Canine diabetes mellitus is a common condition diagnosed in veterinary practice. Diabetes develops when the body makes too little insulin or has an abnormal response to insulin.
Insulin is a hormone which is produced by the pancreas to help regulate the body’s blood sugar (glucose) levels. A lack of insulin results in a build-up of sugar, from food, in the blood.
This level of glucose in the blood can become dangerously high, bringing about unpleasant clinical symptoms.
Meet our lovely Bob:
In the same year I was to leave home to go off travelling, Bobby, my family’s 13-year-old cairn terrier dog, was diagnosed with type one diabetes. Oh, Bobby, your timing is impeccable was my initial, albeit sarcastic thought.
I would soon have to leave him, knowing there was a dark shadow looming over him, and that this would ultimately be the cause of his death. I hoped he would not go downhill, or worse pass away, whilst I was travelling.
Several weeks before the diagnosis, the warning signs appeared: PUPD (polyuria (increased urination)/polydipsia (increased drinking)) and polyphagia (increased appetite).
However, because there was no weight loss, no sickness, nor change in demeanour, I said to my family: let’s keep an eye on him, but I’m sure it’s just old age and he’s fine.
What ended up being the turning point, which made us think this all needs investigating, were two new developments.
My mum had noticed that every time she mopped up his urine in the kitchen, her feet would stick to the floor. This had never happened before with previous indoor accidents.
On separate occasions, both my mum and I noticed slight cloudiness in one of his eyes. Cataracts?
Concerning the latter, I did begin to question whether this could be diabetes.
On the day of Bob’s diagnosis, most of my colleagues knew why I was bringing him into work; mainly to rule out diabetes.
So as I popped the top off the Keto-Diastix container to test his urine, some waited around the lab door to hear his results. My heart was pounding. Looking back now, I think I already knew the result deep down.
The moment I dropped a spot of urine on the pad, the green colour immediately turned brown. To this day I can clearly remember throwing my head back, tears rolling down my cheeks, and whispering not our Bob…
The brown colour indicates a large trace of glucose in his urine which is not good! And it explained why the floor was sticky, even after my mum had mopped; it was due to Bob having traces of sugar in his urine.
I was grateful for my colleagues who rushed over to comfort me as I couldn’t stop crying. How could this have happened? I’m a qualified veterinary nurse; I should have known better. I’ve let him down. If I had brought him in sooner, would this have helped things?
These questions and personal accusations all at once came flooding into my mind.
Heading back to see him in his kennel, he was obviously oblivious to his mum’s inner guilt. He looked at me with those loving eyes, his favourite ball in his mouth and his tail wagging. He got the tightest squeeze off me that day.
His diagnosis was further confirmed by checking his blood glucose – 30mmol/l. Thankfully no other abnormalities were detected.
Deciding whether to treat him or not was not up for a family discussion; we all knew what we had to do, and that was to keep Bob alive and kicking while he was healthy and happy.
Having carried out many diabetic training sessions with clients at work, it felt odd showing my mum and dad the ropes. Mum was fine. She has worked as a children’s nurse for over 30 years and is competent in administering injections.
When it came to my dad, I did have worries about whether he would be able to handle it all. This is someone who, after being told by doctors that he may need surgery to set his broken thumb back into place, said to my mum while examining his hand “I can manage with my thumb sticking out at this angle”, just to avoid having to face the hospital. However, give my dad his due, he managed to swallow his nerves and pick up the technique quickly.
Bob of course was the star in all of this training as he didn’t flinch. I think he enjoyed having us all playing with his scruff and telling him how much of a good boy he was! The following morning marked a new chapter in Bob’s life and a change in our daily routine.
We changed his food to a high-fibre diet, which was measured out by the gram. This was split into two meals a day.
Thankfully, there were only a handful of times when he went a little fussy about his morning meal or took his time to finish off his food.
He no longer received his usual treats throughout the day. This was what abetted his diabetes in the first place… his fat ass!
I think the biggest change Bob had to adapt to was having his ball-throwing reduced. Before his diagnosis, he would never tire of having his ball thrown in the garden.
Any time he was nice and settled and we said “Give me that!”, he would immediately jump up, find his ball, pop it in his mouth and give us a friendly grumble while waggling his little tail.
He was ball-obsessed!
We used a handy little booklet by Caninsulin to record his daily injection units and times. Living in a house with three people required us to be organised.
I didn’t want any complications to happen because of our error. We administered his insulin roughly half an hour after he had finished his food.
A few months after his diagnosis, it felt as though his cataracts had progressed overnight. One day he was fine attacking his ball in the garden, and the next he was hesitating at the step at the back door, lifting his paw as though confused about stepping up. It was heartbreaking to watch.
The next day, I took him to work, knowing full well nothing could be done. Cataract surgery was out of the question. But I just needed him checked over.
From then on, he relied heavily on his nose to sniff around. He would often be heard before being seen! A good tip from an ex-colleague was to try not to move furniture around too much.
I had not thought about him bumping into things, not being able to see. It made complete sense and I was very grateful for the tip.
Once we all had settled into our routine and Bob received his twice-daily injections, his clinical signs – PUPD reduced right down.
He would regularly come into work with me to have his weight measured and prescription checks with his vet, Rachael. She was brilliant with him and he loved her!
It was funny to see the loud, confident Bob go all shy on the table. His nickname was Bobby big balls after all. However, he was back to his cheeky self as soon as his paws were planted on the ground.
He also loved the attention from the receptionists, in particular a woman named Cathy. She knew how to keep him happy, by rolling his ball to him again and again and again.
Although I wish he would have been there under better circumstances, I loved bringing him to work; having a cheeky look at him at every available opportunity, and having my breaks and lunch with him outside.
There is something said about bringing your pet to work; they make it so much better.
Thankfully, his visits to the vet were unremarkable. His weight either stayed the same, or he gained a few lbs. No other problems were noted.
It was only towards the end that now and then he would be startled by the injection and turn around in protest, poor lad…
Overall, though, he got on with it all well; he was a very good boy.
When it came to diabetic training with owners at work, it helped that I could now relate with the clients standing on that side of the table.
This is not to say I didn’t have empathy before. I was just now able to fully understand, and I think that helped our bond. The odd time I had to fight back tears.
It made me enjoy diabetic training a little bit more. The only problem was I wanted more than an hour of training with them.
When I went travelling, I constantly asked how he was and made my parents swear he had not passed away. This I needed to know. My mind was put to rest when my phone was spammed with pictures of him.
My mum and dad now took him to a new vet who came highly recommended. All was good. Safe to say, it was pure joy to see him when I returned home. He was his normal, happy self albeit a little bit thinner.
The night before he passed away my mum phoned me to say he wasn’t quite right. It was probably the first time he had flat-out refused food. I was due back home the following day so I said I would check him.
I dreamt about him that night; he was clearly in my mind. Early the next morning I got a message from my mum – are you awake? I knew…
Bob died overnight on November the 5th, 2017, 17 months after being diagnosed. He certainly went out with a bang for Bonfire Night.
I was so glad he had waited until I got home from my travels, notwithstanding he was taken from us too early – as we all think when we lose someone we love dearly.
Bob, I hope you have someone to throw you your ball wherever you may be. You were a lovely lad x
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