Human-Grade Dog Food
Day 38, Post-Spleen Rupture/Splenectomy
Note: I’m writing this months later, which is why it’s posted out of place. I was struggling with whether to tackle this because it involves a “world-recognized expert.” I think it’s important, though — particularly since he practices virtually, enabling him to treat clients all over the world — so I’ve decided to omit his name but am happy to share if you want to reach out.
Also, FTR, I’m not suggesting homeopathy is a scam — not in the least. It’s the business owner who’s the grifter — & as I’ve heard from others, there is no shortage of charlatans out there taking advantage of vulnerable, desperate cancer-dog-parents. And in this case, I’d not have known I was conned if I hadn’t confronted him — so this is simply my own cautionary tale…
I wrote about my mistakenly conflating holistic medicine with homeopathic medicine in an earlier post and mentioned I’d scheduled a consult with a veterinarian specializing in homeopathy.
…Well, it turns out that, as homeopathic veterinarians go, this doctor happens to be one of the foremost experts AND located two towns over.
How fortuitous, right?
Prior to the appointment, they requested we email them Cat’s medical history: all relevant medical records & a comprehensive rundown of her current regimen: prescriptions, supplements, diet, etc. When done, this file totaled a staggering 120 pages — only consisting of information compiled since her surgery and diagnosis. But they asked for it, & I wanted to go into this with the doctor fully briefed because the consult was going to be short and not cheap — nor covered by our pet insurance.
When I called to confirm, they told me something odd that hadn’t been mentioned prior: This consult was just a phone call. “So when do we come for the clinical appointment, then?” I asked. “This is the appointment; we don’t do face-to-face,” replied the vet’s admin. Huh? Besides being stunned by such a pricey phone call, I had no idea that bonafide veterinarians could practice without actually examining patients in-person to start — so either I’m wrong or he’s not bonafide. And even if I’m not wrong, this was just weird — and the most expensive half-hour conversation of my life.
Cost #1: $375 for a 30-minute PHONE CALL. They couldn’t even muster a video call at that price?? Additional time: $30 per 5 minutes.
If you think that’s nuts, just wait…
The “Consult”
…Didn’t go as expected. The audio was so muffled that I could barely understand him. I kept saying, “I’m sorry; I can’t quite hear you,” but he kept right on going. It reminded me of calls with my grandpa, circa 2009, who still hadn’t figured out how to use his mobile phone.
Worse: He spent 18 minutes of the call reading aloud the information I’d sent him, while stumbling over words, then re-reading the sentence with the intonation of a question.
It was quickly clear: He had done zero prep for this call. And, frankly, he was either having an “off” day or shouldn’t be practicing medicine.
There was no discussion of therapies, no definitive next steps, no timeline, and no empathy — all closing with a vague, “I’ll review everything and follow up.” When the call ended, I sat there motionless, speechless — thinking: “WTF just happened?” …Oh but that’s not all…
An hour & twenty minutes later, I got a surprise call from his assistant informing me that my dog’s “remedies” were already being made, though I hadn’t approved anything. No treatment options had been mentioned, no price offered, and certainly no consent given. This was like some Harry Potter side-hustle.
Cost #2: $145 for the “remedies” (a peculiar term for a cancer that, in fact, has no remedy)
Total cost: $520
Describing myself as agitated is a vast understatement.
Their website reads — verbatim:
“Your companion’s course of treatment is individualized according to his/her particular needs and symptoms. For instance, three different animals with the same type of cancer might receive three different protocols. This is very different from conventional medicine where there might be one course of treatment for people with the same type of cancer.”
…In light of this, I inquired how an “individualized course of treatment” could be created so quickly (especially when it was clear he wasn’t familiar with Cat’s records). The reply: “Well, the protocol for hemangiosarcoma is pretty standard.”
Total BS. I guess they just saw the word “hemangiosarcoma” on the intake form and were like “cha-ching!”
Afterwards, I directly emailed the doctor to express my dissatisfaction and ask about potential drug interactions. His response was utterly dismissive, asserting that I “clearly don’t understand homeopathy,” then adding that “since the remedies are non-toxic, no safety considerations are necessary.” When I asked if he had reviewed Cat’s records, he told me: “Her medical history is irrelevant.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because it’s hemangiosarcoma,” he said.
…So, since they prescribe the same thing for all HSA dogs, $375 phone call was pointless.
How f-ing unethical — and heartless. We’re talking about our dog-children’s lives. You can’t interpret this as anything other than them preying off the hope *they* feel doesn’t exist for the parents of dying pets who truly believe it does.
They did refund the fee. Probably to avoid being reported to the Better Business Bureau, NCDOJ consumer protection, or whatever organization reins in unethical veterinarians.
No matter, here’s the thing: I believe in informed care — whether it’s traditional or alternative. I believe in listening, examining, discussing, considering, recommending, and asking for the go-ahead before charging someone a half a grand.
My re-telling isn’t about bashing a veterinarian. It’s about spreading awareness and reinforcing that it’s ok for us to stand up for our pet-children when something doesn’t feel right.
…Because “one size fits all” should never apply to medicine — especially when love, life, and loss are on the line.
Carrie Stewart is a journalist and award-winning TV producer-turned-advocate for canine cancer awareness after working night and day for months on end to help her German Shepherd foster-fail/rescue pup, Cat the Dog, head off hemangiosarcoma for as long as she possibly can. 
