DOGS IN HOT CARS

It’s that time of year again. Dogs are being left in hot cars. It amazes me that people still think it’s safe and that leaving windows open makes a difference. It’s not, and it doesn’t. Period.

It can take mere minutes for a dog in a parked vehicle to die from heat stroke. MINUTES! I’m not talking 30, or even 20. Just a 10-minute stop could be all it takes for your dog to get heat stroke. Some dogs are at higher risk: brachycephalic dogs (the short-nosed/flat-faced breeds such as bulldogs, boxers, and pugs), dogs with thick coats, overweight dogs, puppies/seniors, and dogs with heart or respiratory problems.

Complications of heat stroke include irreversible brain damage, damage to the internal organs and the cardiovascular system, collapse, coma, and death. I’m sure your dog would much rather be left at home than subjected to such needless suffering.

Why does it take so little time for dogs to get heat stroke? Dogs can only sweat through the pads of their paws. They primarily cool themselves by panting (evaporation), but if the air they’re breathing is too hot, panting quickly stops working. They become dehydrated (too much evaporation from too much panting) and their temperature increases to dangerous levels. Dogs’ average normal temperature is 38.3°C (101°F). An increase in body temperature of less than 2°C (3°F) can be deadly.

You might think that leaving the A/C running is safe, but that’s not necessarily true. If the A/C stops working, it only takes about 5 minutes for the temperature inside the car to reach the same temperature as outside. Once that happens, the temperature increases at the same rapid rate as a car that didn’t have the A/C on. Accidents can and do happen, with fatal consequences. For example, in 2003, a Texas police dog was left in the patrol car with the A/C running. The engine overheated, causing hot air to be blown into the car instead of cold. That heroic canine officer died. Likewise, in North Carolina the next year, a couple lost 2 of their 3 dogs even though they left the dogs with bowls of water and ice. The 3rd dog barely survived.

Opening the windows DOES NOT HELP. Whether they’re cracked or wide open, the temperature inside the car rises at the same rate as if they’re closed and the same final temperature is reached. Studies, such as one in Pediatrics 2005; 116: e109-e112 by C McLaren, J Null and J Quinn (“Heat stress from enclosed vehicles: moderate ambient temperatures cause significant temperature rise in enclosed vehicles”) have proven this time and time again. This study (conducted in °F) showed that the temperature inside a car can increase by 20°F in just 10 minutes and 30°F in 20 minutes. Remember, it only takes a 3°F increase in body temperature to give your dog heat stroke. 80% of the car’s temperature increase occurs within the first 30 minutes.

You may think you’re only going to be 5 minutes, but what if there are long line-ups? What if you run into your chatty friend? What if you lose track of how long you’ve been shopping? Is your beloved animal’s life really worth that risk?

This table paints a clear picture of why experts say that once the outside temperature reaches 21°C/70°F, dogs should NEVER be left in a car. Personally, I won’t even risk that.

 

Estimated Vehicle Interior Air Temperature v. Elapsed Time
Elapsed time	Outside Air Temperature (F)
	70	75	80	85	90	95
0 minutes	70	75	80	85	90	95
10 minutes	89	94	99	104	109	114
20 minutes	99	104	109	114	119	124
30 minutes	104	109	114	119	124	129
40 minutes	108	113	118	123	128	133
50 minutes	111	116	121	126	131	136
60 minutes	113	118	123	128	133	138
> 1 hour	115	120	125	130	135	140

Jan Null, CCM; Department of Geosciences, San Francisco State University (found on the AVMA website)

SIGNS OF HEAT STROKE INCLUDE:

• Restlessness or agitation for no apparent reason (including whining and barking)
• Excessive panting OR the sudden stopping of panting
• Anxious or staring expression
• Weakness and muscle tremors
• Dark or bright red tongue and gums (which may become pale/grayish or bluish with time)
• Sticky or dry tongue and gums
• Drooling/salivation
• Frothing/foaming at the mouth
• Staggering/lack of coordination
• Seizures
• Vomiting
• Diarrhea (may be bloody)
• Rapid or erratic pulse
• Labored or difficult breathing
• Confusion; disorientation
• Lethargy, listlessness, dullness, stupor
• Dog lies down and is difficult to rouse
• Collapse and coma

If you suspect heat stroke, SEEK VETERINARY ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY! Even if the dog seems fine soon after, still seek veterinary attention because there could be unseen organ damage.

• Immediately get the animal out of the heat and into the shade or air-conditioning.
• Use cool water, not ice water, to wet the dog. (Very cold water will cause blood vessels to constrict, impeding cooling.)  Very small dogs might be safer with lukewarm water.
• Likewise, don’t apply ice because this can also constrict blood vessels and inhibit cooling.
• Allow the dog to drink some cool water. Cool, not cold.
• Place cool, wet cloths/towels on the bottoms of the feet and in the groin area. Don’t cover the body with wet cloths/towels because this can actually trap heat.
• Offer ice cubes for the animal to lick, but do not force ice or water on the animal.
• If you’re able to take the dog’s rectal temperature, stop the cooling efforts once their temperature reaches 103°F/39.4°C to prevent dropping the temperature too low and/or shock.

If you see a dog in a car, especially if that dog is showing signs of distress, there are several things you can do aside from asking the store to page the owner. Note the make, model, and colour of the car as well as the license plate. Call the Humane Society and/or the police with this information and the location of the vehicle in the parking lot. Keep an eye on the dog’s condition but stay back from the vehicle so you don’t upset it and cause it to overheat even faster. Unless you absolutely can’t, stick around to help the Humane Society’s driver or the police locate the vehicle. Every second counts. 

If you can’t stick around, notify store personnel and ask them to keep an eye out. Whatever you do, don’t be a passive bystander. Don’t assume somebody else is going to take care of the problem. That innocent, helpless life may depend on you, and only you.

A Fan Fiction Short Story

The first week of every August, I participate in GISH, the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt. It's not a scavenger hunt in the traditional sense. I don't go running around town looking for obscure items. Created by actor/poet Misha Collins (Castiel from Supernatural), GISH raises money for charities by putting out a long list of crafts, stunts, and so on for participants to get creative and complete. Some require a team, while others can be completed alone. Some require you to leave your home, while many do not.

This year, one of the items was to write a crossover fan fiction short story combining a character from a 90s show/movie/book/game with a character from a 00s show/movie/book/game in the setting of a 10s show/movie/book/game.

This is my entry. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If you'd like to learn more about GISH (and I encourage you to do so because it's a blast!), visit the website:  www.gish.com

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 Content warning: blood, murder

 

Eric Northman and his companion formed an odd duo approaching the rundown Shreveport home at human speed. No need to draw unnecessary attention, even in this neighbourhood. Dressed head to toe in black, Eric moved through the sweltering Louisiana night with the ease and grace of a natural predator, looking and feeling like a creature conjured from the darkness itself.

If he was a panther, the wisp of a man in an impeccably tailored suit to his left was a squirrel, jittery and hyper. With a wrinkled nose, Niles Crane took in the boarded-up windows and overgrown jungle of a yard and said, “There was a time I would rather have tendered my resignation to the Empire Club dressed in sweatpants than be seen here.”

“There was a time I would have torn your out heart and drank from it for fun. Times change.” If Eric had a pulse, it would be racing with anticipation. It took all his self-control not to round the corner at vamp speed.

Niles grimaced at the dense grass of the backyard, as high as the sideview mirrors of the rusty, broken-down cars. “I still fail to understand why we could not have met your business associate in more pleasant surroundings.”

“The sooner I show you what Nan Flanagan sent you to uncover, the sooner you’ll stop pestering me and Pamela.” His words had their desired effect. Seeing Niles flinch filled Eric with a heady sense of satisfaction.

To his credit, Niles tried to hide his fear, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “I beg your pardon. Are you implying I’m a spy?”

Allowing his fangs to drop, Eric clapped his huge hand on Niles’s shoulder. It reminded him of petting a parakeet. “Be grateful that you amuse me. Otherwise, you would be dead and Nan would be searching for another…assistant.” After prowling the planet for a thousand years, not much amused him anymore, not until the saucy Sookie Stackhouse entered his life, and now this neurotic little man who still occasionally fainted at the sight of blood. He almost wanted to keep him. “Now be a good little bird and open the door.”

Trembling, his gaze locked on Eric’s long, gleaming fangs, Niles slid the sheet of plywood to the side and immediately covered his nose. “What is that stench?”

This, too, amused Eric. Baby vampires, forgetting that they had no need to breathe.

“Urine, mould, and the dead raccoon I found in the corner.” Dressed in cargo pants and an untucked button-down with rolled sleeves, Eric’s ‘business associate’ stepped out of the shadows, wiping sweat from his upper lip. In the dim light leaking from the next room, he looked Niles up and down. “You brought a friend.”

“Dexter, meet Niles. His ex-wife recently turned him out of revenge for his falling in love with his father’s caregiver, one Daphne Moon.” What a name.

Bloody tears filled Niles’s eyes. “Forever cursed to wander alone in the moonlight. Maris’s sense of irony. She paid a vampire to turn her when she exhausted her plastic surgery options. Now she sits forever youthful in her villa, surrounded by pool boys and yoga instructors, while I am reduced to playing servant in places I wouldn’t—”

Eric arched his left brow. “Be caught dead in?” Fighting the urge to smile, and while Niles sputtered, he turned back to Dexter. “Nan Flanagan’s latest pet, sent to discover why I have been spending more time than usual away from Fangtasia.”

Dexter frowned. “Nan Flanagan? Of the Vampire Authority? And you brought him here?”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

Dexter stepped back. “Of course not.”

Eric took a shallow sniff, craving the scent of fear that he knew would be hanging dense in the air. It was particularly powerful coming from the next room. He could wait no longer. As he pushed past Dexter, he said, “Niles knows better than to reveal the truth of our arrangement, don’t you, little squirrel?”

“Of course, Sheriff Northman. My lips are sealed. Pandora’s box shall remain unopened. Harpocrates has nothing on Niles Crane. As I once said to Frasier…”

The familiar feel of the protective plastic layer crinkling under his feet, the sight of the terrified man strapped naked to Dexter’s kill table and the sound of his hammering heart all overwhelmed Eric’s senses, drowning out Niles’s words. Seeing Eric, the man tried to scream through the plastic wrapped across his mouth and behind his head. On the man’s neck was the telltale pinprick of blood where Dexter had taken the man by surprise, injecting him with a powerful sedative before transporting him to the kill room he always prepared in advance. If Eric were still human, saliva would be pooling in his mouth.

Behind them, Niles stuttered to a standstill. “What the devil?”

Neither of them answered him. The ritual had begun.

Dexter, a recent transplant from Miami, went through his customary speech, using photos of the corrupt politician’s victims to tell him why he deserved to die. This was the code Dexter lived by, satisfying his urge to kill by only targeting those who escaped other forms of justice. And this was how Eric had met him. Eric’s lips twitched at the memory of Dexter’s shock and terror the moment he realized that his intended victim wasn’t human and had been stalking him in turn. It was convenient, their arrangement. In exchange for providing Eric with food—real blood, not the revolting synthetic stuff—Eric allowed Dexter to hunt humans in his territory and disposed of the bodies for him. Most importantly, at least to Dexter, he allowed Dexter to live. While Dexter could no longer kill his victims himself, Eric still allowed him the pleasure of one non-fatal stab.

As Dexter spoke, Niles drifted closer and closer to the table, his fangs out. Eric gave him a warning glance. He wasn’t to eat until given permission.

The moment he finished speaking, Dexter unsheathed his hunting knife and Eric swooped in on the man. His fangs and Dexter’s blade sank into the man at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, Eric noticed blood spatter onto Niles’s sleeve.

“Do you mind?” Niles said, enunciating each word. “This is an Armani!” A split second later, he hit the floor with a quiet thump.

Amusing indeed.

 

 FRASIER (1993-2004), DEXTER (2006-2013), TRUE BLOOD (2008-2014)

You have Sir Ringo what?

If you follow me on Twitter, you'll often read tweets about my pain. What pain, you ask? How bad is it? Will it get better? 

I have a condition called syringomyelia (sear-in-go-my-eel-ee-a). Cysts filled with cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) formed in the centre of my spinal cord, hollowing out the cord and compressing/damaging the spinal cord and nerves in that area. This type of cyst is called a syrinx (sear-inks).

Normally, your spinal cord is solid except for a very narrow channel that runs the length of its centre (the central canal). Imagine sticking a fine needle down the centre of a hot dog. That's normal. With syringomyelia, CSF builds up in the central canal as if you've injected a bubble of water into the hot dog and it gets trapped in there. Now imagine that hot dog is surrounded by a rock-solid bun (the vertebrae). As the pressure from the water bubble builds up and the bubble keeps growing, the "tissue" of the hot dog gets squeezed tighter and tighter against the inside of the bun.

These are my MRI images from 2005/6, after my first surgery but before my second. I have two syrinxes: the wider from the 4th cervical vertebra to the 1st thoracic, and the narrower from my 2nd thoracic to the 11th (C4-T1 and T2-T11).

 

 

 

 

 

 

Syringomyelia causes a variety of symptoms that can vary from person to person, and the size of the syrinx doesn't necessarily correspond to the severity of the symptoms. Mine include: widespread pain (including burning, aching, stabbing, pins and needles), difficulty sensing temperature with my hands and feet, muscle cramps and spasms, muscle weakness, twitching/fasciculating muscles (large and small), and localized numbness. My arms and legs tire quickly. I also have digestion issues and what’s called a neurogenic bladder. I’ll let you look that one up. 😉 My worst symptom is my 24/7/365 headache and neck pain. I've also developed degenerative disc disease, particularly in my neck.

 

My body aches like I have the flu every single day. It constantly feels like someone has taken a club to the back of my head, where the skull and the neck meet, and like liquid fire is spreading across my scalp. The 'hit your funny bone' feeling zings up and down my arms right into the tips of my baby fingers. Some days are worse than others, but it's always there and I can't always predict what is going to make the pain worse and send my symptoms into a flare-up.

Secondary to the syringomyelia, I have dysautonomia. My autonomic nervous system is glitchy, meaning my body has trouble regulating heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature.

 

 

 

The chronic pain and inflammation cause chronic fatigue and "brain fog." Whether I've slept for two hours or twelve, I'm exhausted, and that exhaustion never goes away. My thought processes can be sluggish, my once near-photographic memory has become more like Swiss cheese, I can have trouble finding my words, I'm forgetful, I can have trouble focusing, and I often feel spaced-out.

 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information available out there when I was diagnosed in 2005 and I made the mistake of trusting the first neurosurgeon I saw. I believe he essentially used me as a guinea pig. He told me that my syringomyelia was caused by my cord not having enough room in my spine and that decompressing the area around the wider syrinx (the one in my neck) would cause that syrinx to collapse. (My thoracic syrinx is too narrow for surgery.) He performed a cervical laminectomy and duraplasty. That is, he permanently removed the back part of my neck vertebrae to expose my cord, sliced along the sheath surrounding my cord, and stitched an extra piece of tissue in place.

These are more images of my neck.

 

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That surgery failed. My syrinx remained unchanged. Because I continued to deteriorate, he did the surgery he should have done in the first place sixteen months later. He made an incision into my cord and inserted pediatric cardiac tubes to act as a shunt and drain the syrinx. They're stitched into place. One runs up along the centre of my cord and the other down. My neck syrinx did collapse, but all the damage it caused is permanent.

With the structure of my spine destroyed from the first surgery, my neck, shoulder, and upper back muscles have to work extra hard to hold my head up and turn it. The muscles ache and burn constantly and frequently spasm and become knotted up. I also have occipital neuralgia, which is what causes the liquid fire pain that I mentioned above (see the graphic below). 

 

The worst things I can do for my neck are to look down, look up, and perform repetitive arm motions. I have a list of other restrictions. No heavy lifting (one doctor said five pounds and another ten). No straining (anything that increases pressure in the abdomen can cause more CSF to enter the syrinxes--even straining due to constipation is dangerous). Nothing with impact (I used to love running) or jarring (I used to ride horses competitively). Nothing with sudden changes in direction (no roller coasters, the only plus to this whole thing). 

All of my symptoms are permanent. I continue to deteriorate, although more slowly than I would have if I hadn’t had the shunt surgery.

 

 

 

I lost my career as a pharmacist after less than four years of practice. I can no longer ride horses, which was my passion. Heck, I can't even groom them or do barn chores--grooming my small dogs and cleaning litter boxes both cause intense pain. I had to rule out having children (too much strain on my body from the excess weight, plus I could never care for a child given all my limitations, the fatigue, etc.). I used to be extremely active with working out, running, lifting weights. That's all forbidden now. I can ride a recumbent bike and (on a good day) walk. That's about it.

 

There are people, even within my own family, who believe I am faking and/or exaggerating. That there's no way I can be in as much pain as I say I am. That I should be working. To them I say, why would I choose this? Why would I go to university for nine years if all I wanted to do was sit at home? Why would I voluntarily give up a six-figure income and the benefit plan that went with it? That's right. I, a former pharmacist, don't even have drug coverage anymore (or dental, or vision, or any other kind of coverage). Thanks, Rexall. Why would I pretend to have something wrong with me that has taken nearly everything from me? Just because you can't see and/or understand my pain doesn't mean it's not real.  

If you were to see me in person, you wouldn’t know any of this was going on. Except for my giant scar and a slight limp, I look fine. Strangers even glare at me for using disabled parking. So next time you see a “faker,” think of me. Not all disabilities are visible.