Justice for Pax. I’ve got you bub.

Our two-year-old Doberman, Pax, was admitted to a veterinary hospital in Copley, Ohio on the evening of 7/8/23 and he passed away in my arms on the afternoon of 7/9/23.

After we lost him, several concerning details about his stay at the emergency hospital came to light, you can read the full story below. It is our belief, the belief of our primary vet, and a third party expert veterinary witness, that Pax’s death was avoidable.

I’m asking for your financial support, for Pax and for all the dogs before him, to hold the hospital accountable as much as we possibly can, and bring attention to, and change, the wildly outdated and insulting laws in place that protect veterinarians and veterinary clinics from being held accountable.

Please trust me when I say, I recognize I am asking for a large amount of money. Our lawyer will be charging us on an hourly basis due to the nature of the lawsuit and we expect the lawsuit, from start to finish, to cost upwards of $30,000. If you choose to support us, it’s important for you to know:

-I expect to pay more in lawyer fees than anything we will receive if we win. This is not about monetary compensation. It is about holding the hospital accountable and showing them that they can not get away with what they did, getting justice for Pax, and then using this case to make systemic changes regarding Ohio’s laws.

I truly believe that these things will continue to happen as long as veterinary hospitals and clinics know they can get away with it. They know people won’t pay more than they will get back to take them to court, and they know their insurance can settle disputed charges with the requirement that the victim is not allowed to talk about what happened. They know the law protects them. I want to change that. I hope that our case can be the catalyst for change so future animals and their parents don’t have to endure what we did, what Pax did.

I will not let Pax get lost and forgotten as another innocent animal who didn’t receive justice.

I am desperately and graciously asking for your help. No contribution is too small and if you understandably cannot make a financial contribution, sharing this story with your friends and family will not go unnoticed and would be so appreciated.

*If you would prefer to donate directly to my Venmo, you can send donations to @Jamie-Rodman-3, the last four digits of my phone number are 1583.

The story below is long and emotional, but I believe necessary to understand the full gravity of our situation.

I hate that I'm even telling this story because it’s a reminder that Pax is gone and shouldn’t be. It’s a reminder that he could have been saved and he wasn’t. It’s a reminder that he suffered in pain for 18 hours until some cosmic force told us to drive to the hospital, allowing me to hold him in my arms when he left this world.

From July 5th to July 8th, I drove Pax to 3 different vets. Our primary vet, our secondary vet, and a local emergency vet. During his visits to our primary and secondary vet, bloodwork and X-rays showed no indication of anything serious and it was decided (and we agreed based on diagnostic results) that his vomiting, constipation, and refusal to eat was due to some sort of bug, or maybe he ate some table scraps without us knowing. He was on the mend and pretty much back to normal, eating again, playing, no longer vomiting. But he hadn’t had a bowel movement yet, the last thing he needed to do for us to feel confident that he had recovered. On July 8th after dinner, he finally had a bowel movement. Excitement and celebration quickly turned to fear and panic as Pax became violently ill about 5 minutes later, worse than anything we’d seen throughout the week. It was Saturday night, and our vet was closed. She advised us to take him to the emergency hospital ASAP.

We picked him up (he had collapsed and was refusing to walk) and loaded him in the car. I was standing in the reception area at the emergency vet within 20 minutes. Pax, my wild, stubborn, and healthy 2-year-old European Doberman that typically demanded the attention of any room he walked in, stood next to me shaking and whimpering with an arched back, protruding third eyelids, a 10-inch stream of drool coming down either side of his mouth, and fecal matter leaking out of his rear end. Reception told me to check his gums. Pale pink/white. She immediately got on the phone and called a vet up “stat” to take him back despite the numerous people waiting before us.

This was serious. I knew it. They knew it.

I kissed him goodbye and told him to be a good boy and I waited for what felt like a lifetime. The worry, the adrenaline. I will never forget that feeling.

The vet called me to the back and told me they see fluid around his liver and a swollen gallbladder. I don’t know what that means but I know it’s not good. She says they need to do more tests to know exactly what’s going on. $3700 to admit him and if you don’t hear from us overnight, “no news is good news”, and we will call you between 8-10 am tomorrow with an update. I paid and I left my baby in the care of the hospital. Please take care of him.

It poured so hard on my way home I had to pull over. I welcomed that moment because I realized I’d barely been breathing, and my jaw was clenched so tight it felt bruised when I finally released it. My baby, my world, my heart. I was so scared.

I held onto the vet’s statement all night and all morning.

No news is good news. No news is good news.

8 am, 9 am, 10 am. No news is good news.

10:08 am: Hi Jamie, I want to prepare you. It’s not good.

The vet tells me that despite stabilizing care throughout the night Pax has not stabilized. He’s still vomiting, he’s still dehydrated, and he’s still lethargic. An ultrasound of his abdomen shows free fluid and upon testing the fluid, it’s blood. It might be an abdominal obstruction. He needs exploratory surgery estimated at $8-10k if there are no complications, and it will likely cost more if he does have an obstruction or perforation. They do not do payment plans; payment is required in full. The surgeon is on her way, and she will call me back with a final price estimate.

I thought no news was good news.

I hung up the phone. Went outside. And walked. And cried. We called our primary vet and told her the situation. She said she will drive to her clinic and do the surgery at an affordable price. We called them back and said we are picking him up to have our vet do the surgery. They said we need to talk to the vet first and they would have her call us. Okay.

30 minutes go by, and we don’t hear anything, so we get in the car and rush there. We’re not waiting.

We waited an hour and a half to be brought into a room to speak with the vet once we got there. I guess we’re waiting. The vet told us it is against her medical advice to take Pax to our vet because “his BP has dropped a few times and his glucose has gotten low, but we have him on constant medication to monitor it and he’s on fentanyl for the pain”. I asked her if the medicine will stay in his system for the 20-minute car ride and she says he’s been on it for a while so she would think it would stay effective. We ask her to leave his IV in per our vet’s instructions and she explains that she can, but not with the medicine attached to it. I know, we just need the IV in so she can hook him up to it as soon as we get there. Okay. She has us sign an “against medical advice form”.

*it feels important for me to share our thought process on this. Based on what the vet on the phone told us when she called in the morning and the reasoning the vet gave us for it being against her medical advice, our understanding was that he was not doing well but our perception of what was being explained (badly I should note) is that he was in the same condition he was in when I brought him in 18 hours earlier and hadn’t gotten better. Of course it’s against their medical advice to let a sick dog leave. They need to legally cover themselves for something like that. To us, this was just a formality. We only had to drive him 20 minutes*

I signed the AMA and asked her if we need to back our car up to the door. She told us he’s walking fine but they can bring him out on a gurney if we want. I told her it doesn’t matter, if he’s walking then just walk him out.

Okay good, he’s walking. He’s sick but he’s walking. It can’t be that bad. A moment of hope.

We waited another 30 minutes. Bringing us to two hours of waiting for them to release our boy.

Okay good. If it was super serious, I’m sure they would have brought him out asap so we can get him into surgery. They wouldn’t have had us wait two hours. It can’t be that bad. Another moment of hope.

They finally bring him out. Horizontal. On a gurney. We rush to him, and I immediately burst into tears. My sweet boy. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. The technician says “he just stopped walking for us and he’s pooping on himself”. Nothing she said mattered at that moment. I needed to get my boy to our vet and that’s all that mattered. Within one minute he’s in the back of my car. The technician taps his eyes. Checking to see if he’s responsive. A detail I didn’t quite process until hours later.

I kicked off my shoes and jumped in the back of the car with him. I laid down behind him to hold him secure as we sped the 20 minutes to our vet.

It’s okay bub. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay baby. We’re here, we’ve got you. His breathing slows so much that I’m not sure if he’s even breathing anymore. I think he’s dead. I yell to Kevin I think he’s dead. I feel his chest rise and fall. Okay, he’s still here. Stay with me bub. Please stay with me. It’s okay. Please stay with me. Please don’t leave me. We’re gonna get you feeling all better. What happened next is too painful to describe but when it happened, I knew he was gone. Babe he’s dead, he’s dead. Kevin tells me to keep talking to him, trying to focus on driving. I don’t know dog CPR. But I tried. And tried. And tried. And I begged him to come back. He’s gone. I tell Kevin I’m gonna throw up, so he opens the windows. I ask him how far away we are. About 10 minutes. My boy died in my arms only 10 minutes into the 20-minute car ride.

We get to our vet, and I plead with Kevin to stop in the middle of the parking lot. I jump out and get sick by a dumpster in the back of the building. My boy, dead in the back of my car.

My back is turned but I hear the vet standing at the open trunk of the car. “Oh shit”.

I turn around and she has her stethoscope on his chest. He’s dead, right? I think there was part of me hoping that I was wrong. She confirms that he’s gone. My boy. My sweet angel.

We got him on a gurney and bring him into the clinic. I hand her the detailed receipt they gave us at discharge. She looks. She looks again. They knew he had a perforated bowel at 9:30 the night before. 12.5 hours before they called me, they knew his bowels were leaking into his abdomen, slowly poisoning him and killing all of his organs.

No news is good news she said.

We agree to a necropsy and cremation. I kiss my sweet boy goodbye. On the car ride home, I had a panic attack. I lost feeling in my left arm and wondered if I was having a heart attack. I told Kevin, when I get home, I need to scream. I need to scream this out. He says okay.

Over the following weeks, my grief consumed me, it shifted from despair to anger to despair to rage, over and over. I finally called the veterinary hospital and requested his medical documents. A seemingly simple act that resulted in my body physically shaking and going into a complete shutdown state for the rest of the day. Trauma is an insidious beast.

After four total phone calls, they finally sent me the entire record. I was clear in asking for it each time but for some reason, they only wanted to send me bits and pieces. I looked it over. I combed through every detail. Again, and again. Where is the fentanyl? She said he was on fentanyl.

No fentanyl. No pain medication at all. That can’t be right. I looked again. For 18 hours his bowels leaked into his abdomen, and he was not given any pain medication. The documents also confirmed that Pax was diagnosed via a handheld ultrasound and x-rays, with pneumohydroperitoneum (free air/gas and fluid in the abdomen from a perforated bowel that is a life-threatening, painful, surgical emergency, associated with end-organ dysfunction due to septic shock) and likely peritonitis (a painful and urgent condition that frequently leads to sepsis and is fatal if left untreated) around 9:30 pm on Saturday, a few hours after I dropped him off and 12 hours before they called me. Around that same time of night, his systolic BP dropped to 80 and he was given a STAT bolus injection to bring it back up. The documented recommendation was that an URGENT full abdominal ultrasound was needed before exploratory surgery. Why they thought he needed another unnecessary ultrasound before attempting to save his life is beyond me. Why they waited 12 more hours to do that ultrasound is beyond me. It’s beyond my vet as well.

No news is good news.

She said it was against her medical advice to take Pax to our vet because “his BP has dropped a few times and his glucose has gotten low, but we have him on constant medication to monitor it and he’s on fentanyl for the pain”.

She did not say his blood pressure and glucose have dropped so low that he could die. His blood pressure and glucose levels indicate that he might not survive much longer. His abdomen is septic which means his organs are shutting down. His bowel is perforated leaking blood, fluid, and air into his abdomen which is poisoning him. His bowel has been perforated since you brought him here last night and at this point, it's life or death. He might die when you leave here. He is in organ failure. He is currently on the brink of death.

Why didn’t she tell us?

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

My primary vet thoroughly reviewed the medical documents. Her confirmation that a sub-standard level of care occurred was a relief. Okay, I’m not just some angry grieving person wanting someone to blame. Her statement that Pax needed surgery Saturday night, as soon as they knew he had a perforated bowel, to have had a chance, was a relief. Okay, it’s not somehow our fault for taking him out of there. When she said he likely wouldn’t have survived whether they did the surgery or she did the surgery that day because he needed surgery Saturday night as soon as they knew what was going on, I was filled with a rage and strength I didn’t even know I had. I found that strength in love and in grief, for Pax. They will be held accountable. They could have saved him. He should have lived.

Now to the laws in Ohio and most states regarding this type of thing.

I recently learned that in Ohio, and most states, companion animals are legally considered “personal property”. This means that in the eyes of the law, regarding veterinary malpractice, Pax is viewed as the equivalent of a toaster oven or a coffee table. An object that is replaceable and holds no sentimental value.

In Ohio, every law in place regarding animal cruelty has an exemption for vets.

The law states that "the lawful practice of veterinary medicine by a person who has a license, temporary permit, or registration certificate to do so under Ohio law" is exempt from the laws governing companion animal cruelty.

This means. A vet, my vet, your vet, can:

“Knowingly torture, torment, needlessly mutilate or maim, cruelly beat, poison, needlessly kill, or commit an act of cruelty against a companion animal.”

“Knowingly cause serious physical harm to a companion animal.”

"Deprive the companion animal of necessary sustenance or confine the companion animal without supplying it during the confinement with sufficient quantities of good, wholesome food and water if it can reasonably be expected that the companion animal would become sick or suffer in any other way as a result of or due to the deprivation or confinement.”

"Impound or confine the companion animal without affording it, during the impoundment or confinement, with access to shelter from heat, cold, wind, rain, snow, or excessive direct sunlight if it can reasonably be expected that the companion animal would become sick or suffer in any other way as a result of or due to the lack of adequate shelter.”

And they are not guilty in the eyes of the law.

I have researched the laws and have read all of the articles and court cases showing attempts over and over by other victims of veterinary malpractice to hold their vets or the veterinary clinic accountable. I have consulted with lawyers and veterinary malpractice consultants. Looking for any loophole, any hope that I’m missing something.

I’m not. When I submit my lawsuit, it will be with the knowledge that the veterinary hospital will not be held accountable in the way that it should be. Suing them for emotional distress is laughable in the eyes of the law. How ridiculous to claim emotional distress over a broken toaster oven.

But I will submit it. And I will show up to court. And I will tell my story. I have a third-party expert veterinary witness that will confirm malpractice. I will take them for every possible dollar that I can. I will attempt to sue them for emotional distress. I need them and the court to sit and listen to what they did. Who he was. What he meant to me. I need them and the court to hear how I can’t even look at the trunk of my car without physically shaking. How I have nightmares about that moment I knew he was dead that wake me up sobbing. They will hear about how I can’t even call the veterinary hospital responsible for his death without experiencing a visceral reaction and that every time I close my eyes, sometimes even when I don’t, I see him. I see him dying, I see him the night we brought him home as a puppy, I see him laying on top of me on the couch every night, I see myself saying goodbye to him for the last time, I see him running around the yard, I see myself trying to get him to breathe again. They will look at me when I tell them that.

And then, I will use this case and our story to try to change the laws in Ohio.

Supporting us in hiring a lawyer is not just about winning our case. It is about our case being the catalyst for change so future animals and their parents don’t have to endure what we did, what Pax did. It’s so we can change the policies or lack of policies in place at the veterinary hospital, and try to change the law. 

We cannot and will not replace Pax. He was a dog that came in on a prayer, a plea to help us heal from losing our 13-year-old Doberman, Bracco. An earth-side angel who came to us 9 months after Bracco left us. He saved me. He healed me. He changed me. He was not a toaster oven.

He was sacred.

He was revered.

He was alive.

He deserved better, more. He deserved a chance to live. He deserved relief from the unimaginable pain he was in. He deserves to be seen and respected as a living being. I will take them to court, I will share this story with whoever will read it, and I will write our legislators.

He was not a toaster oven.

Pax (noun): Peace, the kiss of peace, a tablet decorated with a sacred figure and sometimes ceremonially kissed by participants at mass, the Roman goddess of Peace.

For Pax.

I’ve got you bub.

5/21/21-7/9/23