Vet Noir

Dallas arrived with full entourage. Both parents and two teenage children in tow, he strode into the waiting room full of curiosity and confidence. He was a pretty big pig, probably 80-100 pounds of porker. He snuffed and grunted as he checked out the displays of food in the waiting room as his owners filled out the information for his record. I invited them into the exam room, and as the wife passed me, she said, “Here, you’re going to need this,” and thrust a sandwich bag full of Cheerios into my hand. I eagerly awaited the explanation for the impromptu breakfast. I spent lots of time taking the pig’s history, avoiding the more difficult physical examination looming before me. Besides, seizures can be very problematic to address and much can be learned through history taking. The family was clearly devoted to their unusual pet. They were animated and anxious to answer all my questions. In interviewing them, I had entered a whole new world of pet ownership. Dallas had been a perfect pig up until the last few weeks. He had never had any health problems nor needed any veterinary care. Then, he had started having seizures during the night. “Only during the night?” I asked. “Yes, only at night.” “How do you know he’s having a seizure if it’s at night?” I foolishly queried. “Because he sleeps on our bed,” the husband answered. They described the scene as I struggled to keep my jaw from falling open in shock. It seems that Dallas would jump up out of a sound sleep with his eyes wide and glassy. He would leap off the bed and run in circles, squealing all the time. It sometimes happened more than once on a given night. I delved further into Dallas’ lifestyle, trying to discern what was different at night that might be stimulating this bizarre behavior. They told me that he enjoyed watching television but was only allowed to watch Mr. Rogers and Barney (the Purple Dinosaur.). His favorite place was lying underneath a coffee table in the living room where he had a good view of the television. They were planning to move soon, and in preparation had sold some furniture they weren’t going to bring along. Unfortunately they had sold Dallas’ table, and he had been visibly upset by its absence. The plot was thickening. I had asked all the history questions I could think of and turned to deal with Dallas, who had investigated every corner of the room and was apparently happy to sit and listen to us talk about him. I started towards him but was stopped by the wife. “Doctor? You forgot the Cheerios. You’ll need them if you want to work on him. He’ll behave himself and won’t squeal if you feed him the Cheerios one by one as you examine him.” This was important knowledge and good planning on their part. I hoped I wouldn’t run out of this valuable snack and wondered if their appeal was great enough to quiet him if I had to obtain a blood sample. Maybe I could introduce Fruit Loops for a novel distraction? I examined Dallas and, as promised, he was entirely focused on the tiny tidbits I fed him. He delicately took each morsel from my fingers while I peered into his eyes, ears, listened to his heart and lungs. His girth made any palpation of his abdomen impossible so I abandoned the effort. I even managed to take his temperature while a family member fed the Cheerios at a rapid rate at the opposite end. Everything looked normal to me, which is the case in most seizure disorders; laboratory tests are usually required to make any kind of diagnosis. Just as I was bracing myself for mayhem, the husband stated, almost as an aside, “We know what’s wrong with him.” I wasn’t going to pass this up, so I asked what he thought the problem was with Dallas. “It all began after the kids had a sleepover. They stayed up all night watching Freddy Kruger movies and a 24-hour shark marathon. Dallas stayed up with them that night. He had never seen anything like that before and he didn’t have his table to hide under. The problem started right after that. I think he’s having nightmares.” I looked up to see the other three family members nodding in agreement.