April 27

(Y’all know that my posts aren’t known for being short…this one is no exception. Sorry about that! :))

Six months ago yesterday, things were pretty good.  I had 4 healthy dogs (so I thought), with the one exception being that Holly had a little limp.  When we had been to the vet a couple of weeks prior to this, we had started her on Rimadyl and rest, thinking that it was likely a strain or sprain or something.  The vet mentioned very briefly that this was the general area where it could possibly be a tumor, but she didn’t really seem to think that was a very high possibility because of the exact location that seemed to be causing the pain.  To be honest, I mostly put this out of my head.  When Holly’s limp didn’t get better, I naively thought that it was likely because, even though she hadn’t been running or hiking and we had drastically shortened her walks, it was hard to make Holly rest because every time we fed her, she did a huge happy food dance.

April 27 – six months ago today.  I remember it like it was 5 minutes ago.  We headed back to the vet to get Holly’s leg re-checked.  Pretty much as soon as we saw the vet and told her that there hadn’t been improvement, she said that it was time to do x-rays.  She was somewhat inclined to sedate Holly because the Beans could occasionally be a little, ahem, feisty at the vet.  We asked her to try the x-rays without sedation – in our experience, if we weren’t in the room, Holly’s was pretty calm and easy to work with, so we waited as she took our girl to the back.  I STILL was completely clueless…it just didn’t occur to me that this could be cancer.  Ironic, since I was constantly obsessed with every lump and bump on her.  I could still tell you exactly where they all were four months ago.  The x-rays seemed to take forever…I remember sitting and reading a People magazine article about Jennie Garth’s divorce.  Then the doctor walked in and very casually said “You were right, she was really well behaved, she did great!”  We both smiled and kind of giggled and were proud of our girl.  Then…”But what I see isn’t so good.  It looks like she has a tumor in the leg.”  The world literally just dropped away from me.  I can’t really think of another way to describe it.  It felt like I was in the process of passing out.  I couldn’t breathe.  I started shaking.  We followed the vet to the back to see the x-rays and our girl.  I will never, ever forget the first moment I saw her.  She was standing next to the vet tech, who was holding her leash, and as soon as she saw us, she broke into her big, beautiful grin, started wagging her tail in her trademark circular wag, and started pulling toward us.  That was when the tears started.  I just leaned over and said hi to her and hugged her – I just wanted to take her and run away.  As the vet showed us the x-rays, and tried to describe what she saw and why it made her think osteosarcoma, I really truly felt like I was having an out of body experience.  There was just NO WAY that this was happening to my girl.  We went back to the exam room and sat briefly while the vet talked to us about prognosis and next steps.  She wanted us to get to an oncologist right away.  She started talking about amputation – as you know, that is almost as shocking as the diagnosis itself when you first hear it.  She encouraged us to strongly consider it – I remember her saying that she would do it if Holly were her dog because she was in good health otherwise and was still so vibrant and full of like – it just made sense to go for it.  Then she started talking about us having maybe 6 months or a year.  It’s amazing how you can hear horrific news and then the conversation just gets worse and worse as it continues.  We really couldn’t ask any questions – we were both just so stunned.  We walked out of the room and I had to go outside with Holly while my husband paid – I was really starting to lose it and I had to get out of there and get to somewhere that I could breathe.  Holly and I walked down the sidewalk…while sobbing like a freak, I just kept telling her that it would be ok, that we would figure it out.  One of Holly’s odder traits back when she had four legs was that she would kind of continue scooting/walking forward while pooing.  She almost always did what we called a “stress poo” after the vet.  We got to a little patch of grass, and she started going…I’m sure it was one of the most absurd sites ever.  I was absolutely bawling at this point, and I was just following her along with a bag in my hand.

I don’t remember a whole lot about the ride home.  I remember having the discussion with my husband that a year was really a lot in the life of a dog – in another year, she would be 10.  A year would be a whole tenth of her life that we still could get.  In reality, I was horrified at the thought of talking in months or even in terms of a year.  I was nowhere near ready to think about losing her.  To be honest, it never really occurred to me that we might be looking at weeks.  It just was never a possibility in my mind.

As soon as we got home, I started googling and trying to learn everything that I could.  The main bright spot that day was finding Tripawds (thank dog!).  I wanted to get started with making her better as soon as I could, so I started looking for an oncologist right away.  We started with a specialty vet in San Francisco where Holly had had major surgery a few years ago – they have a great reputation and we really liked our surgeon, so it seemed to make sense.  My husband called, but they weren’t able to get us in for a few days.  I really didn’t want to wait.  I read the reviews of their sister hospital that is out here in the East Bay, so which made more sense anyway, and saw that people raved about their oncologists and surgeons.  We decided that we should just try them – if we didn’t like them, we weren’t committed.  Our first experience was great – they got us in that very same day.

I remember driving there the first time.  I remember spending most of the time turned around talking to Holly.  I remember what it was like to walk in that very first time.  Holly had a pretty entertaining habit – she liked to sit on couches or chairs like a person.  She would back up to them and put her butt on the chair, with all four of her legs still on the floor, or depending on how high off the ground it was, her back legs would be slightly off the floor.  There was a large-ish, comfy looking chair in the lobby – with someone sitting in it.  Silly Holly made herself right at home – she sat herself down on the chair, which made everyone laugh while she looked around like, “What?  Isn’t this what I’m supposed to do?”  When the man eventually got up and left, she climbed up on the chair and settled in.  She wasn’t much for boundaries.

Again, I remember this vet visit in crazy detail.  I remember walking in and seeing the Tripawds calendar.  I remember which tech took us into the room, I remember her taking Holly to get her vitals, and watching her smile and talk to Holly as Holly walked along cheerily beside her.  While we waited for the vet, I grabbed the Tripawds book that was sitting on a shelf and showed it to my husband, saying “Hey look, this is that website I found earlier.”  You all pretty much know the conversation that we had once the vet came in – we heard the odds, the median lengths of survival, the treatment options…all of the things that all of us have come to know all too well.  Of course, there were tears.  I sat on the floor with Holly and just stroked her over and over and over.  The oncologist was ready to go – she wanted to schedule Holly’s surgery for the next day.  We were still in shock.  She brought our wonderful surgeon in to talk to us.  I think that we always knew what we were going to do, but we really needed a little bit more time to come to peace with it.  Plus, I was about to leave town on a business trip and there was no way in hell I was not going to be there when she came home, so we decided to wait a few days.  That was a Friday and we scheduled her surgery for Wednesday.

That night, I started to read literally everything that I could find.  Neither of the humans really slept that night.  I remember that we kept panicking about every little thing.  Before bed, we sat on the floor with Holly and petted her and talked to her, and then we just sort of watched her.  She went to sleep, so she was breathing slowly, and at one point I was convinced that she had stopped breathing.  It’s so funny how as soon as you have a little information, your perception of everything changes.  We had even decided that her limp was getting constantly worse.  I really don’t think it was – I think it just appeared that way to us.

The next day, we sat around and moped.  Finally, I realized that we needed to stop.  It was a beautiful day so we loaded up Holly and Clyde and took them to the park.  We took her Furminator, some favorite toys, a couple of antlers for them to chew, and lots of treats.  We laid on a blanket with them and just enjoyed being there.  I am so, so glad that we didn’t do the surgery that day.  We weren’t ready and I’m so glad that we took the time before we did it to just try to be a little bit normal and enjoy some time together.  Holly had a great time – we fawned all over her.  It is such a great memory.  You know how some people plan a “perfect day” for their dogs when they feel the end is approaching?  I always planned to do that, and I hate that things went downhill so fast and we didn’t get to do it…but I’m really happy that we had this day.  We all felt better after getting some sun and fresh air.  If you’re just starting on this path, one of my most important suggestions to you is to do that perfect day immediately.  Don’t wait until the end.  Enjoy it now while your pup is still feeling good, while there are no side effects from treatment, when you aren’t exhausted, and when you don’t feel like you’re racing the clock.  Walk away from Tripawds, from all of your googling, from reading all of the cancer books, and make your first priority having a perfect day with your dog.

My initial reaction was devastation and shock, but to be honest with you, once we got going on our plan, I had decided that we were going to kick this thing’s ass.  Holly was going to be one of the dogs who raised the median survival time.  I just KNEW it, because there was no way to function if I didn’t.  My grief is still pretty overwhelming.  I doubt a lot of the choices that we made, and I have lots of regrets and guilt….but I will never regret the fact that we attacked this bastard of a disease head on.

This is going to sound kind of weird, especially since I have just described how awful that first day was, but in a lot of ways I am jealous of the newbies who have just started on this journey.  As scary as it is, as awful as it is to think of what might lie ahead, at this point you still feel like you might have some control.  You have decisions to make, and lots to learn about what you can do to make your dog’s life better and longer.  Every single day that your dog is still alive is a good day.  Every day that your dog is alive, there is hope for more days together.  Learn everything you can.  Make your decisions carefully.  But above all, spend some time forgetting that this is happening.  Take your dog out and sit in the sun and just be together.  Stop reading and worrying and thinking.  Enjoy every second that you have.  Every second that your dog is still alive, still happy, and not in pain is a good second.