patients, Jeeter had had plenty of vaccinations in his history. So, as is not uncommon is patients with some degree of discomfort and a history of vaccinations, he got a dose of a vaccinosis remedy: Thuja 10M.

I had a second remedy in mind, but wanted to start here, as I’ve seen how much pathology the vaccines can cause.

Three weeks later, I talked to Keith, the head of the horse program. “No better. Still can’t use him for riding.”

Okay, so he didn’t have enough in common with this vaccinosis remedy to get repair moving in his body. Time for a more constitutional remedy.

I had very little to work with, and some of it was assumption:

    • A sore spine (it might have been his hips, but just tightening his cinch made him pin his ears, so I figured it was his back hurting him).
    • An intermittent cough (none of the others in the herd had this, so it sounded characteristic for Jeeter).
    • Jeeter loved brushing and being with people.
    • He was a “sensitive guy” — just brushing him got him so relaxed his penis dropped.
    • Jeeter got worse when he exerted, especially when he ran.

A Fitting Remedy?

I saw that the remedy Phosphorus fit all of this quite well. The individual needing phosphorus is often quite sensitive. For example, a lot of them hate thunderstorms, as it’s just too much for their senses to take.

Phosphorus centers on the spine quite well, as well as the lungs. Respiratory disease is not uncommon in the person or animal needing this remedy.

Jeeter, like a lot of “phosphorus patients,” loved stroking, brushing, etc. In the old books of homeopathy, this is often referred to as “magnetism” or “mesmerism,” after the popular practice long ago of passing one’s hands over someone’s body to aid their healing.

So, I sent Jeeter a single dose of phosphorus 1M. Keith was to put the granules on a slice of apple and feed it to him.

A Home Run!

We talked the other day to check in on the horses I’d treated a few weeks back. Jeeter was now able to be ridden without any pain! Bucking was a thing of the past. He was now a full fledged part of the herd and able to be part of the riding program instead of just being part of the “horse experience” as before!

So, sometimes a veterinary homeopath has to reach, make some assumptions,  try and try again, but when the right remedy is found, boom. The whole animal responds.

If he’d have been a person, I could have asked him lots of questions and had an easier time of arriving at his remedy. “What does it feel like?” “Does it get worse in any kind of weather?” “How do you feel about being in this group?” “Anything scare you?”

But Jeeter is a horse. So, I had to work with what I could glean from his observant caretakers, the wranglers there at the resort. Luckily, they provided enough clues that I could find a remedy that fit the Whole Horse, and he’s a world better for that.

“Now, who wants to brush me?” Jeeter wonders. “I’ll follow you anywhere if you do!”

(for a heartfelt account of one guest’s experience with Jeeter, read about it in her blog, here.)

Filed Under: Cases from homeopathic practice Tagged With: , , , , , ,

When Shedding is Cool.

June 24, 2012 By

There’s shedding and then there’s shedding. You know? 

When shedding knows no bounds; make the most of it!

OMG. Really?

Oh, wait, that’s just me, who hears about hair on the floor, hair on the brush, dusty hair bunnies who breed under the kitchen table, and the like.

See, usually, shedding is a symptom. One that I catalog for evaluating my patients’ well being.

“Still shedding every day, are we?”

“Yeah, still hoovering up a rug every day, Dr. Falconer.”

“Ah.”

And I go back to work, keeping that symptom on my Working Symptom List for this beast I’m trying to get well.

Cause, I know, one day, this, too, will cease. When my Whole Patient is well.

Really well. You know, Whole Dog well. Or Whole Cat well.

It’ll stop.

Then I’ll smile and ask, “Anything else he’s talking to us about? How bout those farts at 4:00 pm? Those eye boogers? The big saucer eyes when you set down that lumpy bag of shopping?”

“How are all those things, eh?”

The name of the game in this homeopathy business is Curing the Whole Beast. It means we don’t stop while there are symptoms still talking to us.

Because symptoms mean: Not Well Yet. Still Trying to Get There.

So, you’ve got to imagine my delight when Tricia tells me, in passing, that both her Danes blew their coats. At the same time. For about a week. And then quit.

It doesn’t hurt that Tricia feeds me raw food!

“What? You mean they both did it on the same week? These two unrelated beasts?”

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing! And now they don’t shed any more?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s too cool! That’s WONDerfull!! I’m so impressed!!! I’m telling people about this. Folks have got to hear this!”

Okay, so you’ve got to get the sense of the nerdiness of a homeopath like me. I wait for moments like this. And when they are just announced, in passing, my brain goes into high alert.

Did I just hear something that indicates high level wellness? I DID?? Oooooo. I want all the juicy details!!

This is Significant? How, exactly?

So, shedding. Pretty boring, right? All animals do it. It’s just part of having a dog or a cat, right? (excepting the few breeds who really don’t, like the Poodle Dudes)

But it’s deeper than that. Trust me on this. Shedding all year round is Not Normal.

Common, yes. Normal, no.

Animals who are well, really, truly well, don’t shed all the time. They do it seasonally. Boom. Done.

And, of course, lots and lots of animals coming in as patients do it every day. All year round. Yawn.

It’s so common, I sometimes forget to ask about it, in my pursuit of finding what’s bugging my patients.

Turning off the light.

The Big Goal here at Alternatives for Animal Health is to cure my patients.

Cure. Often confused with covering up symptoms. But decidedly not that.

Drugs are often likened to putting a piece of black electrical tape over the oil light that lights up on your dashboard, and driving merrily along your way.

To certain disaster.

How many miles away? It varies, but it’s ahead, that’s for sure.

No, we see that oil light, that shedding all the time, that pale, spotty nose, that waxy ear, that goober-y left eye, as an indicator that somewhere, deep inside, there dwells something needing attention.

That’s really all that symptoms are: little warning lights. My clients have all been trained to pay attention to them. And to get good at describing them.

And when they leave, when those warning lights go off, on their own, from deep inside, we know we’ve really done some good. The remedies have done their magic. That animal is left in its God-given state of Health, by God.

And then, we celebrate. And I exclaim. And the patient, that healthy animal over there just goes, “What? I feel good now. What’s the big deal?”

Filed Under: Cases from homeopathic practice Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

And the Cat Came Back!

June 8, 2012 By

Texas Ray: in his healthy guy state

I saw Texas Ray yesterday, a big old Texas-sized guy of a cat, who has the whole neighborhood loving him, because he’s such a character. Texas (“Not Tex, he’s too big for shortening his name,” says Shelly, his proud owner, who took him in as a bony young stray so many years ago) had a clear case of ADR.

 

You know this diagnosis? Many species, including ours, succumb to ADR now and then.

It stands for Ain’t Doin’ Right!

Texas wasn’t himself for several weeks, and when Shelly wrote to me, seeking an appointment, her list of how that ADR looked included:

  1. Pale gums.
  2. Lethargy, sleeping all the time, tired.
  3. Grumpy. You know, with that twitchy tail you see when a cat’s irritated.
  4. Odd breathing. Texas Ray’s chest would rise and fall without a normal, smooth rhythm to it. Looked kind of jerky. Maybe too fast.
  5. He’d been snoring and wheezing, too.
  6. Sleeping hunkered down on cool tile, instead of in his usual belly up, legs akimbo, “It’s All Cool” posture.
  7. Texas’ shiny coat had gone dull, disheveled, and the black parts were looking rusty reddish. Smooth had turned to coarse since ADR set in.

Funky, used-to-be-black coat

 

So, clearly, not a normal state for this guy. And he was talking to Shelly. How? Showing symptoms that weren’t his normal way of doing his life. And she paid attention.

As is not unusual in my busy homeopathic practice, I couldn’t see Texas Ray right away. No room in the inn. He’d already been through the conventional diagnostic tests (blood screens, radiographs, even ultrasound) and nothing appeared abnormal.

 

So, I was able to see Texas 12 days later, and, lo and behold, he was already better! I took my usual full history to hear where he’d been in his health, and the first, most striking thing was that he had gotten wayyyyy better. Before he got any remedies from me. What happened?

 

Shelly took away his high end, healthy label commercial food and started tossing him raw quail.

 

Texas Ray took to them like a lion to a wildebeest. Devoured them.

 

And never looked back.

 

He lost the attitude. The twitchy, edgy business. Gone overnight.

He perked up. Got engaged with his humans once more. Quickly.

His gums pinked up a bit, though they still had a ways to go.

 

I was happily, though knowingly pleased with this success story. And a bit surprised. He’d been on a food known to be one of the healthy brands, no byproducts, the dry part of his diet was not preserved with BHA or BHT or any of the toxic chemicals.

 

But: it wasn’t anything like prey. Which is what he was waiting for. And when he got it, boom, he headed for greener pastures.

 

I still saw room to help him, and started homeopathic medicine, as he still had some symptoms, and I expect he’ll get well again.

But what a lesson.

Texas Ray: “Feed me real food. I’ll do (most of) the rest.”

Tell ‘em, Tex.

Filed Under: Cases from homeopathic practice Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Rescued Dog Now Rehabs Others

April 16, 2012 By

So, being a veterinarian, I get lots of neat stories sent my way about the things animals do that surprise or charm us two-leggeds. Here’s one that is quite remarkable. Enjoy.

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Jasmine

In 2003, police in Warwickshire, England, opened a garden shed and found a whimpering, cowering dog.
It had been locked in the shed and abandoned. It was dirty and malnourished, and had clearly been abused.

In an act of kindness, the police took the dog, which was a Greyhound female,
to the nearby Nuneaton Warwickshire Wildlife Sanctuary, run by a man named Geoff Grewcock and known as a willing haven for animals abandoned, orphaned or otherwise in need. Click for more info: http://www.warwickshirewildlifesanctuary.co.uk/index.htm

Geoff and the other sanctuary staff went to work with two aims to restore the dog to full health, and to win her trust. It took several weeks, but eventually both goals were achieved.

They named her Jasmine, and they started to think about finding her an adoptive home.

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But Jasmine had other ideas. No-one remembers now how it began, but she started welcoming all Animal arrivals at the sanctuary.
It wouldn’t matter if it was a puppy, a fox cub, a rabbit or, any other lost or hurting Animal, Jasmine would peer into the box or cage and, where possible, deliver a welcoming lick.

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Geoff relates one of the early incidents. “We had two puppies that had been abandoned by a nearby railway line.
One was a Lakeland Terrier cross and another was a Jack Russell Doberman cross.
They were tiny when they arrived at the centre and Jasmine approached them and grabbed one by the scruff of the neck in her mouth and put him on the settee.
Then she fetched the other one and sat down with them, cuddling them.”

“But she is like that with all of our animals, even the rabbits.
She takes all the stress out of them and it helps them to not only feel close to her but to settle into their new surroundings.

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“She has done the same with the fox and badger cubs, she licks the rabbits and guinea pigs and even lets the birds perch on the bridge of her nose.”

Jasmine, the timid, abused, deserted waif, became the animal sanctuary’s resident surrogate mother, a role for which she might have been born.

The list of orphaned and abandoned youngsters she has cared for comprises five fox cubs, four badger cubs, 15 chicks, eight guinea pigs, two stray puppies and 15 rabbits.

And one roe deer fawn. Tiny Bramble, 11 weeks old, was found semi-conscious in a field. Upon arrival at the sanctuary, Jasmine cuddled up to her to keep her warm, and then went into the full foster mum role.

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Jasmine the greyhound showers Bramble the Roe deer with affection.

“They are inseparable,” says Geoff “Bramble walks between her legs and they keep kissing each other.
They walk together round the sanctuary.

It’s a real treat to see them.”

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Jasmine will continue to care for Bramble until she is old enough to be returned to woodland life.
When that happens, Jasmine will not be lonely. She will be too busy showering love and affection on the next orphan or victim of abuse.

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From left, Toby, a stray Lakeland dog; Bramble, orphaned Roe deer; Buster, a stray Jack Russell; a dumped rabbit; Sky, an injured barn owl; and Jasmine with a Mothers heart doing best what a caring Mother would do.

Filed Under: Amazing Animals Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

All My Patients Die

April 9, 2012 By

Callie died, with the help of the euthanasia solution she got from the conventional vet on Friday. She had rectal cancer, and I came on the scene back in November, with hopes that homeopathy could do for her what it did for Blueford, the Blue Tick Hound a couple years back: Made it Go Away. It’s.still.gone.

But Callie wasn’t Blueford. She was Callie, and everyone is different. That’s what makes veterinary homeopathy both interesting and difficult. It’s never One Size Fits All. Or The Remedy for This Disease Is ______.

It’s, rather, Find the Remedy for ______ (fill in patient’s name here).

Callie was a feral cat, found by my friend and client of several years, Linda, who has become known in her neighborhood as The Cat Lady. She’s learned them so well, she can answer questions about raising them, feeding them, she’ll post Lost Cat notices when a neighbor has lost one, she’ll help people find cat resources, she just Knows Cats. She should probably start her own blog, but that’s another story.

Being a feral, it took a long time to gain Callie’s trust and acceptance, and Linda gave her every chance to run for it, if ever Callie got a mind to book on out of her house. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, she got Callie eating wonderful raw food, took in her “teen bride” litter of three, then got her spayed, and gave her her space to be in the house or out and about. Once Callie really got it that Linda was no threat, she stuck pretty close to home.

Linda named them The Tribe, and cared for mom and her three offspring.

In September, Callie started acting clingy to Linda, a clear departure from what her usual distant, even somewhat bitchy nature had been. She’d want to sleep on Linda’s belly, she’d plaintively call out for her needs. Linda, ever observant, started seeing blood spots here and there, bright red ones, and it was determined that it was coming from Callie’s anal area.

Linda had been working with my wonderful homeopathic colleague and friend Dr. Pat Bradley, and they’d been helping her slowly come around to trust more, to get over wounds from fights, working with her asthma, giving this remedy and that, as the need arose.

Another part of the care givers team, Dr. Carolyn Love, had been there to do lab work, some acupuncture, vaccinations (uh oh), and the initial exam of Callie’s puffy, inflamed anus. And finally, I entered the scene, as Pat remembered that I’d taken some advanced training in cancer and veterinary homeopathy. So, Callie was brought to see me.

[I should note here that Linda explored the conventional options for treatment, and they were pretty limited. The tumor (we’re all pretty sure that’s what it was) was risky to even biopsy, let alone remove, due to it’s location, intimate to the lower rectum. Chemotherapy was not something she wanted to put Callie through, nor radiation. Linda weighed the potential benefits against the risks and the quality of life Callie would have, and chose homeopathy.]

Imagine being a feral cat, with all the fear that goes into living by your wits, scraping to get by, having babies before you were ready, defending yourself from attacks by other cats in the area, dealing with the vagaries of weather,  and finally, agreeing to get in a cat carrier and going in a car to a veterinary clinic.

Linda’s words:

I have to say, Will, that she and I have come a very, very long distance from the beginning when I had to coax her near enough to me over a two month period of time to get her near the case to take her for spaying.  She was malnourished, frightened and already beginning to separate from the kittens as she was in heat again.  I looked her in the eyes and promised her that I would take care of her forever and love and respect her if she would just go in the case.  I explained that she would have a difficult time for a little while but that her life would improve very much.  I committed to her.  She looked me in the eyes then walked into the case and I closed the door.

Callie went into that carrier a few times for various vet visits before she came to see me. I did as I normally do, I bid Linda and Frank to have a seat, and just leave her carrier door open while we talked about her. I like my patients to get used to my voice, the smells, the sights, the layout of the room, before I ever lay hands on them or expect anything of them.

And I learn from this time, as I’m talking to their caregivers, learning the details of what makes this patient unique from the rest. Some wander the room, smelling who’s been there before them, so go straight for the supplement shelf and smell the glandulars that live there, some can’t leave me alone (“Ooh, ooh, pet me, pet me, PET ME!”), some (cats) jump up on my desk in their curiosity, walk across my keyboard, lie on the desk, others (dogs, usually) do anything to avoid my line of sight, positioning themselves behind their owner’s chair, adjusting if I wheel my chair out to peer at them occasionally.

It’s all part of taking a homeopathic case. The finding out of What’s the Remedy for _________ (fill in patient’s name here).

Callie didn’t venture out of her carrier.

We talked about her history, her treatments, her fears, her new clinginess with Linda, her stools, her blood spots, her chilliness, in short, what makes Callie Callie. That’s what I needed to prescribe adequately for her. Not for her rectal cancer, but for Callie, the one who’s got the rectal cancer.

A few things stood out from this:

  1. She was very timid. Never came out of her carrier until I asked Linda to get her out, and first just hold her on her lap for an initial exam there. She panicked in thunderstorms, and lost all her feral sense, sometimes hunkering down, as if paralyzed, getting soaked, up against a wall.
  2. Callie had a history of asthma, worse in damp weather.
  3. She’d been vaccinated yearly, and had been dosed with topical flea pesticides. (Both a set up for cancer). And, I learned later, the place Callie and her young resided, before being taken in, was an old garage, full of pesticides from years of storage. Pesticide exposure increases greatly the chance of getting cancer.
  4. She’d had some very odorous urine, remarkably strong, that could be smelled across the small house at times.
  5. Callie loved heat. Even more so in the past brutal Summer here in Austin, when she was sunbathing to the point of panting.
  6. She had pale gums, likely due to some anemia.
  7. There was a firm swelling in her anal area, and it had earlier probably been ulcerated. It bled bright red spots. It was more on the right side.
  8. Her irises had some very visible blood vessels coursing through them.
  9. She’d had worms in the past, treated with drugs.
  10. She was more itchy than the others, with or without a flea present.

When I did my physical exam, Callie hunkered down and trembled, but was very tolerant. She didn’t hiss or lash out. She didn’t try to climb the walls. I could do what I needed, talking softly, stroking her, knowing she was afraid, but grateful that she wasn’t panicking.

Through the course of treatment I offered, Callie gained some ground. Early on, she became less fearful of storms, less tender about her anal area being examined, had less blood spotting. We were encouraged, Linda and I, and continued on dosing homeopathic nitric acid and thuja.

She vomited a small worm. Here’s the quality of observation I’d get from Linda:

Pictures like these would go into her digital record and become part of my growing understanding of who she was.

Linda could tell me the number of blood spots in a day, the color and nature of them (lots and lots of white towels were put around for Callie to use, along with her litter boxes), the consistency of her stools, when they came, how they looked when squished inside a baggie, whether they had normal odor or strong odor, etc. I often had to ask for “the forest” for all her “trees,” meaning I needed the trends, the contexts to put these many, many observations in, and she got good at that as well.

Gradually, Callie’s blood spotting increased, from several days without any, to a few daily to many a day, and Linda kept copious notes and we didn’t like the trend. Remedies were changed as Callie changed. Arsenicum didn’t do much, scirrhinum was used, phosphorus brought a hopeful decrease in bloody spots for some time, and the weeks went on. Through it all, Callie had a better time with her asthma compared to the prior year, let Linda do more with her, grew less fearful, more trusting, and the bond between them really grew stronger through this time together.

Then, in March, it began to be difficult for Callie to pass her stools. There was more blood, both in volume and frequency of spotting. Her anus appeared more inflamed, swollen, angry looking. Remedies were changed again.

Aloe, in the homeopathic form, was used with some good effect. Callie got a good bit of stool out, her anus looked more normal, and she went exploring next door, where she hadn’t ventured for several months. She was seen to be rolling and making happy squeaks, and took up a toy to play with of her own volition. Nice.

But, the blood spotting continued. And there were some sounds of discomfort while trying to pass stool.

We were now checking in daily, sometimes multiple times, some by email, some on the phone, and it was becoming apparent that Callie was having a rough time of it. It was as if she had urging to pass stool but nothing would come. It seemed as though the tumor was blocking the way, and remedies were not helping, change as we might, to match the symptom state she was in.

Dr. Love’s associate Dr. Davenport had a look and determined that there was a large stool that had stopped, quite some distance from the anus, as if there was no propulsive force to get it to drop down and get expelled. The thought was now that the tumor and its attendant inflammation, was interfering with spinal nerves in the area of the sacrum, nerves that innervated the lower bowel, and it was now paralyzed. Enemas were tried without success. It wasn’t looking good.

We spoke of euthanasia, the gift we can give the animals when we know it’s their time, when we can’t help them further, and we don’t want them to suffer. It was decided we’d give one more remedy a go, called plumbum, that was noteworthy for both paralysis and straining at the same time, which coined Callie’s state perfectly.

But it didn’t help, as much as it looked like it should, as much as we wanted it to. We switched back to arsenicum, as it was clear Callie had a tougher time at night, lots of restlessness, and a swollen, irritated anus, with ineffectual urging to stool.

We decided to give her one more night, Thursday. If she was no better by Friday morning, she’d be taken to Love Pet Hospital to be given her release from this body that was failing her. Sigh.

Linda’s words, early Friday morning:

 We are on our way to Love Pet early; Cal’s straining episodes increased through the night but were manageable with repeated arsenicum, Bach flower, stroking and love.  Took longer and longer for the episodes to subside but as we got to 5 am it was clear we could make it to now and skip the possible wait at the emergency clinic in favor or the open arms and hearts that await us all–most especially Callie–at Love.  I suppose that last night makes it clearer that this is the right thing to do.  And that we had the right emergency responses in the remedies.  And that, bless her heart, we cannot do more to make her comfortable.  Will, I had been thinking that it had been a number of days that she had not slept with me but she did come and lay next to me for some time.  We fell back to sleep together after we addressed her straining attack.  How I am going to miss her.  Thank you for all of these months–exceptionally good months–that others thought we would not have.  We know better.  There is magic in these months–we made magic for Cal and for Cal and me.  Linda

Death is the final chapter in all that lives. Or so it seems. All my patients die, as do all my clients, my plants, my friends, my relatives. It’s what we all face, living in physical bodies.

While I believe it’s a temporary change, that we move on to the next body rather quickly, it’s still hard. We miss those who leave us. We long for those who were near and dear and now are gone.

And we keep on living. Doing the best we can. To live well, honestly, lovingly, and respectfully on the planet.

Peace.

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Smiling Dogs and Vaccine Illness

April 7, 2012 By

I saw my canine patient Caleb again this week, a few weeks after I’d given him one dose of a homeopathic remedy for vaccinosis. His story is typical, so very worth sharing. (If you missed his great smiling face, just back up a post).

Caleb had come to me then because he was exhibiting tumor growth on his body, most notably a small-orange-sized lump right on the center of his sternum. He’d had several past ones removed and checked, but luckily none were malignant.

He had also been on Rimadyl since he was hit by a car at 2 years old, and Caleb is now 11 years old, and a pretty big guy, a mix of probably Pit Bull and Queensland Healer, running about 68 pounds. His owner, Catherine, recognizing the risks associated with this drug, had taken him off it about a week before I saw him. Interestingly, his liver checked out fine in blood tests done prior to my seeing him. (Deaths due to liver failure have been caused by this drug. Search it out.)

So, after a lengthy questioning of his owner and a physical exam, here’s my list of what struck me about Caleb, things I asked Catherine to follow as we headed into homeopathy to help him heal himself:

  1. Large fatty tumor at the front of his chest, lemon sized.
  2. A bald spot on his tail that had been bare for many years, maybe since Caleb was two years old and hit by the car.
  3. Stiffness getting up and, even worse, on lying down, with difficulty getting into the car on the way here.
  4. Spookiness with certain things, like a laundry basket, or something he’s seeing that’s new to him. A broom leaning on a wall could do it, or a shadow.
  5. Slow to get up in the morning, and when he does, he has 3 big sneezes daily.
  6. He’s chilly, even to the point of liking the Austin sun in the Summer (!)
  7. He humps a pillow (and he’s a neutered male!) about once a week.

So, in comes Caleb on Wednesday, looking like a happy camper, and Catherine tells me the great news:

  1. The tumor has shrunk to the size of a small walnut!
  2. He’s got peach fuzz hair growing on his bald spot of 9 years!
  3. He doesn’t seem to be so stiff.
  4. He’s less spooky.
  5. His morning sneezes stopped. None.
  6. He’s humping the pillow even more!
  7. And, coolest of all, he’s initiating play now, not just waiting for his owner to do this. Like not since he’s been a puppy!! (Did I mention Caleb is 11? Oh, good).

So, we’ve still got some work to do, but my goodness, what a neat turn around for an old guy, right?

What did he get treated for? Vaccinosis (click here for more info). The illness of being vaccinated, and he got plenty of vaccinations, as do most pets and horses today. When the postcards came saying he was “due for his shots,” his owner dutifully complied. Yearly, until she stopped in the past year, thinking (rightly so!) he’d had enough.

So, think along with me:

  1. Caleb came in with a laundry list of complaints.
  2. Caleb got a vaccinosis remedy, known to help illness that came from being vaccinated.
  3. Caleb got wayyyyy better.
  4. What caused a whole lot of his illness? Vaccinations, you bet!

We’re going for a more constitutional remedy now, to see if we can take him further, which I’m confident we can. But Caleb’s story is worth spreading around, I think. So here’s Caleb, smiling at the world, and telling it like it is.

Thanks for joining me in this adventure called veterinary homeopathy.

P.S. For the budding homeopaths in the readership, the remedy given was thuja 10M, one dose.

Now, for those looking for short cuts, I’ll mention that there are lots of remedies for vaccinosis, and they won’t work the same in every individual, so this kind of prescribing, for chronic disease, is best not done at home. Seek out a professional homeopathic vet, trained, and ideally, certified in homeopathy. Lists of them are on the AVH site, which is referenced on my Resources page.

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Looking for the right venue

April 2, 2012 By

Well, plenty to write about from the trenches of homeopathic veterinary practice, and, after a stab at Facebook Pages, I just feel like I need more options to have eye pleasing copy. It’s one thing to write useful material, another to have it nicely presented. So, a blog on WordPress it is!

I’m happy to report from the brisk and interesting practice that is mine, which is a rich source of demonstrating the possibilities of homeopathic prescribing (on species that know not what a placebo is!). And, sigh, filled with the usual examples of how conventional medicine doesn’t really cure chronic disease.

More as we go. For now, my feet just barely wet at the toes in blogging, I’ll explore setting up something nice and see if i can get some content posted over the weekend.

That time when a hush falls on the natural world
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