Then Morgan went over to Charly who was still curled comfortably in his early morning slumber, cuddled up close to him and didn't move. The time eventually came for her to get dressed for school and have her breakfast, but she wouldn't dare step away from him. It took all of Laura's convincing powers to persuade Morgan to get dressed and go downstairs to get a bite to eat. Morgan whimpered, shaken by something she couldn't or didn't want to articulate. Once Laura got her dressed, Morgan asked if she might be able to bring her little table and chair over to where Charly would be sitting after he ate his breakfast, so she could be near him. "Of course" Laura reasoned, "You can eat right next to him if you like."
An hour later Charly got sick. He vomited twice, which he never does. Rattled by the coincidence (?), I watched him closely for the next few hours and decided that he was OK. His energy seemed fine and he appeared to have his appetite. Fluke? Hard to say.
For some time I have been considering getting Charly's paw print tattooed on my ankle. He is the first dog I have ever had the privilege of sharing my home with, and has added to my life in ways that I don't think I have words to do justice... and I might just be a little nuts. In any case, it's something that I thought I'd want to have done while he was still a healthy dog. Not in the throes of old age and illness, which is the unavoidable and difficult fate for these animals that we share our hearts with, and who become so ingrained into our lives.
The same afternoon following the talk of dreams and secrets, the cuddling and the sickness, I loaded Charly into my car and off we went to a tattoo parlor on Melrose Avenue. The tattoo artist and I made a print from his right front paw using a little cup of tattoo ink and a piece of white construction paper. Being the good Buddah boy that Charly is, he was unfazed as we manipulated his foot to get the best possible print, trusting that there must be some good reason for this silliness. Once we were sure we had it, the artist photocopied the print and made a template which she then traced onto my ankle. While we were creating what would become the outline for my tattoo, a patron on the table next to me was lying on her back, wincing as a needle buzzed its way across her biceps. Charly rested peacefully at my side during the entire preparation (after his participation was finished), which took about twenty five minutes or so. The moment the artist's needle broke through my skin, Charly popped to his feet and spun around to get a good look at what this stranger was doing to me.
Once assured that I was OK, he settled back down beside me, and forty five minutes later his right paw and my right ankle had something very much in common. For the rest of my life. Apologies to my parents.
From time to time Charly gets itchy. Crazy itchy. Itchy to the point where if you even touch his back ever so gently, he contorts into a twisted configuration of kicking legs and crawling skin. He's had this condition his whole life. Comes and goes. Sometimes we'll be downstairs and the house will start rattling as he violently bangs his heel on the floor above us, trying desperately to scratch an itch that can't be quieted. If it gets really bad we have to give him a cortisone injection to settle things down. I hate to give him the shot, because it's not easy on the liver and kidneys, and bad for his immune system. But my pledge to him as it will be to all of the animals that become a member of our family, is that he be as comfortable as possible.
As he's aged Charly's also developed arthritis. Common for his breed, and really tough to watch. We give him a wonder drug called "Rimadyl" which, though potentially dangerous to some dogs, has been really helpful for Charly. The catch is that we can't give him a cortisone shot while he has the Rimadyl in his system. It's just too hard on his body. Last Friday it was clear to me that he was on the road to getting another cortisone injection. Scratching the hours away with a bright red muzzle and feet, the sure sign that an allergic reaction is upon him. So I took him off the Rimadyl figuring I'd get him the cortisone shot on Monday or Tuesday. He was a mess without the arthritis medicine. Within one day absent of it, he was tripping up the stairs and barely able to stand up under his own power. What could I do? Ultimately I had to choose the lesser of the two evils, putting him back on the Rimadyl on Sunday. No cortisone shot this time, hopefully the skin thing would quiet on it's own, with the help of over-the-counter medicine like Benadryl which is much safer. I called his doctor to set up a consult regarding more options for the management of his arthritis.
On Tuesday, Charly's Vet. and I settled on a new, safe medication called "Adaquan" (via injection that I could administer myself) that has a terrific track record to add to the Rimadyl he is already receiving. I know of some dogs that have used this drug, and have had really good responses to it. As I was about to leave the exam room with Charly, one foot out the door, I paused for a second. It had been a few months since I had Charly's anal glands cleaned out, and I figured I might as well have them take care of that. Dogs have these two little sacs that contain their unique scent located just inside their butts (lovely), one on each side. It's how they identify themselves within the canine community and why we see them do the butt sniff routine when they greet each other. For some dogs it can get uncomfortable if those sacs get too full. Charly will scoot around on the floor trying to empty the sacs himself. Any groomer or vet technician can relieve the discomfort with a quick and easy cleansing, called "expressing". Charly hadn't been scooting or licking and showed no signs of discomfort whatsoever, but figuring it would be a while before I came back to the vet (I hoped), combined with the fact that I don't know and don't really want to know how to do it myself, I thought I'd take a preemptive step and buy Charly a few more months before the sacs fill and get uncomfortable for him.
While the technician was emptying out the first sac, her brow cinched together a little bit. She told me that she felt a bump, a small one, just inside Charly's tush that she didn't like. She then asked if I could wait while the doctor took another look at Charly. She walked him back to the secret room where only doctors, staff and animals are allowed, as I stared off into space trying to convince myself that this was nothing to worry about.
The tech came back about ten minutes later and said that the doctor took a small sample of cells from the tissue in question, and we'd know in about two to three days if it would be cause for concern. A few days of waiting and wondering. Perfect. I'd been through this before with Charly. Many times. He gets large bumps on his stomach and sides called lipomas that are nothing more than benign cysts but whenever a new one pops up, I like to get it checked out. The doc aspirates with a needle, they get a sample, a few days later my phone rings with good news, no big woop. But for some reason this felt different to me.
The dreams, the inseparability, the vomit, the timing of the tattoo with the chance discovery of this growth... I was not relaxed about this, to say the least. On Thursday morning Laura called to tell me that she had just talked to the receptionist at the vet's office, and the results from Charly's test were in but only his doctor could share them with us. Also, in the same week, we took Sophie to the vet because she's been periodically urinating all over herself. Jesus. Either she has an infection, or she's becoming incontinent. We were hoping for the infection, which could be treated with antibiotics. If she's incontinent she might need to go on hormone medicine that can be dangerous - nobody's first choice. So not only were Charly's results in, but Sophies fate was sitting in some folder on a desk as well. Laura was told the vet would get back to us in a few hours, as she was tied up with appointments.
I hung up the phone and did what any rational person in my situation would do when told to sit tight for a few hours, I called the Vet's office immediately. They said they would check to see if the doctor was available. Two agonizing minutes passed and the moment I heard her voice, I knew it was bad. Cancer. Charly has cancer inside his tush and needs surgery as soon as possible. My eyes naturally turned into water faucets as I tried to focus on the doctor's instructions. I needed to take Charly to her immediately for blood work and X-Rays, and then I would need to meet with a canine Oncologist, and then meet with a surgeon. Hopefully we could get this all squared away in one day, and have Charly on the operating table by tomorrow. Oh yeah, it looks like Sophie is incontinent.
Laura was about to enter a class at her gym when she answered her phone. I was barely able to get the word "Cancer" out of my mouth. She rushed home and said that she would stay with me and Charly the rest of the day, as we figured out how best to take care of our boy. God I love this woman. After meeting with Charly's Vet. to get his X-Rays and blood drawn, we went home for a little bit, then headed out to the Oncologist's office. The only thing I cared about was getting this out of him as soon as possible. As far as I was concerned, every moment until then was opportunity for the Cancer to spread. The Oncologist told us that the tumor that they found is as small as they've ever seen on a dog Charly's size (95 pounds) and his chances of living healthfully for at least two years are 50/50 (somehow this is supposed to be good news). "You can't catch this kind of thing any sooner," he said. Next we met with the surgeon who explained exactly what the surgery entailed, how she would take out the tumor, and what to expect from Charly in the days following the operation. This would be a little bit more involved than a biopsy, but still a surgery. A Cancer surgery. He'd be well medicated and comfortable. We'd be able to schedule this for the next day.
When we told the girls that Charly would be going in for surgery, have to sleep at the hospital and wouldn't be feeling well for a little while, Morgan went to get a band aid and Emie turned her head upside down and placed it onto the seat of her chair, a la "Mork from Ork". Everyone deals with trauma in their own special way I guess. The morning of Charly's surgery we gave him mounds of love...
... and then I dropped him off at the animal hospital, feeling utterly and completely empty all day, knowing he was without us and hoping to God he wasn't scared. His surgery wouldn't be until about three o'clock in the afternoon, and at five o'clock, with no word from the hospital, Laura and I were pacing in circles and bumping into each other. Eventually I called to check in (this waiting game 'aint for me) and they said the doctor was just finishing up with surgery and she or her assistant would be calling me back shortly. A few minutes later my phone rang with good news. Our boy was a champ through surgery and resting comfortably. For now, it seems, we dodged a major bullet.
I couldn't leave Charles in the way-way back all by himself, so I sat with him as Laura drove us home from the hospital.
How can I not wonder what would have happened had I not asked to have his sacs expressed? I've been to the vet plenty times without having them cleaned out, so what was it about this trip that didn't allow me to leave without having it done? And how did we get so lucky to have a technician who just happened to find a "less than one centimeter in size" growth inside of Charly's ass? And what was it that spooked Morgan and Laura a few weeks ago, and why couldn't Morgan leave Charly's side? Could that have been the very moment when Cancer started growing inside of him? And what about the fact that I had three surgeries last year involving the same region of my body where Charly's Cancer was found? That one might take some time for me to wrap my head around.
There's a lesson here somewhere, right? Ours is a crazy life and there is a lot going on around us all the time. If somehow we could find a way to slow down (hard for me to do), and just listen a little bit. Pay attention to the signs, whatever and wherever they may be, maybe we'd have an easier time of it.
I'd sure like to know what Morgan's dream was about.
For some time I have been considering getting Charly's paw print tattooed on my ankle. He is the first dog I have ever had the privilege of sharing my home with, and has added to my life in ways that I don't think I have words to do justice... and I might just be a little nuts. In any case, it's something that I thought I'd want to have done while he was still a healthy dog. Not in the throes of old age and illness, which is the unavoidable and difficult fate for these animals that we share our hearts with, and who become so ingrained into our lives.
The same afternoon following the talk of dreams and secrets, the cuddling and the sickness, I loaded Charly into my car and off we went to a tattoo parlor on Melrose Avenue. The tattoo artist and I made a print from his right front paw using a little cup of tattoo ink and a piece of white construction paper. Being the good Buddah boy that Charly is, he was unfazed as we manipulated his foot to get the best possible print, trusting that there must be some good reason for this silliness. Once we were sure we had it, the artist photocopied the print and made a template which she then traced onto my ankle. While we were creating what would become the outline for my tattoo, a patron on the table next to me was lying on her back, wincing as a needle buzzed its way across her biceps. Charly rested peacefully at my side during the entire preparation (after his participation was finished), which took about twenty five minutes or so. The moment the artist's needle broke through my skin, Charly popped to his feet and spun around to get a good look at what this stranger was doing to me.
Once assured that I was OK, he settled back down beside me, and forty five minutes later his right paw and my right ankle had something very much in common. For the rest of my life. Apologies to my parents.
From time to time Charly gets itchy. Crazy itchy. Itchy to the point where if you even touch his back ever so gently, he contorts into a twisted configuration of kicking legs and crawling skin. He's had this condition his whole life. Comes and goes. Sometimes we'll be downstairs and the house will start rattling as he violently bangs his heel on the floor above us, trying desperately to scratch an itch that can't be quieted. If it gets really bad we have to give him a cortisone injection to settle things down. I hate to give him the shot, because it's not easy on the liver and kidneys, and bad for his immune system. But my pledge to him as it will be to all of the animals that become a member of our family, is that he be as comfortable as possible.
As he's aged Charly's also developed arthritis. Common for his breed, and really tough to watch. We give him a wonder drug called "Rimadyl" which, though potentially dangerous to some dogs, has been really helpful for Charly. The catch is that we can't give him a cortisone shot while he has the Rimadyl in his system. It's just too hard on his body. Last Friday it was clear to me that he was on the road to getting another cortisone injection. Scratching the hours away with a bright red muzzle and feet, the sure sign that an allergic reaction is upon him. So I took him off the Rimadyl figuring I'd get him the cortisone shot on Monday or Tuesday. He was a mess without the arthritis medicine. Within one day absent of it, he was tripping up the stairs and barely able to stand up under his own power. What could I do? Ultimately I had to choose the lesser of the two evils, putting him back on the Rimadyl on Sunday. No cortisone shot this time, hopefully the skin thing would quiet on it's own, with the help of over-the-counter medicine like Benadryl which is much safer. I called his doctor to set up a consult regarding more options for the management of his arthritis.
On Tuesday, Charly's Vet. and I settled on a new, safe medication called "Adaquan" (via injection that I could administer myself) that has a terrific track record to add to the Rimadyl he is already receiving. I know of some dogs that have used this drug, and have had really good responses to it. As I was about to leave the exam room with Charly, one foot out the door, I paused for a second. It had been a few months since I had Charly's anal glands cleaned out, and I figured I might as well have them take care of that. Dogs have these two little sacs that contain their unique scent located just inside their butts (lovely), one on each side. It's how they identify themselves within the canine community and why we see them do the butt sniff routine when they greet each other. For some dogs it can get uncomfortable if those sacs get too full. Charly will scoot around on the floor trying to empty the sacs himself. Any groomer or vet technician can relieve the discomfort with a quick and easy cleansing, called "expressing". Charly hadn't been scooting or licking and showed no signs of discomfort whatsoever, but figuring it would be a while before I came back to the vet (I hoped), combined with the fact that I don't know and don't really want to know how to do it myself, I thought I'd take a preemptive step and buy Charly a few more months before the sacs fill and get uncomfortable for him.
While the technician was emptying out the first sac, her brow cinched together a little bit. She told me that she felt a bump, a small one, just inside Charly's tush that she didn't like. She then asked if I could wait while the doctor took another look at Charly. She walked him back to the secret room where only doctors, staff and animals are allowed, as I stared off into space trying to convince myself that this was nothing to worry about.
The tech came back about ten minutes later and said that the doctor took a small sample of cells from the tissue in question, and we'd know in about two to three days if it would be cause for concern. A few days of waiting and wondering. Perfect. I'd been through this before with Charly. Many times. He gets large bumps on his stomach and sides called lipomas that are nothing more than benign cysts but whenever a new one pops up, I like to get it checked out. The doc aspirates with a needle, they get a sample, a few days later my phone rings with good news, no big woop. But for some reason this felt different to me.
The dreams, the inseparability, the vomit, the timing of the tattoo with the chance discovery of this growth... I was not relaxed about this, to say the least. On Thursday morning Laura called to tell me that she had just talked to the receptionist at the vet's office, and the results from Charly's test were in but only his doctor could share them with us. Also, in the same week, we took Sophie to the vet because she's been periodically urinating all over herself. Jesus. Either she has an infection, or she's becoming incontinent. We were hoping for the infection, which could be treated with antibiotics. If she's incontinent she might need to go on hormone medicine that can be dangerous - nobody's first choice. So not only were Charly's results in, but Sophies fate was sitting in some folder on a desk as well. Laura was told the vet would get back to us in a few hours, as she was tied up with appointments.
I hung up the phone and did what any rational person in my situation would do when told to sit tight for a few hours, I called the Vet's office immediately. They said they would check to see if the doctor was available. Two agonizing minutes passed and the moment I heard her voice, I knew it was bad. Cancer. Charly has cancer inside his tush and needs surgery as soon as possible. My eyes naturally turned into water faucets as I tried to focus on the doctor's instructions. I needed to take Charly to her immediately for blood work and X-Rays, and then I would need to meet with a canine Oncologist, and then meet with a surgeon. Hopefully we could get this all squared away in one day, and have Charly on the operating table by tomorrow. Oh yeah, it looks like Sophie is incontinent.
Laura was about to enter a class at her gym when she answered her phone. I was barely able to get the word "Cancer" out of my mouth. She rushed home and said that she would stay with me and Charly the rest of the day, as we figured out how best to take care of our boy. God I love this woman. After meeting with Charly's Vet. to get his X-Rays and blood drawn, we went home for a little bit, then headed out to the Oncologist's office. The only thing I cared about was getting this out of him as soon as possible. As far as I was concerned, every moment until then was opportunity for the Cancer to spread. The Oncologist told us that the tumor that they found is as small as they've ever seen on a dog Charly's size (95 pounds) and his chances of living healthfully for at least two years are 50/50 (somehow this is supposed to be good news). "You can't catch this kind of thing any sooner," he said. Next we met with the surgeon who explained exactly what the surgery entailed, how she would take out the tumor, and what to expect from Charly in the days following the operation. This would be a little bit more involved than a biopsy, but still a surgery. A Cancer surgery. He'd be well medicated and comfortable. We'd be able to schedule this for the next day.
When we told the girls that Charly would be going in for surgery, have to sleep at the hospital and wouldn't be feeling well for a little while, Morgan went to get a band aid and Emie turned her head upside down and placed it onto the seat of her chair, a la "Mork from Ork". Everyone deals with trauma in their own special way I guess. The morning of Charly's surgery we gave him mounds of love...
... and then I dropped him off at the animal hospital, feeling utterly and completely empty all day, knowing he was without us and hoping to God he wasn't scared. His surgery wouldn't be until about three o'clock in the afternoon, and at five o'clock, with no word from the hospital, Laura and I were pacing in circles and bumping into each other. Eventually I called to check in (this waiting game 'aint for me) and they said the doctor was just finishing up with surgery and she or her assistant would be calling me back shortly. A few minutes later my phone rang with good news. Our boy was a champ through surgery and resting comfortably. For now, it seems, we dodged a major bullet.
Charly's ten years-old and despite my extreme passion for this animal, I'm not delusional. He isn't going to be here for so much longer but the gratitude we feel for side stepping this oncoming train feels like a huge blessing for us. We're not ready yet. Not that we'll ever be, I suppose, but it would have been a far bleaker tale had I been writing this story in December. We know we're living on borrowed time with him now. "In the penalty" so to speak. The doctors say if we hadn't caught the tumor when we did, it would have surely been the end of him within six months time. The storm cloud of this type of cancer that was gathering in his body is apparently a very aggressive one. The bad stuff's out of him now, we pray, and he's right back home where he should be.
For the past week my credit card has been charged time and time again by various medical staff/cashiers and I don't think I've been able to properly focus on one single receipt. I signed where they told me to sign, and figured I'd piece it all together later with the help of my financial strategists. It's not going to be pretty. Whatever it takes, my boy, whatever it takes.
I couldn't leave Charles in the way-way back all by himself, so I sat with him as Laura drove us home from the hospital.
And how was Sophie through all of this? A nervous wreck. She was panting the entire night before we brought Charly in for surgery, and the following night when he was absent it was more of the same... breathing as fast as if she'd just run a hundred yard dash... all night long. Now that he's back home and in her sights Sohie's breathing has returned to normal. Amazing.
How can I not wonder what would have happened had I not asked to have his sacs expressed? I've been to the vet plenty times without having them cleaned out, so what was it about this trip that didn't allow me to leave without having it done? And how did we get so lucky to have a technician who just happened to find a "less than one centimeter in size" growth inside of Charly's ass? And what was it that spooked Morgan and Laura a few weeks ago, and why couldn't Morgan leave Charly's side? Could that have been the very moment when Cancer started growing inside of him? And what about the fact that I had three surgeries last year involving the same region of my body where Charly's Cancer was found? That one might take some time for me to wrap my head around.
There's a lesson here somewhere, right? Ours is a crazy life and there is a lot going on around us all the time. If somehow we could find a way to slow down (hard for me to do), and just listen a little bit. Pay attention to the signs, whatever and wherever they may be, maybe we'd have an easier time of it.
I'd sure like to know what Morgan's dream was about.
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