Adopting a Dog with Heart Worm Disease
When I adopted a dog with heart worm, I wasn’t really certain what I was getting into. This was largely because the shelter staff themselves didn’t seem to know, despite heart worm afflicted dogs being approximately 20% of their adoptable dogs. They were hesitant to even say the phrase–each poster had a tasteful “This dog has a medical affliction which is treatable. Please talk with us to discuss treatment options.” I guess the phrase “heart worm” flashes people back to grotesque, worm infested hearts in jars at their local vets office–I know it did it to me.
When I looked things up online, I found numerous conflicting reports that just confused me more.
When I got her, Wheatley was barely a year old and we could see every rib. Her tail was broken and she had large scarring around her neck from some sort of wire or chain. She had been taken from a puppy mill. It was unusual to even see a dog her age with heart worm. But the moment I saw her, she jumped up on the chain link fence and reached out to me with rough, scarred paws, and I knew I was taking her home.
The staff couldn’t tell me what I was in for–they said that she would “always test positive for heart worm,” and that it would be a “sequence of pills or shots.” When the vet the shelter referred called me, they gave me a list of dates and times and medications, but couldn’t speak with me about pain options, after care, or any symptoms to look out for. I called in repeatedly and never got the vet, and the nurses gave me differing opinions. When I had to change vets because of a heart worm treatment shortage, the next vet wouldn’t even consult with me at all. If you’re thinking we should have found another vet–there are actually vets that specialize in these treatments, because the injections need to be done in specific format.
Firstly: the confusion the shelter had was because there are TWO methods of killing heart worms.
1. Slow kill. This consists of dosing the dog with Heartgard for a couple of years until all the heart worms are dead. My understanding is that heart worms have a lifespan of about 2-3 years. Heartgard weakens adults (shortening lifespan) and kills the young ones, so after a couple of years, they’re all dead. The problem with this is that the worms are still in there doing damage during those 2 years.
2. Fast kill. This consists of an arsenic-based treatment being injected into your dog, in either a two phase or three phase process. The first injection kills most of the worms, the second kills the rest (hopefully). The third shot is (as I understand) done almost a month later and is for more severe cases. You still have to give the dog heartgard for about 3 months before this process.
I almost wanted to do the slow kill method, but in honesty, it was never offered to me. The vet thought since my dog was young, and otherwise healthy, it was best to do the fast kill. I agree on a logical basis, but emotionally, my dog didn’t have a single symptom of heart worm and secretly I wondered if the shelter (which is overtaxed as it is) had made a mistake. The vet took xrays and said she saw barely anything, but took that as a positive step for the treatment ahead. I felt as though, if nothing could be seen, and there were no symptoms, it was an infantile infestation that would be knocked out by the Heartgard–I still feel it might have been smarter to have re-tested her after the mandatory 3 months on Heartgard and seen if she still tested positive. Heart worms apparently take about a year to mature to begin with, and my dog was under a year old. Furthermore, the vets make a huge amount of money off of these shots — I don’t know what percentage they keep, but the entire course is slightly under a thousand dollars.
The problem is that in a vet clinic, I’ve found, virtually no one wants to talk to you. The more skilled they are, the less likely they are to have the time. I talked to two separate nurses about pain medication; one said she wouldn’t need any after the first shot, and the other said she definitely would because of the immense amounts of pain.
We did her three months of heartgard, which barely seemed to bother her. She didn’t cough, but I wasn’t surprised, because she’d never had a cough.
When we brought her into the vet for the first shot, I was completely filled with trepidation. I saw a pitbull being taken out with close-cropped ears. Now, I don’t want to start in on a controversial issue here, but the only reason to close-crop a dog’s ears like that is because of 1) you value your own vanity over your dog’s pain, 2) you’re going into dog fighting. Neither is something I would like to see a reputable vet taking part in.
The vet didn’t talk to me at all when I arrived, he just shouted to get my dog on the scale — and I mean shouted. I said “My dog is really skittish, sorry, I think it scares her when you’re that loud.” The receptionist gave me a snarky “He’s Chinese from Burma honey, they just talk like that,” with a fake, plastered on grin. I half dragged my terrified dog onto the scale as the vet shouted commands to his nurse.
He then asked me to move my dog to the elevated table. My dog isn’t a small dog–not large, but not small either. The nurse stood by looking bored as I pushed my dog onto the table myself. She gave me a half hearted grin and leaned against the table when I was done.
The vet gave her two injections, and the warning he gave me consisted of “THIS SHOT VERY PAINFUL. SHE WILL NOT EAT.” She didn’t make a sound, but she did bolt and her eyes got wide. Not unexpected: she’s a trooper, after all she’s been through she’d had to be. I asked about pain medication follow ups and he said “NO NEED.” The nurse put my dog on the floor and opened the door. I walked out, expecting them to give me care instructions or something. They both just walked away into the other room.
“Is there anything I need?” I asked the receptionist uncertainly.
“No, you’re already paid,” said the girl.
Of course, when we left the dog immediately threw up. Because throwing up, drooling, and diarrhea were all on a list of symptoms I had to google on the way home, and all of which we experienced during the ride. Good thing I have google, I mean, wouldn’t expect the vet to mention that. My dog did eat though, because she would eat if she had literally just lost all four of her legs to a venomous alligator.
She was obviously uncomfortable for the first 4-5 hours. She kept shifting, lying down, shifting. She’s not the whining or whimpering type. After hours 5-6 she started sleeping, and by hour 10 she was perky enough to be looking around her crate. She consistently ate but it was difficult to get her to drink water–she would only drink if I hand fed the water to her.
The next day, same time, I had to take her in for the second shot. I expected it to be worse, but the second shot is actually a smaller, follow-up dosage. She reacted the same way to the initial shot, but was still alert as she walked out. The vet handed me pain medication and told me that it was vital that I not forget any of it in the next five days–despite having told me previously none would be necessary. The receptionist proceeded to write the wrong day to start the pain medication on the packet (two days prior), and then schedule my followup for last month.
By the next day, she was fine again.
Eventually it became clear that the reason the vets were being so brusque with me was that there really wasn’t much I could do at any stage to make this any easier or better on the dog. While there are a load of symptoms that it would have been nice for me to know, there aren’t any potentially deadly symptoms besides “coughing blood,” and “respiratory failure,” all of which someone reasonable would immediately call their vet about. They didn’t want to talk to me about pain meds because they already knew what they were going to do and didn’t want to bother explaining beforehand. I later found out that the “antibiotic” shot they gave was actually a steroid shot to counteract pain. Yes, they told me it was antibiotics. They probably did that to avoid confusing me. They told me to restrain my dog’s movement on the second day, not the first, and that bothered me because I had been researching. But the reason they did that was because they knew my dog would not be moving on the first day.
Still, while some people feel better in ignorance, others feel better knowing the full detail of the treatment. Someone going in blind wouldn’t have been all that perturbed, but I had spent weeks looking up the treatment options so I knew little tidbits like “most doctors will prescribe pain medication,” and “you should crate the dog starting the first day.” I knew vaguely about the symptoms, but since there were lists of like 20 of them, it would have been easier had I known both the most common symptoms, and also, how fast they would kick in (e.g. your dog will throw up in your car within five minutes, that would have been helpful).
We’re not through the woods since the next 2-3 weeks is the most dangerous, but she’s a fighter so as long as I do all the right things, I’m not all that concerned. She’s only a year old now, which means she has at least a decade of joy, happiness, and tons and tons of delicious treats that will make all of this… not even a memory. I mean, she’s a dog, right?
