An Update On Nicky And Thank You

I'm sorry I haven't posted since the other day. This has been a week of absolute highs and lows. The blood transfusion made Nicky strong enough for a "rescue protocl" chemo, which is the last treatment effort available. On Wed a.m., the chemo vet called and sounded stiff on the phone. He said he wasn’t very hopeful for a good outcome but did say Nicky's bloodwork was showing some improvement and he had taken a small bit of food over night. He asked if my husband I could come in right away to talk about it in person. You know that’s never good.

When we got there, the staff said we should go back to his cage because the doctor was busy. It was really weird—all of the techs were kind of standing in a group and stared at us.I took that as the sign that we were about to get the bad news. We went up to Nicky’s cage and he got up and nudged at the door. He was wagging his tail slightly and even tried to get out when the tech opened the door. We visited for 15 min. or so and I asked the tech if I could feed him. Nicky started eating and even pushed for more (of course, I couldn’t do because his stomach is in such bad shape). He even barked at a dog that was being wheeled past us. It was right then that the chemo vet came up behind us with his face all lit up (yes, the guy who had seemed like such a robot—was grinning from ear to ear!). He said during the morning he had decided to make the call to stop treatment because Nicky had been so lethargic but he wanted to give him more calcium and one last chance at seeing if he would change at all around us. He said his bloodwork was looking good enough that he would give him another thing of chemo the next day and if it stayed as good we could TAKE HIM HOME!!!! The guy literally gave me a half-hug on my shoulder. (All of the vet's stories about remission reference a golden retriever he treated. I get the impression that Nicky is more lucky than even I realize to have made it out of there.)

I can't even tell you the emotion I felt driving NIcky home. When I got him out of the car, I set him on the front lawn and just collapsed in tears. I was just so thankful to be there with him in the sunshine. Feeling grass underneath us and the smell of our neighbor's lilacs. It was like all of the hell since Satrday had finally taken us to this beautiful moment. I'm not a very religious person, but I just sat there on my knees sobbing and praying thanks.

I know the end is coming regardless, and that it will most likely be at my call. Best possible scenario is six months. If you had talked to me Friday, I would have been amazed for him to see Sunday. Each day is something that feels like a lucky prized piece of borrowed time.

Honestly, I don't know if remission is happening. Even the papers from when he was released say they aren't certain. Nicky is still barely eating and can't stand for more than a few moments without getting all wobbly. He is on so many medicines right now that I'm crushing and trying to give through a little plunger. He is so sweet and kind to tolerate as I sometimes have to grip his little mouth open to push the concoctions inside. He still has a lot of time where his energy is little more than a rag doll. I've been sleeping with him on the floor of our home office on a sleeping bag since we got him back on Thursday, because I'm worried he'll wake with diarrhea. He leaks from his rear a bit regardless. I'm applying diaper rash cream because the filth during his time at the ER vet has left him terribly raw. I know anyone else seeing all of this would think it is pure craziness. I still have a lot of moments where I am feeling guilty that we're putting him through too much and that he deserves better than this.

I'm trying to focus on savoring the little time we have left. This afternoon, my husband and I put him in a stroller and walked him several blocks to make the loop we always used to walk before I would leave for work each morning. Nicky was exhausted, but he still managed to raise his little muzzle a couple of times to sniff the wind. You could tell he knew he was where he belonged. Tonight I'm just feeling really blessed.


I also just wanted to say thank you to all who wrote such lovely messages the other day. I'll be writing you back individually, but I wanted to be sure you would see since it has been awhile since I've posted. You'll never know what your kindness has meant. I've been feeling so alone and just drowning in all of this. Having such support--and from some who are in the midst of such unbearable pain of their own--it's really kind of given me a whole new faith in the goodness of people. You may never realize how much your words meant to me, but it really was the only thing getting me through some of the darkest moments.

What Is The Right Way To Die?

The past three weeks have been the hardest of my life. My sweet boy Nicky, a 14-year old rat terrier, has stage 4 lymphoma (masses on spleen and small intestine). He has suffered so much already. My husband pushed for chemo, and his ultrasound today shows it has all been to no avail. It is Monday and he hasn't eaten since Thursday. He has been at the ER vet since Saturday. Today his chemo doc said we could do a blood transfusion and try another type of chemo that has a 50-50 shot of buying him more time, another 6 mos. at most. He didn't say a word about Nicky's comfort or what he was likely feeling. His only comment on euthanizing was that "no one would look down on it." I honestly feel like my boy is nothing more than a number to him. I knew it after the first round of chemo when I drove to pick him up and asked about side effects and he couldn't be bothered to say anything more than "check the brochure." He even kept refering to Nicky as a she throughout the discussion of his disappointing ultrasound today.

This is killing me. Instead of having the end I wanted for him--the one his primary vet offered of coming out to our house to put him down--I've now put him in this horrible hell where he is resting in his own excrement (from persistent diarhea) in a cage surrounded by the whimpers of recovering patients with a bunch of tubes in him and high likelihood of dying without me by his side. When I visited him tonight his upper lip was stuck in a sad little grin because they hadn't given him enough water to keep his mouth wet (he has IV support). I keep bringing him fresh blankets and beds at every visit and wiping his rear as much as I can to minimize the filth but they only have visiting hours between 12 and 2 and 6 and 8. I can't believe how awful his life is right now. I begged my husband to make this stop but he seems just as resolved to see if the transfusion gives him enough energy to make it home and be with us for a day or two. There is bleeding in his GI tract that won't stop without the next round of chemo so I think he is fooling himself that our boy will ever make it through our front door. And what then--get better just to have more chemo? The transfusion is likely to take 2-3 days to show any improvement (if it will) which means more suffering regardless. This is no life. He is my dog--I had him before we were married and have taken him and paid for all visits, etc. through the years so I know I have power over his care. Yet I just can't bring myself to go behind husband's back and do this and I can't seem to get him to get on board with the reality that is happening. This afternoon the chemo doc told us transfusion or end it and that he would give us "a few moments" to decide. A precious few moments! I gave in and said transfusion. I'm so angry that I can't dig in and find the voice for my sweet boy who has none right now. I don't want to have to do this--my husband said how could I live with myself--but I don't know how I can live with myself already knowing what his past few days have been and little outlook for nothing but others just like them for the few days ahead with a 50-50 shot at some relief only to eventually face more.

The irony is that I'm the big animal lover and my husband is usually Mr. straightlaced lawyer. I never thought I'd be the one that wouldn't have the luxury of being the emotional one pleaing to take extraordinary measures. I'm a vegetarian, for crying out loud. I've volunteered for years at shelters. I actually met NIcky dog walking--the sweet way he would walk up every walkway to someone's front door and give a look back at me like "Is this where we're going?" absolutely stole my heart. I actually feel so guilty when I think of the shelter. I can't believe how much all of the money spent could have done for so many there. I feel sick and selfish when I think how much has been--and is being--spent. All from my savings, too, because I want to be sure my power over care isnt taken. I'll be working this back for years. But it just so different when you're looking at your own and feel like you have to do whatever you can. I've never said no.

I adopted Nicky at 10. He needed a lot of costly dental work and had been at the shelter for quite some time. Over the past few years, he's made it through a knee surgery, rupture of a disc in his neck, dog mauling from a stupid off-leash neighbor--I just can't seem to face that he's made it so far and there isn't any more fight to fight now.

I absolutely ache without him here. I slept with a heating pad near my leg last night and pretended it was him. I can't stand that there is nothing but miserable options no matter which way I turn.