There was a light at the end of her
'tunnel' that long journey our retriever had travelled after major
orthopedic surgery had been done, four months ago. During that
period, a strict code of 'behaviour' had been enforced. Leash
walking, no jumping or running was in effect. ... (Her 'DNA' had been put on hold). ... Normalcy was about to
begin. Then it happened. A lump, found on her front leg during one of
our play sessions, derailed us again, with its sense urgency and
timing. It was not a fatty lump. It was cancer.
Several needle aspirations determined
what lurked deep within this misshapen soft furry lump whose
dimensions seemed to be shrinking. Cells of a nasty kind with surgery
to follow began this latest crisis. It was urgent. We worried. Her doctor managed to speed us
to the front of the line and expedited the medical treatment for our
precious girl. Dr. M. was our hero! A return visit to the hospital, where previous
surgeries had taken place on Sally and Mr. Wiggles, would follow in
short order. Nothing was left to chance. The results had come in on a
Friday. On Saturday an appointment was scheduled. By Monday we'd met with the head surgeon with surgery planned
for the following Wednesday. It was early July. It was masterful orchestration, a
wonderful end to a unsettling beginning. It was magic!
Our surgeon, back from vacation, was superb - again - his
skill set, top notch, as usual. All instructions were clear and
concise. A couple of years ago, when our Wiggler had been seen by
this illustrious man of veterinarian medicine for a mysterious egg-shaped neck
lump, we had been advised simply "to keep an eye on it." We had, till
one evening it grew and could no longer be ignored. 'Others' had wanted to remove, dissect, investigate, then try again. Our surgeon did not. His ultra conservative, common sense approach
made us trust him even more. (Our one-year-old puppy was not an experiment for 'study'.) Never! Next, please!
A large rectangular 'open' wound now resides on Sally's front
leg. The area is raw of tissue. It is not pretty. Not enough to suture together,
we were told. The wound would be left 'open' to heal. How could that happen, I thought? An extra layer of
skin had been removed, reducing any telltale signs of the ghastly
disease in her body. Would it return? No one knows the future. A zero count of regrowth we were told. Chemotherapy will never happen. It is not in her future. Dogs do not know of death, just the moments to moments, day to
day quality of their life. Being in a strange place, at night,
inhabited by people in white lab coats during the day, does not a
quality of life make - for a dog. To them, they only see tall
strangers, abandonment, being sick and locked in a cage. Where is my
family? Would 'they' know how to love her? That is not their job. It
is ours. Toronto or New York would be destinations for chemo. No
thanks. She means too much for us to pull that stunt. Her diet has
been upgraded. Her rooibos, caffeine-free tea, is a more concentrated
formula to kill the cells that might want to grow. It is a health
giving tea for us; a life-giving tea for her, right now. Other single ingredient foods
will be added, as necessary. A raw diet is practiced by all animals in the
wild. She is a member of that group, too. Certain foods will be
researched then considered.
Twice a week, the wound is redressed,
swabbed in layers of gauze with the sterilized silver pad on top of
the raw layer of skin, beneath. (Silver heals all wounds). A picture is taken, each time, then sent to
the surgeon for his examination. His reputation began the process in July
when the surgery was performed. Three sets of professional eyes have
now seen 'it'. Not me, however! I cannot look. I simply listen to the
medical banter and wait for further instructions from the doctor
present as I cradle our girl on the floor on her designated blanket during each appointment. The
doctors' words guide me every step of the way.
Our Sally wears a 'rubber' boot, a
former intravenous bag, now being recycled as fashionable footwear, attached to her leg with gauze like ribbon, for the outdoors. I try to avoid rain, as much as possible, in this current rainy summer season. At one point during a heavy downpour, I worried about
the rain dampening her bandage - 4 days away from a 'redress' appointment.
I waited then wrapped the top half of her wrapped front leg with plastic
wrap, just in case droplets of rain hit her 'leg' above the 'boot',
moved downwards then soaked the sterilized medicinal 'covering' adorning her
sterile open wound, beneath. (Risk of infection loomed large in my head). I
am a worrier. Her foot and leg must remain clean and dry, indoors and
out. Seasons count in this instance. No deep snow, ice or freezing
rain to worry about. There are some things for which we are truly grateful.
August 21st marked a
triumphant day for our healing girl. Her wound is 80% smaller; her
silver pad, 50%, I was told. Real progress in real time. Sweet Mr.Wiggles is
learning to play alone, though at times he tries to engage his sister
with his turbo soccer ball, as she descends the short staircase,
outdoors. "Not now, my sweet boy. She cannot run." Neither can I, at
present. I'm busy. She has been through many incursions this past
year. I love her so. She is a soldier, a true warrior. Even the
doctors think it so.
No comments:
Post a Comment