When under enough pressure, dark dusty coal turns into brilliant hard-shelled diamonds.  In nature this may take a great deal of time but I have seen this happen in a matter of days.

I shared on air that I have adopted a special-needs dog that I named GiGi, after Greta Garbo.  The reason for the name is because she never barked and seemed very timid and stand-offish, so I thought her being the namesake of the silent film star seemed appropriate.

GiGi is epileptic but had not suffered any seizures in 5 months when she came into our home.  I learned several tricks of giving her the pill that kept these seizures at bay.  When the prescription ran out I went to my vet for a check-up and refill.

The last episode she experienced included 10 seizures, so a vet flooded her system with meds to stabilize her.  In the months leading up to my adoption those meds had been slowly reduced to find the minimal amount GiGi needed to prevent the seizures.  My vet decided to continue that process and reduced her meds by half a few weeks ago.

"Is this the same dog?" Katie asked one night, after GiGi ran around and played with Sully, wrestled a chew toy, and later tore across the yard in pure bliss.  We realized her detached personality was created by the higher doses of medications and were excited to see this "normal" dog emerging.

Katie Jo and I then went out of town for the weekend to two separate places which unfortunately resulted in a miscommunication with people back home - and GiGi skipping a pill.  Normally this would not be an issue, but with the recent dosage change it proved problematic.

I had just fallen asleep for my afternoon nap a day later when I woke up to an odd scratching noise in the closet.  First I assumed it was my frisky cat, but noticed a cadence to the scratching that seemed abnormal.  Then I realized GiGi was having a seizure.

It lasted about a minute and she trotted out of the closet, mouth dripping with foam, as if nothing had happened.  I cleaned her off and apologized to her before giving her that day's medicine early.  She drank some water, ate her food, and seemed unbothered by the experience.  I on the other hand was nauseas with concern and let Katie know what happened.

Later that evening, as GiGi was asleep, it happened again.  Sixty seconds.  All muscles out of control.  Full excretion from most orifices.  Up and trotting as if nothing happened.

We gave her an extra pill and hoped to stabilize her for the night before taking her to the vet the next day.  But it happened 3 more times before we could get her to him.

We learned she had no idea what was happening during them, and that it was causing no permanent damage to her.  He also added that she had a milder case of epilepsy than others he has seen and that her level of medication was smaller than most.  However,  the medicine she was on at that time was a preventative and she needed to take another kind of medicine to stop what had become every-3-hours-to-the-minute seizures.  We took the new bottle and went home.

I sensed that she would need a few rounds of this new medicine to stop what was happening to her, so I warned Katie that it might happen again that night.   And it did.  Twice.

Through it all, I saw a new bond in the whole house with GiGi.  We have three other animals, a dog and two cats, who all witnessed her seizures.  After the initial experience, we were able to keep calm during them and talk to the other pets through it so they too could remain calm.  As each one emerged these other animals seemed to gather in support, far enough away to avoid contact but close enough to trot with her around the house when it was over.  Katie and I also found ourselves more protective of her.

I realized that in the short time I have had her GiGi has never been able to just be a goofy dog.  Her entire 2-3 years leading up to me has been the same way.  I knew this when I adopted her, but have a better appreciation for it now.

I also have appreciation for her resilience.  Every time she would jump up from a seizure and come to me as if she simply just woke up, not paying attention to her frothy mouth and temporary blurred vision, I would see a strength I didn't see when I first met her.  I think we all mistake traits like being timid, hesitation, and detachment as weakness in all living beings.  But have we ever wondered why they are there in the first place?

GiGi started out of the gate with obstacles.  Her epilepsy is most-likely genetic and being raised in a puppy mill didn't help her confidence I'm sure.  Then to be adopted by someone who turned her back in out of disappointment in her looks and condition reinforced the idea of distrust and being unlovable.  She finally was rescued by people who saw something in her, and allowed me to do the same.  And what I see is that dusty coal of a dog that through all of this has indeed become a hard-shelled diamond, determined to survive it all.

They say diamonds are a girl's best friend, and I can see that this little diamond in her own way is becoming mine.  I just have to keep a wash cloth handy in case I need to wipe off her mouth.