To follow is a shortened version (really!) of an article that appeared in the San Jose Mercury News in May 1999.
I found it interesting to look back twenty-five years later. I hope you will too!
TO SAVE A PET: HIGH-TECH TOOLS LET VETERINARIANS ELEVATE CARE TO A HUMAN LEVEL
The heart monitor traces a steady pulse. IV bags drip slowly. Dr. Rick LeCouteur hovers at the edge of the operating table - scrubbed, ready and eager to attack. Behind him, MRI images show his target: a marble-sized tumor growing in his patient's brain.
On the table is Ari, an 11-year-old golden retriever with a brain tumor that sparks violent and dangerous seizures.
''In 1972, cancer was basically not treated,'' said Dr. Steve Withrow of Colorado State University, the nation's leading animal oncologist. ''It was test and slaughter.'' No longer. Armed with high-tech tools, specialty training and procedures such as kidney transplants and hip replacements, today's vets are giving household pets treatment that rivals, and sometimes surpasses, the care many humans receive.
This revolution in veterinary care has been powered by a growing minority of owners who are willing to spend thousands of dollars to save a precious pet. These four-legged family members, more children than pets, now merit day care, tailored chow and at times their own dermatologists, cardiologists and psychologists.
Canine neurosurgery is now routine for LeCouteur and his team at the University of California-Davis, a leading veterinary center. The day before, he gingerly scooped a fungal infection from the brain of a 7-year-old chow named Balou. Earlier in the week, he removed a ruptured disk from one dog and spliced the spine of another injured while riding in his master's car.
Ari's surgery comes with no guarantees. As with humans, it's dangerous, difficult work. The tumor is lodged just beneath the largest blood vessel in the dog's brain. One wrong move and Ari will bleed to death in minutes.
''Sometimes animals die,'' LeCouteur gently reminds a visitor before the surgery begins. He's also, it seems, reminding himself.
For 11 years, Ari loped through the streets of Monte Sereno. Sweet-tempered, the golden retriever had an unfortunate fondness for skunks and an inexplicable fear of water. Through years of teasing and ear-pulling, the dog remained a loyal companion to two young boys. Said the owner: ''Ari's like my firstborn.''
On Jan. 24, the owners woke to find Ari in the throes of a back-arching seizure. When they reached to comfort the terrified dog, he did something shockingly out of character: He tried to bite them.
Without the surgery, Ari likely would have suffered a series of wrenching seizures and died within months. ''I couldn't watch him go through more,'' the owners said. ''We had to know what he was going to face.''
A magnetic-resonance imaging (MRI) scan at UC Davis showed the tumor instantly.
Secretive Times
A decade ago, front-line diagnostic tools such as MRIs for pets were available only if vets smuggled their patients into human hospitals after hours. Some did. ''We had to be sneaky,'' Withrow said. Now animals have machines of their own.
On the day of Ari's surgery, the UC Davis ICU is full of animals with gunshot wounds, twisted stomachs and failing hearts. The hospital's work long ago eclipsed the vision of its builders in 1970.
Ari lies on the operating table, his graying muzzle gently tied shut with gauze, the top of his head shaved clean. LeCouteur begins to cut.
Hard Work
''Oh, Ari, what thick skin,'' LeCouteur sighs. Just getting to Ari's brain is a challenge. It's tough, physical work. A dog's skin, jaw muscles and skull are much thicker than a human's. As LeCouteur saws through Ari's skull, bone dust swirls like snow. ''We'd be through this by now if it were a person,'' he said. Nineteen minutes later, LeCouteur puts down his saw. He gently lifts out a two-inch square of bone. All that lies between LeCouteur and Ari's brain now is a thick membrane, the dura mater. LeCouteur scrapes it clean, then slowly clips through it. Gingerly, he folds the membrane back. There, pink and glistening, lies Ari's brain. And somewhere within, lies Ari's monster.
At what cost care?
Animals such as Ari are a fortunate minority: His treatment, which normally would cost more than $4,000, was discounted to $2,000, thanks to a research grant.
Many more pets face minimal care, neglect, abandonment or euthanasia at animal shelters. Most owners simply can't pay for extensive care, regardless of how deeply they love their animals. Most pay out of pocket; veterinary insurance plans cover a tiny fraction of the nation's 111 million cats and dogs.
But to some pet lovers, cold questions about the economics of care trivialize the bonds they have developed with their pets. They have a point, said Sally Walshaw, a veterinarian who teaches a class about the links between humans and animals at Michigan State University. ''Is it any more a waste of money than beer, movies or a vacation?'' she asked. Seven of 10 owners treat their animals like children, a 1995 survey by the American Association of Animal Hospitals showed. And owners increasingly are putting their money where their hearts are, spending $11 billion on veterinary care in 1996.
Extraordinary care is becoming available because more people are willing to pay for it.
Terrible Tumor
Ari's tumor is difficult to find. It's nestled dangerously close to an artery and hidden by a bone. ''This,'' LeCouteur says as he tiptoes through Ari's brain, ''is a very naughty tumor.'' It can't hide for long. Soon, LeCouteur is probing at the tumor's soft edges. He snips where he can, conscious of the blood vessel pulsing just above his scissors. After dozens of gentle, tiny cuts, LeCouteur pulls the tumor aside and out of Ari's brain. It's a round, pink marble, connected by a single artery. ''We're going to win,'' LeCouteur says.
Pet Theories
Why pets have become so important to us is a question of some dispute. Everyone has a theory. Some say we've always loved animals but were afraid to show it. Others say pets answer a personal call of the wild.
Some researchers say pets are good for us - with particular benefits for the elderly, the sick, the disabled and children in dysfunctional homes. ''Animals are truly emotional lifelines,'' said Lorel Agoni, who directs the Argus Center, a counseling center for pet owners at Colorado State University.
There are darker explanations as well. In a socially fractured world where people hardly know their neighbors, live hundreds of miles from relatives and delay decisions about having children, pets have become a family surrogate for many Americans: someone to lick you at the door after a 12-hour day.
''It has something to do with deep loneliness in people's lives, loneliness for humans,'' said Cheryl Nelson, an administrator at UC Davis' hospital who deals with pet owners whose grief can border on mental illness.
Another Mission
LeCouteur clips the tumor free. It's rushed to pathology for analysis. The veterinarian has a larger mission. He wants to find a simple cure for brain tumors: an injection of genetic material that could target and kill tumor cells while leaving healthy tissue unscarred.
Ari received a test injection the day before the surgery to see whether new genes could be introduced into tumor cells. Analysis of the tumor shows the new genes take, a result LeCouteur calls ''phenomenal.''
This step could lead to a cancer treatment breakthrough for humans as well as animals, but LeCouteur makes clear his goal is to help animals such as Ari. ''We don't mind helping humans as well,'' he adds.
There's not much left now but cleanup. LeCouteur cauterizes a few leaky blood vessels. He prepares to stitch the wound closed.
Then he pauses. Something gnaws at the surgeon's gut. He decides to take one last look. And he doesn't like what he sees. ''This is not normal tissue,'' LeCouteur says. ''I think there's another tumor down there.''
A former rugby player from Sydney, Australia, LeCouteur became an animal neurosurgeon 20 years ago. His interest was sparked by early tragedy: He'd lost a childhood friend to brain cancer. At the time, his was a quirky career choice. Today, though, LeCouteur is in growing company; 87 board-certified veterinary neurologists now practice in the United States.
Of the nation's 60,000 vets, 6,293 are specialists (See Addendum below for current statistics). Their ranks include dermatologists, cardiologists, oncologists, anesthesiologists, psychologists and dentists.
Too Impersonal?
Critics fear this specialization and its high-tech tools could erode what the profession is most proud of: the strong, personal bonds many vets have with patients. Others fear the profession could become more profit-driven and impersonal - in a word, too much like human medicine.
Another Tumor
LeCouteur reaches deeper into Ari's brain. He pulls out a second tumor. It's smaller, farther from the blood vessel and easy to clip out.
''It looks good, guys,'' he says, and begins stitching Ari closed. First the jaw muscle, then the skin. LeCouteur doesn't replace the bone. Thick jaw muscles will protect the dog's brain. ''They can play ball with him. They can whack him on the top of the head. He'll be fine,'' LeCouteur says.
A few hours later, a veterinary technician crawls into Ari's ICU cage to calm him as he awakens. Even LeCouteur joins in, leaning down to let Ari lick his face.
In wrestling with the decision to put Ari through the neurosurgery, the owners said the family's chief concern wasn't financial. ''He's an 11-year-old dog, and we wanted to make sure he could go through with it,'' said the owners. They said the fact that one is a nurse, and the other is a physician, helped them evaluate the situation medically.
''Fortunately, he came through it fine,'' the owner said. ''Otherwise, he probably wouldn't be alive today.''
When to end life?
Had Ari been sicker, or older, LeCouteur might have refused the surgery and recommended that Ari be put down. Therein lies a major divide between human and animal medicine: Vets have long been willing to end life to end suffering. ''That area is just now being talked about in human medicine,'' King said. Euthanasia has helped keep veterinary spending down.
Some vets believe euthanasia will decline as vets offer more and more medical miracles. But saving the animal isn't the only issue.
''I worry a lot about animal pain,'' said Bernard Rollin, a philosopher at Colorado State University who has worked with vets and ranchers to pioneer a new field: veterinary ethics.
Since animal pain is often invisible, he said, ''We should err on their side.''
Rapid Recovery
Back home after his surgery, Ari is recovering well. He's climbing stairs again and packing on weight - as older golden retrievers are prone to do. And he's held in even higher regard than before.
''Our 9-year-old thinks our dog is a hero,'' the owner said, ''because he's doing scientific research.''
Ari's story, vets say, is likely to become commonplace in years to come. That better care is bound to strengthen bonds between humans and their animal families.
''We've got cell phones and fast cars and space travel,'' LeCouteur said. ''But you know what? My finest moments are lying in front of the fire with my two dogs and two cats.''
Addendum
A lot has changed in 25 years!
As of the most recent data, there are approximately 127,131 veterinarians in the United States
59.5% of the veterinarians are female
The field is growing, with a projected 20% increase in employment for veterinarians from 2022 to 2032, reflecting a faster-than-average growth compared to other professions
As of the end of 2023, there are 16,291 active board-certified veterinary specialists in the United States across various disciplines recognized by the American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA)
As of the latest information, there are 458 diplomates certified in neurology by the American College of Veterinary Internal Medicine (ACVIM).
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