Pawcurious: With Veterinarian and Author Dr. V

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One word is all you need

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My boss is a very talented clinician. He has expertise in both internal medicine and in surgery, which makes him a great wealth of knowledge on just about anything. Except rats or hamsters, so I have some value to my place of employment.

I went into work today, on my day off, to watch him do a forelimb amputation. It went swimmingly, by the way. While the tech was with the dog in recovery, I was hanging out in the back and chatting while my boss looked at some of the drop offs. Among them was a really sweet pup who was in the middle of a course of chemotherapy. The owner brought him in because she felt, despite the treatment, that he seemed to be getting worse.

My boss looked at the dog, who was bouncing off the walls. “I’m sure it’s just an overreaction,” he said, reviewing the notes. The cancer was caught early. It was one of the most responsive types of neoplasia, with a very good remission rate. The median time of first remission with the protocol he uses is somewhere around a year. This dog was only two months into treatment and had responded beautifully- there was no reason to think this patient should have anything short of a long remission. He patted the dog’s head, reached over, and felt his lymph nodes.

And said, “#$@!#!@#.”

It made no sense. The dog had a remission of  7 weeks instead of 7 months. That isn’t supposed to happen. There was no logical explanation for it, other than that cancer sucks and sometimes it behaves ways it shouldn’t. Sometimes you wind up like my grandfather, given 6 months to live with lung cancer, but who lived another 12 years. And other times you wind up this dog, who had the best of everything, an owner who would do whatever was suggested, and the cancer basically flips everyone the bird and says, meh, chemo schmemo. The dog is in recurrence.

There are other options, though usually they follow the law of diminishing returns. In other words, things are looking less than great for the poor little guy- who was sitting there obliviously eating treats, enjoying the attention.

The staff gathered around, tears in their eyes, while my boss went over all of this with the owner, who pretty much knew where this was going before she walked in the door. After all, I’m a vet too.

And then Emmett and I came home. And I cried.

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Comments

  2. I’ve been lurking for a while, and it made me tear up to read this because I feel like I’ve gotten to know you and Emmett. That’s awful news to get, and I’m so sorry.

  3. Cancer sucks. 🙁 Do you know the puppy’s name? Was going to ask Blade to look out for him.

  5. F’ing cancer. I never knew what to look for in a lymph until I felt how freaking huge Bail-man’s got. It is then I truly understood the phrase “f’ing cancer”. I’m so sorry.

    • I got confused…I was thinking it was a different dog (the word pup threw me).

      🙁

  14. I’m so sorry for the bad news. I saw Emmett’s picture on Cute Overload and have enjoyed reading your blog immensely. I too am married to a Brian who is not as enarmored of my furbabies, have two kids and fear that I am better with my animals. Your post about Mulan’s ashes was particularly touching for me as I recently had to have my beloved corgi, Beau put to sleep.
    Thank you for your compassion and caring for animals and their owners.

    Also, I love the Barbie skits…too funny.

  16. Oh poor Emmett! He looks like such a sweet boy! Goldens are the best and I miss my golden sister Holly every day. They remind us how short and precious life is… and how full of love and treats and peanut butter it can be…

  18. Wandered over from Cute Overload today to see that the adorable pup in the photo there is so ill. Holy Moley! I wish your family and Emmet much joy in the meantime.

  19. So very sorry to hear your news. Owen (my Lab) and I will be rooting for you guys.