We met with the oncologist today. We’re waiting on results of bloodwork now (should get it Monday, which probably means Tuesday, since Monday is a holiday – didn’t realize that until just now. Yay for a three-day weekend, but not so much yay for waiting an extra day for results.), but we don’t expect it to change the plan. And the plan is essentially the same as what we googled last week. Amputation, then chemo, both of which we expect him to handle okay. There’s no guarantee he’ll be cancer free, but he has a 50% chance. We’ll spend the weekend figuring out how to pay for it, and then hopefully get started next week. Probably. It’s not as scary as it was.
We have an appointment with the doggie oncologist on Thursday.
Riley’s been limping lately. He’s limped before, usually when he lands badly after guiltily jumping off the bed or the couch, and with a couple of days of rest, everything’s fine. We took him to the vet the first time – nothing to be done for him except keep him quiet. This time, he limped for three weeks straight. Our gentle prodding never resulted in any pain (that we could see), so it didn’t seem urgent. John took him to the vet Friday evening (we decided that three weeks was excessive and were feeling guilty for not getting him there sooner). We expected to hear that his ankle was sprained. Worst case, maybe a small fracture. That would have been great news.
Our vet, who we really like, took four x-rays, all showing the same thing. She doesn’t want to say for sure until she gets a second opinion from the specialist, but it looks like bone cancer (osteosarcoma). She did a chest x-ray, and his chest looks clear, so she doesn’t think it has spread. John asked what this means for treatment, and the vet wasn’t willing to get into it until we have a definite diagnosis. He turned to Google, of course, and found that we might (probably will?) have to amputate his leg (it’s his front left leg) and then follow that with chemotherapy. We have absolutely no idea what this means for him long-term, or even what long-term means now. He’s only 10 and a half.
It’s been a rough weekend. We’d hoped that the vet could get in touch with the specialist yesterday, but apparently she couldn’t. We’ll hear something tomorrow, but I’m sure there will be more appointments, more discussions.
It hasn’t even been four months – we got rid of Roxy’s old toys and medicines today. We’re keeping her bowl and her pillow and her leash and collar. It’s too soon to go through this again.
Life sucks sometimes.
John and I saw Huey Lewis and the News for the sixth time last night. It was, as usual, a really good show. I’m willing to bet poor old Huey can’t talk at all today, though. Last night, his voice was really going. He still sounded great, but there were things he just couldn’t do. (It didn’t sound permanent, thank goodness. More of a sore throat thing. Let’s hope that’s not wishful thinking. Heh – wishful thinking about wishful thinking. Stop before the world collapses in on itself!) Poor guy. I hope he drank a lot of water. It’s the 30th anniversary of Sports, so they started the concert by playing the whole album, which was totally awesome. (John noticed it when they started the third song – clever guy.) This year (unlike two years ago), they did the whole not-relevant-anymore thing right and only played one new song all night. Man, I love them. It seems like everyone else in the area does, too, since I’ve never seen such a parking nightmare at Wolf Trap before. The place was packed, the parking lots were completely full (the police were telling people to park on the grass on the side of the road), and John and I had to park at the Barns and walk over (under a mile, I think, but not by much). And on our walk over, the skies opened. We had umbrellas, but when it rains buckets (sideways buckets), you get soaked no matter what. It poured like that for a solid 20-25 minutes before the intensity backed off, but even then it didn’t stop until around 8:45, just as the real show started. I don’t know who opened for them (couldn’t hear them over the rain, certainly couldn’t see them), and I didn’t really care that we were missing whoever it was.
Okay, I’m rambling now. I’ve lost my point, if I ever had one. Maybe it’s just that I’ll stand in the pouring rain for Huey Lewis and the News because I LOVE THEM. I could point out that we spent much of the storm under shelter (after getting soaked on the walk in), but what does that matter? I would have stood around in the pouring rain for them if it hadn’t stopped in time. I would.
May we please start over? I don’t know how we got 11 days in already. I don’t know where the previous 10 days have gone. Did you steal them from me? That’s rude – of course you didn’t. Do you know where they went? Maybe I just misplaced them and you saw where I put them. Would you help me get them back? Even though I’m not in school, and the beginning of September doesn’t really mean an end to freedom like it used to, I still feel like summer is rushing to a close. I didn’t get a chance to enjoy it. I don’t mean to say I haven’t enjoyed many days over the last two months, but it hasn’t felt like summer. I can have the kinds of days I’ve enjoyed any time of year (almost). I would like to take the opportunity to notice and behave as if it’s summer now, if you don’t mind. Of course, it’s Sunday evening, so I won’t get very far before I have to go to bed and start the work week tomorrow, but I promise to do my best for the rest of the month. I need to get outside more, appreciate the warmth and sun more. I can do that. It would be helpful if you could keep the rain to a minimum, or at least keep it to the overnight hours, but I understand if that’s too difficult. Regardless, I will try to remember that even though I don’t get a real summer vacation, I can still celebrate summer for a couple of hours every day (and maybe at lunchtime) and every weekend. I promise.
P.S. I really do apologize for accusing you of stealing days from me. It just slipped out. I know you’d never do that. Forgive me?
We have a habit of picking up dinner from Ledo’s Pizza most Wednesday nights. It’s right around the corner from the gym (same shopping center), and I always go to my zumba class from 6 to 7, so John calls ahead and I pick up dinner on my way home. Simple for everyone. Sure, pizza isn’t the greatest thing to eat when I’m trying to be all healthy and stuff, but I get a little one, I swear. 🙂
Lately, though, I’ve been dreading going in there. There’s this girl, in her early 20s I think, who’s ALWAYS working Wednesday nights, and she is ANNOYING. She wants to chat, and I’m sweaty and tired and hungry and I just want to pay for my food and take it home. Stop talking to me! But of course I’m pleasant and I chat back and I think “Oh god, just take my credit card already. Why are you taking so long? Please let me go home.” And then I practically run out the door. Nicely.
Last week was a bad week for me – I lost a lot of blood. I managed to get through two thirds of the summer bite-free, and then I had to go and spoil it by forgetting the bug spray at an outdoor evening work function. I went straight from work, so I was wearing jeans and a shirt with sleeves to my elbows, but that wasn’t enough protection. Oh no – I ended up with FIVE mosquito bites. Where? On my feet! And one on my pinky finger. I hate mosquitoes. As if mosquito bites weren’t bad enough, I had to have blood drawn the very next day. Not for one test, no. I was having a whole bunch of tests redone, so I went to the place (The lab? It’s not really a lab. They send the blood off to a lab. And it’s not a doctor’s office. Whatever. The place.), and the guy (the phlebotomist – that’s a great job title) looked at the order with the LONG list of tests (they were testing for 13 things, I think) and pulled seven tubes out of the rack. SEVEN tubes. That’s SEVEN VIALS of my blood he had to get out of my arm. And I was fasting! AND I had to go to work when he was done. Inhuman, that’s what this was. Inhumane, maybe. Because I’m human. Not an alien, not a robot. Hm. Maybe that’s what they were testing for. Maybe I’m NOT human. Mom, Dad, is that ice storm birth story just a cover for how you REALLY got me? I’ll have to check those results carefully.