A New Noggin' for Noah: Let's Beat Hydrocephalus!

Hi! I’m Noah. I’m a 7-months old, 4-pound chihuahua mix. I was born at Barefoot Crow Animal Rescue in Wisconsin after my biological mom was sent to live there by a breeder. It was fun living with llamas and goats, but I was so excited when I got to experience my first car ride to my forever home. During that ride, my mom confessed she knew I was the one because I reminded her of my angel sister, Leah. “Sweet and spunky,” she said.

Chronic, progressive diseases run in my adoptive family. My parents adopted Leah from the Humane Society when she was 7 years old. She had been found in the home of a hoarder and was so neglected that her hair had matted around one of her legs—she had been hopping on three legs to get around! A month after bringing her home, Leah was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. My parents were scared, but agreed to do whatever they could to give her the best second life possible. They replaced all her meals with prescription kidney food, took her to the vet every 3 months for bloodwork and health checks, and gave her at home doggy dialysis through an IV three times a week until she passed. They kept an eye on her quality of life and by the time she went over the rainbow bridge, she had lived another happy 4 years with them!

Maybe that’s why fate led me to their home. A couple of weeks ago, my parents noticed some weird changes in me: I had trouble processing my surroundings (Walls: 3, Noah: 0), I developed a sudden fear of being picked up, I lost interest in my favorite toys and snacks (pig ears!), I was leaving more accidents around the house, I was really sleepy, I had trouble standing on my right legs, and I lost my spunk :(

We took a family trip to see Dr. Smith at the Animal Emergency & Referral Center of Minnesota. I have something called congenital hydrocephalus. I didn’t know what that meant, but Dr. Smith explained that it means my body produces too much fluid in my brain. The fluid causes swelling and pressure on vital parts of my brain that should not be pushed on! It was very scary when Dr. Smith said continued pressure could make my symptoms worse and even lead to seizures or sudden death.

It’s a rare disease, but for other dogs with hydrocephalus the best way to stop swelling and prevent further damage is through surgery. During surgery they’d install a tube from my brain to my tummy so that the extra fluid can be let out of my brain to be soaked up in a safe location. It would be my first big procedure (I haven’t even gotten my cajones removed yet!). There’s a 20-30% chance it could cause complications and a slight chance it doesn’t work at all. There hasn’t been much research on the procedure and it’s difficult to get data on how other patients are doing 2+ years after surgery. That said, when it does work it stops painful migraines and lets our personality come back!

My parents cried a lot. And then they said no. I’m just a little baby. They’d seen me over the past week, when I’d been very quiet and still and not me. They couldn’t put my body through something big and dangerous unless it was certain to give me a better quality of life. And after what they’d seen, they didn’t think it would. After three and a half hours in the little room at the hospital, we left with a bag of medications with weird names and me in puppy hospice.

This could’ve been the end of my story. I could’ve spent days or weeks being completely spoiled and loved until I told them I was ready to join Leah. But the thing is: I may be sweet and spunky, but I’m also a fighter. Those medications with weird names? They help reduce swelling too. And my personality started coming back. I’ve been running around the backyard (my favorite place), I’ve shown more interest in playing, I remember my “sits” and “downs”, my tails been wagging again, and I’ve been slurping up every pup cup my parents give me (they think they’re being sneaky by putting my pills in there). My parents see me coming back and it reminds them that they’re fighters too. Just like with Leah, they will not give up on me. They’ll do whatever it takes to give me a long, happy, healthy life.

Between pre-procedure requirements and likely post-procedure complications, they expect my medical bills to cost $15k. That’s a big number that my puppy brain can’t even understand. They’re going to do what’s best for me, but could use some support doing it. They’re not expecting my surgery to be completely covered through the generosity of strangers, but any sort of help would mean the world. And if you can’t donate anything today, that’s okay too. Instead, please send me some good thoughts and prayers. I’ve got a big journey ahead of me!

Kisses and cuddles, Noah

(PS Mom helped me write this. I don’t know my ABCs yet. Maybe neurosurgery will help with that too?)