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Living with Cancer

January 12

If she had lived, Cookie would be 15 years old today. The void her passing has left is visible every day. New dogs are in the family, but nobody holds a candle to her.

Miss you, Goonie.

Losing the battle

Despite her multiple battles with cancer, Cookie had seldom had a sick day in her entire life. Two weeks ago, she began acting lethargic and like she might be painful in her abdomen. I gave her injections of antibiotics and anti-nausea medication, and she got better.

I had to leave town for a week, and was apprehensive about how she would handle me being gone. I boarded her at my clinic, and my boyfriend picked her up for the weekend because he didn't have to work. Last Saturday, she began vomiting and acting lethargic again. She also developed a green nasal discharge. On Sunday, she wasn't any better, so my boss met my boyfriend at the clinic to examine Cookie. She ran bloodwork and repeated the drug regimen I had used the weekend before.

On Monday, she was still sick. My boss called me and told me that if I was a regular client, she would be having the euthanasia talk, but being that these were special circumstances, she wanted to know how I wanted her to proceed. Abdominal radiographs showed no obvious obstruction, but Cookie's intestine appeared more thickened than it had on the films I took in mid-March. I asked her if she could just try IV fluids and repeat the antibiotics and antiemetics, and if she didn't improve by the next day, we would euthanize. Cookie bounced back wonderfully overnight. For the duration of my absence, she was completely and utterly spoiled by everyone. Clinic staff went out daily to buy her double cheeseburgers, she was allowed free run of the clinic, my boyfriend went in to work late and took off early so he could drop her off and pick her up rather than leaving her overnight.

I returned on Thursday afternoon. Everything was seemingly back to normal, except she only wanted sliced meat and cheese cubes instead of her regular food. She spent the day at the clinic with me yesterday, as had become her routine.

Last night my boyfriend and I went out for dinner, and left Cookie at my parents' house. When we returned, Cookie was again lethargic and painful. I gave her the medications, and prayed for another turnaround. This morning she showed no improvement. As I was getting ready for work she was obviously uncomfortable, and for the first time in her whole life I heard her whine in pain. At that point, my decision was made. As much as it devastates me to lose my very best friend, she has been too good a friend to force her to live in pain.

I took her to work with me so I could keep an eye on her, just in case anything changed. I called my parents and my boyfriend to let them know what was going on. Fortunately, my schedule of appointments was lighter this morning than a typical Saturday, so I was able to sit with Cookie and tell her how much she means to me. The clock ticked far too quickly toward noon. My parents, brother, and boyfriend all came to be with Cookie and I. My boss volunteered to perform the injection, and Cookie quickly and quietly left us. Today is one of the saddest days of my life.

On March 13, 1993, my father and I picked Cookie out as a 9-week-old puppy and brought her home. She has been my very best friend for half of my life. I have shed many tears for Cookie over the years: her nearly-fatal anesthetic reaction, her multiple cancer diagnoses, the prospect of losing her, and ultimately her death. My father, I have only seen him cry twice. Once was at my grandmother's funeral, and the other was today.

I know I will have other dogs and I will love them, but Cookie will always occupy a very special place in my heart. I will miss her until the day I die.

Run free, Goonie. I miss you.

One week out

I can't believe it's been a whole week since my first chemo treatment. Mom took me to work with her yesterday to check my CBC. I was really good and held still while she put the needle in my arm to steal my blood. Then I got to hang out in her office, and she fed me a cheeseburger and french fries for lunch!

I should have seen it coming, but I was lulled into a false sense of security by my cheeseburger and fries. As I was dozing after I finished lunch, Mom and another person snuck up on me, held me down, and trimmed my nails! How rude! I squirmed and kicked and protested, but they wouldn't let go until every single one of my nails was trimmed. I was mad, so I didn't speak to Mom for almost 10 minutes.

Mom says my CBC came out good, so I can start on my second round of Cytoxan tomorrow. As far as I can tell, "Cytoxan" means sliced ham in the morning, so I consider that a good thing.