Post by mewz on Jun 18, 2018 13:48:22 GMT -5
This rainy Monday morning I am sitting in a hotel room in Pullman, Washington with my beloved dog, Dinger, waiting for a 12:30 appointment at the WSU Veterinary Hospital.
A week and a half ago I took Dinger, our 11-year-old Kelpie/Border Collie to the vet because he had been coughing and retching and had lost quite a bit of weight. We thought he might have swallowed something sideways and hadn't been able to work it out. Our vet, Dr. Mike, normally a chatty, jovial fellow, grew unusually silent while examining our little boy. I was afraid of what he would say when he would finally speak.
"Cancer." That horrible word echoed in the abysmal, bottomless pit that opened up and swallowed my heart. That horrible word that finally took my sister last January. That horrible word that claimed Bruce's best friend from Australia. That horrible word that stole my neighbor from his family. That horrible word that has no empathy for the lives that it devastates mercilessly. That horrible word that is so painful to hear and to utter.
Dr. Mike ran every test he had available. X-rays showed an enormous mass in Dinger's chest cavity that was compressing his lungs and windpipe making it difficult to breath. He had a fever of 103.5F and no appetite. Probably lymphoma and secondary pneumonia. Doc gave shots and antibiotics to get us through the weekend. Bruce and I spent the weekend crying and trying unsuccessfully to console each other. I think this was the 3rd time in the nearly 20 years I have known my husband that I have seen him cry. And it was just a start.
I scoured the internet looking for resources; anything that might give us some hope; anything that might push back against the unbearable weight of helplessness. I found that prednisone can be an effective adjunct treatment for lymphoma and the symptoms Dinger was suffering. Bruce takes prednisone, so I took one of his pills and cut up an initial starting portion for Dinger's weight. Whether due to the antibiotics or the prednisone or their combination, by Monday, Dinger's temperature was normal, he was breathing better, was eating, and trotting around with his old, determined insouciance. He was still coughing and retching, so we tempered our hopes, but we were so relieved to see our beloved dog feeling like himself again.
When the rest of the test results came back last Tuesday, they were inconclusive. All we knew was that it was bad. Very bad. Our vet recommended we go to Helena to visit "Montana's greatest veterinary brain" or if we really wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, we could go to the teaching hospital at Washington State University in Pullman. We could make a day trip to Helena and back. It would take a few days to make a round trip to Pullman. The vet agreed that we should continue the prednisone until we had more answers. Bruce agreed to stay home to milk Delilah and take care of the chores. I would take Dinger to Pullman and we would Facetime during the appointment so we could both be present for Dinger's evaluation.
Sunday morning in the dismal rain, Bruce helped me pack up the truck, putting an old couch cover on the back seat for Dinger. We hugged hard and cried some more. Convulsing with sobs, Bruce implored, "Bring him back one way or another." As I set off in the rain I turned on Sirius radio's Symphony Hall and began my journey accompanied by J.S. Bach's Cantata No. 21, Ich hatte viel bekummernis in meinem Herzen (I had much affliction in my heart).
"Sighs, tears, anguish, trouble,
anxious longing, fear and death
gnaw at my constricted heart,
I experience misery, pain."
I hope the sun shines sometime soon.
A week and a half ago I took Dinger, our 11-year-old Kelpie/Border Collie to the vet because he had been coughing and retching and had lost quite a bit of weight. We thought he might have swallowed something sideways and hadn't been able to work it out. Our vet, Dr. Mike, normally a chatty, jovial fellow, grew unusually silent while examining our little boy. I was afraid of what he would say when he would finally speak.
"Cancer." That horrible word echoed in the abysmal, bottomless pit that opened up and swallowed my heart. That horrible word that finally took my sister last January. That horrible word that claimed Bruce's best friend from Australia. That horrible word that stole my neighbor from his family. That horrible word that has no empathy for the lives that it devastates mercilessly. That horrible word that is so painful to hear and to utter.
Dr. Mike ran every test he had available. X-rays showed an enormous mass in Dinger's chest cavity that was compressing his lungs and windpipe making it difficult to breath. He had a fever of 103.5F and no appetite. Probably lymphoma and secondary pneumonia. Doc gave shots and antibiotics to get us through the weekend. Bruce and I spent the weekend crying and trying unsuccessfully to console each other. I think this was the 3rd time in the nearly 20 years I have known my husband that I have seen him cry. And it was just a start.
I scoured the internet looking for resources; anything that might give us some hope; anything that might push back against the unbearable weight of helplessness. I found that prednisone can be an effective adjunct treatment for lymphoma and the symptoms Dinger was suffering. Bruce takes prednisone, so I took one of his pills and cut up an initial starting portion for Dinger's weight. Whether due to the antibiotics or the prednisone or their combination, by Monday, Dinger's temperature was normal, he was breathing better, was eating, and trotting around with his old, determined insouciance. He was still coughing and retching, so we tempered our hopes, but we were so relieved to see our beloved dog feeling like himself again.
When the rest of the test results came back last Tuesday, they were inconclusive. All we knew was that it was bad. Very bad. Our vet recommended we go to Helena to visit "Montana's greatest veterinary brain" or if we really wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, we could go to the teaching hospital at Washington State University in Pullman. We could make a day trip to Helena and back. It would take a few days to make a round trip to Pullman. The vet agreed that we should continue the prednisone until we had more answers. Bruce agreed to stay home to milk Delilah and take care of the chores. I would take Dinger to Pullman and we would Facetime during the appointment so we could both be present for Dinger's evaluation.
Sunday morning in the dismal rain, Bruce helped me pack up the truck, putting an old couch cover on the back seat for Dinger. We hugged hard and cried some more. Convulsing with sobs, Bruce implored, "Bring him back one way or another." As I set off in the rain I turned on Sirius radio's Symphony Hall and began my journey accompanied by J.S. Bach's Cantata No. 21, Ich hatte viel bekummernis in meinem Herzen (I had much affliction in my heart).
"Sighs, tears, anguish, trouble,
anxious longing, fear and death
gnaw at my constricted heart,
I experience misery, pain."
I hope the sun shines sometime soon.