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?