I was going to call this article “My Dog, the Felon.” He
really isn’t a felon, but he does have a police record. It’s a long story.
In August, my beagle, Simon was diagnosed with lymphoma, a
cancer that affects the lymph nodes. He isn’t quite ten years old, so young
enough we weren’t ready to lose him. We embarked into a journey fraught with
peril, but of course we didn’t know that at the time. I love to tell people
that I live in “de-Nile” a lovely place where I don’t have to deal with
reality. I was clearly living in denial as we made the decision to begin
chemotherapy on Simon.
The first week went well – he tolerated the medication, was
able to eat, and felt fine.
Then, the second week hit. First, he began having some
nausea and vomiting; so we started him on medication to control those symptoms.
By Saturday, he was having diarrhea, which quickly became bloody diarrhea. So,
we added two more medications to control that. He didn’t feel good; I was no
longer in denial but had moved right into panic and fear. It was not a good
combination.
By Saturday night when it was time to now give him five
pills – well, it was a perfect storm of not feeling good, fear, panic and… … as
I tried to give him his medication, he bit me.
I pulled my hand away and quickly rinsed it off, trying to
calmly (yea, right) assess the situation. I decided the most important thing
was to give him his medications – so I gave that job to my husband. Once all
the pills were down, we then went to the emergency room.
Have you been in an ER on Saturday night at midnight? Oh, my
goodness… not the time you really want to be there. But, there I was. And, the
first order of business? To call the county Sheriff to report my dog!
Yes, he was my dog, with all his shots up to date, but we
still had to file a report. The Sheriff Deputy came to take my statement, see
my wound (and almost pass out), and then they were able to treat me.
I had three stitches; had I known that I didn’t need
antibiotics, I probably would NOT have gone to the ER. I did need a tetanus
shot – which they forgot to give me (I got it at the Health Department later
that week!).
We are now several weeks into the chemo for Simon; my hand
has healed. He has taught us so many lessons in this journey. He is one tough
beagle dog. When he is nauseated, he just lies quietly on a cold floor; when he
is short of breath, he stops; when he is hungry, he eats.
Did we make the right decision to put him through this? I
have no idea. I know we were not ready to let him go, and we promised him that
if he was ready, we would let him go. So far, he hasn’t given us any indication
that he is ready to give up the fight.
He goes to the vet every Thursday, the girls out there love
him – and he happily goes in to see them.
It seems somewhat ironic that my dog can get the healthcare
he needs, and I have such a hard time getting care for my uninsured patients
with cancer. But, that is another story.
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