Hi There.

 I'm still not sure about the future of this little backwater blog, but I still occasionally feel the urge to update it for the few, the faithful, who still check in now and then.

 So. I'm not retired. I'm not retiring before the end of the year. Once again I'm waiting to see what happens in the midterms to read the tea leaves about this country's future, but if I can still get a paycheck, it seems wise to continue to get that paycheck. Management wants me to stick around, so I'm sticking around. 

So, anyway. 

Losing Eddie hurt so much, he was my little soul dog, the dog I thought I'd be retiring with, and I'll be pissed forever that his wonderful little life was cut so short. It's just so damn wrong. And Fuck Cancer.

I think I mentioned it here in passing a time or two that I was looking for a second dog after Gidget passed, but finding a small dog that isn't a behavioral hot mess (can't be trusted around kids) or a special needs case (will never be housebroken) or already elderly with expensive medical issues is challenging, at least around here. I actually, finally connected with a rescue a few weeks before Eddie took that last turn for the worse. I brought home a gangly white "Maltese mix" the rescue called a Maltipoo. (Spoiler alert: Not a Maltipoo.) 

I drove all the way to Port St. Lucie to collect him, and when I saw him in the flesh, he was totally not as advertised. But he had a sweet face and those intelligent eyes I look for in a dog, and so Oliver came home with me. (Oliver is the name I gave him, because he'd been through some shit and deserved a new name for a new start.)

He's turning 17 months old and basically still a puppy. He's immaculately housebroken, but otherwise he has no clue about even basic training. Sit don't mean shit. He does okay on the leash only because I've wrestled bigger dogs and know how to keep a firm hand on him, because "SQUIRREL!!"  

We are going to go to school together, because he's smart and sweet and really, really wants to be a good boy, but other than being housebroken, I think he was a backyard dog with no real socialization. He's made great strides in the month or so I've had him, but formal training will be good, both for the training part and the socialization. We did an evaluation at a local school and he was jumpy and defensive at first, but learned to jump onto a low stool after just a couple of repetitions and clearly enjoyed the experience. He's sweet and smart and just needs to build his confidence and learn the basics.  

Oh, and he did meet and live with Eddie for a bit, before Eddie took that final turn, and they got along fabulously. When I came home alone that terrible day, Oliver met me at the door and then ran around looking for Eddie, like maybe he'd slipped past him at the door. I nearly started crying again, but took him out for a walk. 

His breed? I actually did have to do his DNA because he's a WTF. So, he's 56% Maltese, as you can probably tell from his face. The rest? 3% German Shepherd. No shit. The rest is a stew of Pit Bull, Chow Chow, Boxer, Cocker Spaniel and Chihuahua. He's not a big dog but not Maltese sized, I'm guessing when he's filled out he might hit 20 lbs-ish. His DNA is just LOL. Oddly enough, you can see the German Shepherd genes at work. He's super alert and attentive. He's relaxed a bit in the last month and no longer feels like he has to respond like a police dog when the dryer buzzes, but yeah, somewhere his GSD great great great grandpa is proud. 

Ellie barely tolerates him and smacks him regularly. He thinks it's a game, until she makes him yelp. 

I know this makes me a terrible person, but I will not mourn when Ellie passes, she's a demanding slob and getting more so in her old age. Anyone who thinks, "Oh, I'm sure you're exaggerating, she's so pretty!" is welcome to her. I'll buy her a bus ticket.  I'm seriously pissed that Eddie got cancer while this nasty old slob of a cat is going to live to be 20 just to spite me.

 

  

 

Eddie's Gone.

 The brief rally was just that, brief. By Thursday he wasn't eating or drinking, had constant diarrhea, then started vomiting, and most telling of all, I could see him withdrawing into himself, in pain or just weakness, but he was fading. 

I called the vet and they squeezed him in. We saw the owner of the practice, he's one of those vets that other vets call with challenging cases, and he talked to me gently about how awful lymphoma can be and how we were basically out of treatment options. 

Everyone was so kind, the vet tech was so gentle and wanted to make him comfortable in a soft blanket, and we did it.  So, that was that.  

I will never stop being mad that this happened to him. He was only 5 years old. The unfairness of it fills me with rage. Fuck cancer.

And Now It's July.

Eddie is still hanging in a month after his very grim diagnosis. And yes, it was really grim, his doctor was "You never know, he may do well on the steroid," encouraging, but various veterinary medicine sites said he'd be lucky to survive a couple of months. But so far he's not showing any dramatic decline (she types with fingers crossed). He's not as energetic as he used to be, but definitely still himself.  I can see subtle differences, but anyone meeting him probably wouldn't. And none of the veterinary sites said lymphoma is painful for dogs, they just get thinner and weaker. He's a tad weaker, but definitely not thinner. 

He has bulked up on the steriod, and he's hungry ALL the time. Especially when we sit on the couch together. Couch = treats, that's the law.  (He's not getting ice cream every day now, because if he keeps going at this rate his fatness will be a bigger practical issue than the pesky terminal cancer thing.) He is definitely more heat sensitive and the weather is hard on him, but he's still enjoying his life. I took this ten minutes ago.

 

 

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the idea that this is really happening to him. This morning we had a brief break in the brutal heat and he happily took off for his usual morning walk. I'm the one who turned him back when we hit about 1/3 of the usual route, because it was getting very hot and I didn't want him to get too overexerted. And I also didn't want to carry his chubby ass home in this heat. But yes, that's just me being in denial. His voice has changed. He used to have a really loud bark for a 16 lb. dog, now his voice is softer and he barks less. He still does his, "OMG! I SEE A DOG!!" announcement of any dog sighting, but he barks for seconds and shuts up when told. But all things considered he's doing quite well.

 

And I was going to write about more things, but he is now barking at me to GET OFF THE DAMN COMPUTER AND SIT ON THE COUCH WITH ME MOMMY! And of course I must obey. It's time for his peanut butter (meds). 

 

Eddie Says....

 

Cancer, Schmancer! (ht: Fran Drescher) I was feeling lousy because I'd been constipated AF for two plus days, and my butt was sore and my legs were killin' me from doing eleventy billion squats! Thanks to the wonder drug that is prednisolone, I'm feeling like myself again! This morning I took my walk around the block, took a healthy poop, drank water, begged for treats, and am feeling good! 

Me:

The constipation was apparently unrelated to the cancer diagnosis, and his poop this morning was textbook perfect. (Yes, I'm a dog person, we discuss poop.) This is great news, because my concern after getting the diagnosis on Saturday was that his colon was somehow involved and at that point there would be no hope, because a dog's gotta poop. Last summer I would have gotten Gidget one of those wheelie-wagons to get around until it became clear that the paralysis was advancing very quickly and her bowels weren't sending signals that she needed to poop. It wasn't that she had no control, it was that it was building up in her body. 

The vet's office called this morning to see how Eddie's doing and ask if I'd thought about chemo. I did research it, and I am still unsure there would be any benefit. If his liver and spleen weren't affected then I'd be sorely tempted to spend $5-$7k on treatment and hope for a nice long remission, because there is no cure. I'd postpone retirement for this dog if I could get good odds that it would work. 

But his liver and spleen look like a horror movie. I don't know how he went so long with no symptoms, but he did, and here we are. So we'll proceed with prednisolone alone and celebrate every good day, and hope it continues for a long time, because it might. It might not. 

In the meantime he's getting vanilla Haagen Dazs for dessert every day, and anything else his little heart desires. Fortunately taking his meds is a breeze, it's a small tablet and he adores peanut butter. He's begging for his meds at this point. 

So as you can probably tell, I'm adjusting to the shock of his diagnosis. I'm still mad as hell that this is happening to him.  

 

I'm Numb and Broken.

A week ago, life was so normal. 

A couple of days ago, Eddie had an attack of extreme constipation. It arrived out of the blue: normal poop on Wednesday, nothing much on Thursday, by Friday he was straining repeatedly but couldn't pass anything. Still, his behavior was normal, he was eating and drinking and walking, so I added canned pumpkin to his dinner, which he ate with enthusiasm, and decided to call the vet today if he was no better. 

This morning (Saturday) it had gotten worse overnight, he was clearly in misery, so I called the vet as soon as they opened, and they saw him right away. No temp, no weight loss, just extreme distress and unable to poop. We were all thinking of some sort of obstruction, so the first step was an x-ray.

It wasn't an intestinal obstruction. Eddie has advanced lymphoma. It's in all his lymph nodes and in his spleen and liver. His liver is enormously enlarged, to the point where it's displacing his other organs.  It's too far gone for chemo to be worth trying. 

The "good news" is that the constipation sorted itself out with all the manipulation for testing and ultrasound, they brought him back to me in the exam room and the backup cleared itself all over the floor. I brought him home with prednisolone and fingers crossed that it will help the inflammation and give him good quality of life for whatever time he has left, but he's terminal, and probably has a couple of months at best, a couple of weeks at worst. 

When I lost Gidget I could at least console myself that she was about 12 years old, probably older, and was deaf and toothless and going blind, though she didn't let any of that bother her. Still, her only signs of "illness" just looked like normal dog aging: slowing down, reluctant to climb stairs, etc., and even then, the tumor on her spinal cord was a shock because she was fine until she wasn't, and when she wasn't it was really, really bad. 

 Eddie's only about 5, and had appeared to be in perfect health.  He had no symptoms of anything at all. He was fine, until he wasn't. 

Oh, and this is the second lymphoma diagnosis in the house: Ellie also has it, though hers is low grade and doesn't seem to be bothering her. Ellie is a cat of unknown age, at least 12 but could be years older. She's a skinny shadow of her former self at this point but her quality of life is contented old cat, so she's in "treat the symptoms as needed and just let her be" mode. 

So I'm heartbroken, numb, and resolved to spoil my best little boy every way I can, until he tells me he's done. He will be getting his meds in a spoon of vanilla ice cream, because fuck it, when you're doing hospice anything goes.  

We'll be spending a lot of time on the couch together, and I'll get caught up on all the movies I haven't gotten around to watching.  He'll like that. The couch is his favorite place. This was taken on Wednesday.