Greyhounds Make Greyt Pets
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December 27, 2005. Bear was scheduled for a dental at my hospital, but pre-surgical bloodwork said something was wrong. He was losing protein through his GI tract, and it was likely one of three things:
So instead of a dental, we did an ultrasound and found nothing suspicious. To rule out lymphangiectasia and lymphoma, exploratory surgery would be required. The treatment for any of these three diagnoses is the same: predinsone and metronidazole. I elected to treat and take a "wait-and-see" approach. If Bear had had intestinal lymphoma, he would have taken a quick downward turn. He did not. Instead, he responded well to the drugs and his blood protein level returned to normal. He clearly had IBD. Early spring 2007. I found a 3/8" red circle on the gum over a canine tooth. I showed it to two of our five vets, and they dismissed it as a bruise or something else likely to go away. September 25, 2006. I noticed the red circle had grown significantly. At that point we did a biopsy, which came back conclusively as t-cell lymphoma. The lab called the prognosis "grave." About Bear. Before I tell you what I learned and what we are going through now (December 21, 2006), let me tell you a little about Bear. Bear is a sensitive and completely attentive boy. Because he is smart, food motivated, and gets a kick out of pleasing his mom, he can learn any command in a matter of minutes. If he thinks I need to smile, he will sit in front of me until I can't help but laugh and give him a cookie. He has an incredibly awkward sit, even by greyhound standards. If I raise my voice in frustration (usually at the computer), Bear's head is on my lap before I have noticed that I was overreacting to something. He has a way of saying, "It's just not worth it, and it upsets me if you are upset." And it always makes me smile and realize that whatever riled me was so much less important than my sensitive and loving boy. He is the best stress medicine ever invented. I can't believe I'm going to lose him, and I hope that his memory will help his lessons stay with me. Mom. On October 19, 2006, I learned that my mom was probably not going to recover from hip replacement surgery. As with anytime the tears start to flow, Bear had his head in my lap immediately. The dogs traveled with me to be near mom, and I don't know how I would have gotten through the next few days without them. Mom died October 22nd. My siblings and dad were there. But it was Bear who could sense when the tears were about to be unleashed. When I say he's "sensitive," I mean it in more than just the "delicate" sense. Bear is empathic. Call me crazy, but that boy knows when I need him. Of course, that is what makes me so very sad now. There will never be another Bear. OK. The disease. It's not curable. Radiation +/- surgery are best bets, followed by chemo (loumustine, aka CCNU). I believe in these things, and I did them all when Oatmeal had osteosarcoma. I looked at statistics, and I looked at my happy, seemingly healthy boy. And I decided to surgically remove what we could of the tumor (we could not get clean margins) and then let him just continue to feel good until he doesn't feel good. And then I will let him go. I brush his teeth every day. Yesterday, for the first time, he gave a little cry when I raised his lip to brush his teeth. It happened again today. For right now, I can change my brushing technique. But, clearly, the developing cancer is becoming painful. I will not let him live with pain that can never be relieved. August 2007. The tumor suddenly is growing quickly. At my hospital, two doctors that are competent surgeons feel there is not enough healthy tissue in Bear's mouth to remove the tumor and stitch him back together. But there is a new surgeon at a sister hospital where I've been helping out. She took a look and said she thought she could remove enough to buy him more time. Here's a photo of the tumor before she removed it. You can also see how the cancer is spreading toward the back of his mouth.
September 2007. The surgery site has healed beautifully, and Dr. Alexander even took a laser to those blotchy spots that had spread to the back of his mouth. All is pink and pretty. This time I elected for the chemo. Bear went through three treatments and literally showed NO signs. His appetite and activity level remained the same. October 22, 2007. We lost mom one year ago. I miss her all the time, but I know it was her time and she's out of pain. And, unbelievably, I have a quite healthy Bear by my side. He is my Velcro dog, and I don't think he's going anywhere soon. His cancer is supposed to come back, but there is no sign of it whatsoever in his mouth. Truly amazing. Now it seems Mickey has spindle-cell sarcoma, so I can worry about something else for now. January 2008. Bear's mouth has a few red dots again, but no tumor. He is still feeling great.
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