Everything was so different a week ago ... hrmph.
Nicole and I had been talking about what we wanted to do with/for Joey given his recent health issues, and we had pretty much decided that Joey deserved a chance to stay with us as long as possible, even if it meant losing a leg. Nicole had done some on-line research and discovered that dogs Joey's size, and with his energy level, actually bounce back pretty well from amputation. We figured that, though it would be difficult for all three of us, at least we'd be able to redefine "normal". He'd have to learn how to walk again, of course, and the winters would be difficult, as walking a three-legged dog in the snow and ice would take some practice. And who knows how he'd handle stairs. For that matter, who knows how he'd handle the apartment itself? We didn't know exactly how much it would cost, but the prospect of having Joey around for another couple of years (provided the cancer didn't spread) made it an attractive possibility.
On Saturday afternoon, just as we were about to eat lunch (timing being everything ...), I got a call from Dr. Matalon. Everything changed. Unfortunately, though it was no surprise at all, the tests came back positive for canine osteosarcoma. Bone cancer. The link provided pretty much nails everything Joey is experiencing.
The development of the cancer in Joey is his Proximal Humerus (except on the left, as opposed to the illustration above). It is an aggressive cancer. The bone is very, very weak.
In humans, doctors try to cure the cancer. In dogs, the goal is merely to alleviate the pain.
The best medical option, we were told, would be amputation of the leg, with blood-work and urine testing, along with follow-up chest scans to see if the cancer had spread to the lungs, and further x-rays and scans (up to three) to track the viability of his other limbs. Then, radiology treatments.
Who knows how much pain Joey would actually be in, or if the treatments would work well? Or at all? The cancer could spread. Would it? Had it already?
But it just got worse.
Dr. Matalon broke the sobering news to me first, and I put Nicole on the phone to speak to him after I was done, for two reasons, really: I didn't want to misinterpret his words and give Nicole the wrong information. I tend to do this sort of thing. Ask me to read a map, and I'll send us the wrong way every time even though I think I'm giving the right directions. Second of all, and somewhat selfishly, I suppose: I didn't want to be the one to break the news. I'd already explained the first visit, the fears that Dr. M had, the possibility of amputation ... I just didn't have the heart to break hers for the second time.
The sad fact of the matter is that, even with amputation and radiation therapy, we would not gain a significant amount of time with Joey. We'd maybe prolong his life by 6-9 months, at best.
Six to nine months.
Six to nine months of him learning how to walk again, of not being able to play with his tennis balls or jump after soap bubbles, of losing his appetite. Six to nine months of our own prolonged agony, watching our poor friend slowly die before our eyes, and six to nine months of regretting that our time was running out.
We decided that we couldn't do that to him, and sometime in the relatively near future we're going to have him euthanized. It's going to kill us to do it, and we've shed so many tears already, but it doesn't really even feel like there's a choice to be made. This is the only humane way we can handle this. I just don't want my friend to be in pain.
Making things worse (even worse still! What's left? Am I going to discover that he's a Yankees fan and a neo-con, too?) is that Nicole's on a business trip this week, and the week after next. She doesn't get the time she wants to spend with him before the end comes, though we don't exactly know when that will be yet.
Joey knows she's not here, too. At least, I think he knows. A couple of times he's wandered over to the front door, as if to check if anyone's coming through it. I've been trying to comfort him and keep him company, but everything feels weird.
It's not going to feel better for a while, either.
Nicole and I had been talking about what we wanted to do with/for Joey given his recent health issues, and we had pretty much decided that Joey deserved a chance to stay with us as long as possible, even if it meant losing a leg. Nicole had done some on-line research and discovered that dogs Joey's size, and with his energy level, actually bounce back pretty well from amputation. We figured that, though it would be difficult for all three of us, at least we'd be able to redefine "normal". He'd have to learn how to walk again, of course, and the winters would be difficult, as walking a three-legged dog in the snow and ice would take some practice. And who knows how he'd handle stairs. For that matter, who knows how he'd handle the apartment itself? We didn't know exactly how much it would cost, but the prospect of having Joey around for another couple of years (provided the cancer didn't spread) made it an attractive possibility.
On Saturday afternoon, just as we were about to eat lunch (timing being everything ...), I got a call from Dr. Matalon. Everything changed. Unfortunately, though it was no surprise at all, the tests came back positive for canine osteosarcoma. Bone cancer. The link provided pretty much nails everything Joey is experiencing.
The development of the cancer in Joey is his Proximal Humerus (except on the left, as opposed to the illustration above). It is an aggressive cancer. The bone is very, very weak.
In humans, doctors try to cure the cancer. In dogs, the goal is merely to alleviate the pain.
The best medical option, we were told, would be amputation of the leg, with blood-work and urine testing, along with follow-up chest scans to see if the cancer had spread to the lungs, and further x-rays and scans (up to three) to track the viability of his other limbs. Then, radiology treatments.
Who knows how much pain Joey would actually be in, or if the treatments would work well? Or at all? The cancer could spread. Would it? Had it already?
But it just got worse.
Dr. Matalon broke the sobering news to me first, and I put Nicole on the phone to speak to him after I was done, for two reasons, really: I didn't want to misinterpret his words and give Nicole the wrong information. I tend to do this sort of thing. Ask me to read a map, and I'll send us the wrong way every time even though I think I'm giving the right directions. Second of all, and somewhat selfishly, I suppose: I didn't want to be the one to break the news. I'd already explained the first visit, the fears that Dr. M had, the possibility of amputation ... I just didn't have the heart to break hers for the second time.
The sad fact of the matter is that, even with amputation and radiation therapy, we would not gain a significant amount of time with Joey. We'd maybe prolong his life by 6-9 months, at best.
Six to nine months.
Six to nine months of him learning how to walk again, of not being able to play with his tennis balls or jump after soap bubbles, of losing his appetite. Six to nine months of our own prolonged agony, watching our poor friend slowly die before our eyes, and six to nine months of regretting that our time was running out.
We decided that we couldn't do that to him, and sometime in the relatively near future we're going to have him euthanized. It's going to kill us to do it, and we've shed so many tears already, but it doesn't really even feel like there's a choice to be made. This is the only humane way we can handle this. I just don't want my friend to be in pain.
Making things worse (even worse still! What's left? Am I going to discover that he's a Yankees fan and a neo-con, too?) is that Nicole's on a business trip this week, and the week after next. She doesn't get the time she wants to spend with him before the end comes, though we don't exactly know when that will be yet.
Joey knows she's not here, too. At least, I think he knows. A couple of times he's wandered over to the front door, as if to check if anyone's coming through it. I've been trying to comfort him and keep him company, but everything feels weird.
It's not going to feel better for a while, either.
2 comments:
Sorry to hear about Joey. Euthanizing a pet is very hard, I've had to do it twice. You'll get through it, though.
Hey jim, I'm really sorry you have to go through all of this. Losing a friend is so hard. I miss my pup clem all the time.
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