Farewell my friend

Shadow 11/11/2000 to 17/01/2008

Shadow's chemo seemed initially to be successful. His glands were reducing. He went into the vets for a second chemo a week after the first, but after testing his white blood count we were told it was too low for them to be able to give him the chemo. The vet was not too concerned, and said he would just have the chemo fortnightly. He had his second treatment, and 10 days later, on the evening of 16th January, we realised that his glands were up again. They were very enlarged.

We knew that this was not good news, so the next morning no-one went to school or work. We phoned the vet, and he confirmed our thinking. He did not recommend a different protocol, because Shadow has had so much chemo that his system was likely to be overwhelmed if we wanted to give him more. He also explained that Shadow could rapidly become ill, as the glands in his chest will also be enlarged, and when they begin to press on his throat he would start to feel ill.

So, we made the decision to give him a really fab day, and then ensure that he suffered no more. This involved taking him out for a walk with the people who often walk him, with 4 other dogs that they were walking. This was a special treat for him as kennel cough is in the area, so we have been not been taking him out, being worried about him catching it. We gave him lots of treats - and given that he was on steroids, his appetite was pretty pumped up, so he wolfed down loads. he also had cuddles galore, and was let onto our bed for a romp that he was thrilled by. The camera was used until the battery died, and visitors popped in to give him a last cuddle.
Then we took him to the vet, where the vet that has seen us through this took us through his final treatment. We stroked, hugged and cuddled him whilst he slipped unconscious, and until the vet confirmed that he had gone, and then we were left along to cuddle, kiss and stroke him some more.

Family have lost two dogs this year, suddenly, and scarily. One died unexpectedly and they did not have the chance to say good-bye at all, and the other was so ill she was barely moving when she was put down. I think in comparison Shadow had a good end. We had to chance to enjoy a great day with him, a day tinged with sadness, but a day he thoroughly enjoyed.

Bad News

Shadow has his cancer back - at least, that's the strong indication. On Saturday just after lunch (and just after the vets close for the weekend) I stroked under his chin and felt soft marble sized bubbles where there should be no such thing.

I phoned the emergency vet and he said to bring Shadow in Monday morning, as he did not know what protocol Shadow's vet would want him to be put on. We could have taken him in to have his glands checked, but as we KNEW what the problem is, and there was nothing that would be done, we did not go in. Obviously, if he had become ill, or had begun to have trouble breathing, we would have taken him in, but he was bouncing.

We had Shadow sleeping on our bed that night - a first, but something I wanted to do, and something he really enjoyed. We got lots of kisses, and a few kicks, as he was so excited about it, but all in all he was very good. He didn't move about too much, but he does snore!

I knew that I had a morning bed cuddle with Shadow two days previously, and had taken the opportunity to feel him all over, and he was fine then, and of course I was berating myself for not feeling him down on the Friday - even though I worked a 7 1/4 hour shift and was running about sorting childcare, and shopping, before coming home and packing presents.

Shadow went into the vets Monday and we didn't see him until 6pm. He had been given one chemo. His bloods have been taken and some sent off for staging, some is being checked for his blood count. We were just pleased to have him back for Christmas day - though we had forgotten how tired he was after his first chemo, and thus unprepared for how flat he was.

The kids have taken this news quite lightly, I am sure they think that he will have the same treatment as before, and be fine, as before. We haven't spoken with them about the situation at all - we need to have a long talk with the vet once the results are back before that. My hubby is wondering if we should put Shadow through another round of treatment, but I am not prepared to think about that yet. It was only on Friday that someone asked about Shadow's health, and I was giving an upbeat answer.

Shadow is due a check up - and I keep thinking that we might have picked this up earlier if I had taken him in - but we were so busy in the run up to Christmas. I keep kissing his dear head. I have no aversion to him, as I did when he first was diagnosed - this event has made me familiar with cancer - I was fearful of it in itself before.

He is so tired he won't even get up for a treat - and he is back on the steroids. Last time it was only a few days and his lumps went down dramatically - they are not doing that this time. We heard the day before I felt the lump that the puppy we have been waiting for has been born. As if the puppy IS Shadow's replacement.

Finger's crossed that somehow Shadow is okay.

How he was

I see I have not posted here for a while. Shadow has been really well - his coat had gained its lustre and softness, and begun to grow - he has had more energy. About 6 weeks ago we had a check up and he had blood tests, which indicated that things were going well. I was suppoed to take him back in 4 to 6 weeks, but with christmas stealing time I had planned that we would take him in between Christmas and New Year.

Recovery

It will be 4 weeks tomorrow since Shadow's last chemotherapy. It has been quite an anxious time. I had the thought in my head that the next stage we would see with Shadow's health would be us finding a new lump. It made me quite fearful of stroking him, I kept expecting to come across it, under his fur, under his skin. Often a stroke becomes an examination. Every touch of his dull coarse fur reminded me that he was ill.

Two things have happened though. His coat has begun to soften and to begin to glimmer and gleam again, and we have had the results of the blood tests taken 4 weeks ago tomorrow to measure the lymphocytes in his blood. The normal amount is anything up to 7. When we last had the test done, at the start of all this, his level was 37. The vet, who is very controlled, had an edge of excitement in his voice when he told me that the level is now 1.4. I didn't ask if this means he is cured, and the vet added that if Shadow got ill, we could have his blood measured (quicker) and if the level had risen, we would know why. Did you hear what he said though? He said "if". I know he was probably being diplomatic, but I am doing better with a little hope, playing more with Shadz, and noticing him playing more with the puppy. We danced our way around the kitchen the other day, Shadz and me, and though he dropped after a couple of minutes, it was great to see him enjoying the dancing. He has more energy in his walks as well.

My daughter had a school project, to write her autobiography. Shadow's arrival in our family featured, as did the news of his cancer, and his chemo. She wrote that now he had finished chemo we could hope that all would be okay. I said nothing to her. She has heard me tell endless amounts of people that there is no cure for lymphoma, she knows the score. She just wants to hope, so hope she shall. I have heard of dogs who have a couple of years in remission - why should Shadow not too?

Back from Holiday

We have been on holiday for two weeks in France. Luckily we have already got a good relationship with a lovely couple who dog sit professionally, and have sat for us for some years now. They know and more importantly love Shadow, and we contacted them as soon as Shadow was diagnosed knowing that they would want to know. They visited him immediately, and sat for us whilst we I went to Dublin.

This trip was different as it covered a chemotherapy treatment. We checked out with our couple, and they were happy with the procedure. We kept in touch with our couple during our trip by text, and everything seemed to go well.

I had a shock when I came home though. We were very excited approaching the house, imagining the welcome that we would give and receive, and Shadow seemed subdued. His coat was noticeably coarser as well, and I thought his face looked a little swollen. My other half saw nothing different in Shadow than when we left, and with hindsight I can say that I have probably just seem him clearer after the two week separation.

Shadow has one more chemo to go, then he is done. At the moment if asked if all this treatment is worth it, I would not have a definite answer. Shadow is not himself; he is quieter, tireder, hungrier. The most he comes alive is when there is food about, and one of the things about him that we loved was his stateliness, his aloof sphinx pose, his distain for the common manners of the puppy who shamelessly begged for titbits. Now he stands gazing at the food his big eyes alight, and sometimes a little whine coming out.

Of course he is still here, he can still enjoy a petting, and a cuddle, and he can still keep us noisy company (he snores). Though I am glad of that, I am still grieving the amazing dog we have lost. Perhaps when the demands of the chemo are relieved he will gain strength and health and we will see some of the old Shadow back, but perhaps the cancer will leap back into activity and we will not.

Some sad news today. My sister-in-law phoned distressed to tell me that their Cavalier King Charles spaniel Suki died last night. She has had a heart murmur for a while, and yesterday she began gasping for breath – her heart was not pumping the blood around her body fast enough for enough oxygen to be circulated. She was just 8. My kids howled when I told them – earlier this year my sister lost her West Highland White terrier who developed a disease and died suddenly. All of us had recently obtained a second puppy – my daughter wailed that everyone who gets a puppy loses the older dog. I know they were thinking of how they would feel when Shadow goes.

Yesterday I phoned the breeder that we got the puppy from, and found out when she is next breeding. She will breed next month. Part of me is unhappy at making arrangements so soon for Shadows replacement, though actually we always intended to have three dogs. And part of me is aware that our existing puppy hates being alone, and so we need to make plans for the future. However I rationalised it, that phone call seemed like a betrayal.

3rd cycle over

Shadow has been coming home with bandages on his legs for the last 3 or 4 treatments. One time the bandage was made of gauze, another of lilac bandage, and this time of blue. He starts to tear them off the minute he is home - or at least the minute he has finished his big drink, wee and poo. We laughed about the lilac bandage, on such a male dog - the blue was much more appropriate. However much we laughed, at his quick attempts to rip them off, or their colour, the bandages were an unpleasant sight. They may simply be holding a cotton pad against his leg where the IV line had recently been removed, but they were a sign of medical interventions, intruding on our deliberate forgetfulness about the reasons for his Friday absences.

I know in the back of my mind that perhaps it's not healthy for us to ignore the reality of the situation, but living with the reality is too hard. When the cancer was newly diagnosed I had difficulty stroking or hugging Shadow. That passed, and we were all over the dog, and then that passed, and we are back to a more normal relationship. It takes so little to throw us back into panic however. Shadow being under the weather - the vet saying, as he did after Shadows 4th chemo, 3rd cycle "His heart rate is a little up." Kevin discovering, as he did today, a small lump that appears to be in Shadow's skin, not quite in his underarm, but in that area.

And then there is Ozzie. I have been reading Ozzie's Lymphosarcoma Blog since the almost the day Shadow was diagnosed. Ozzie had his last chemo almost on the day Shadow had his first - and there were many times that I wished that Shadow was in Ozzie's position. Then Ozzie began to get unwell, and it was found that his cancer came back. I sent an e-mail to his owner, but avoided the blog - it was too much, making me face the fact that it is almost guaranteed that this is what Shadow has ahead - the cancer coming back. Ozzie's owner then e-mailed me to say that Ozzie had been euthanised - his kidneys were failing, he had spleen problems, and vetinary treatment wasn't producing a good response.

I feel for Ozzie's owners - we have previously lost a dog, and know the pain of the empty collar, the no longer necessary lead, the space where a dog bed or bowl should lie, the unacceptable quiet, the way it becomes necessary to listen for a doorbell - all the terrible reminders that a much loved companion is gone. Yes, I feel very much for Ozzie's owners. But I also feel afraid for us, for Shadow, for the dark future ahead. Suddenly I feel safe on the chemo.

I know that the chemo itself is killing him - it's killing him slower than it kills the cancer - but he could not be on it forever. When he goes off it though there is nothing except his own immunity that is fighting the cancer. And his breed are susceptible to cancer - the vets advice was that the cancer would be likely to return quicker in his breed. One more cycle, and we are on our own.

Sometimes I wonder why we didn't choose to have him euthanised at the beginning - why we chose this purgatory for ourselves, when there is no happy ending. But then he trots in, having been outside watching the rain fall (one of his favourite hobbies - having a waterproof undercoat), and throws himself down at my feet, grunting with pleasure, his wet neck leaned up on my leg so he can doze in his favourite position, with his head at a 90% angle to his body, and I recognise that he doesn't know he is ill - he is untroubled about thoughts of the future. He surprised us and the vet by accepting his chemo treatments in his stride, and recovering better than anyone accepted. And that makes it worth it.

3rd Chemo, 3rd cycle

Shadow is coping so well with his treatment that I am left with nothing to say. He is having his chemo, he is bouncing with health - the routine of his visits to the vet has become the norm. We barely think about his cancer. The children have begun to include Shadow again when they talk of the future, and sometimes we do not remind them of the unlikliness of that - it has become unthinkable to imagine him ill. He seems in such exceptional rude health.

I am seeing his vet on Tuesday when we get our puppy innoculated, and it will be a chace to ask the dreaded question - does this enormous vitality have any reflection on the diagnosis, or are we still eating into Shadow's probable last year?