MIRROR MIRROR They say that people come to resemble their dogs over time. Or is it the other way around -- do canines eventually emulate their humans? Either scenario equates to bad news for our dog, Zoe. Events over the past three weeks have forced our family to retrace an emotional journey we began 26 months ago when my unexpected and devastating medical diagnosis turned our world upside down. This time its Zoes diagnosis, not mine. She has osteosarcoma, bone cancer. Osteosarcoma is to dogs what pancreatic cancer is to people. It seems to arise suddenly, exploding out of nowhere. Its aggressive; usually by the time its detected, the malignancy has already spread to other parts of the body. And it is overwhelmingly deadly. An affected dogs remaining lifespan may be measured in weeks. What marks a dogs deterioration is uncontrollable pain and, eventually, bone fractures. Certain combinations of surgery, chemotherapy or radiation might extend the canine patients life. For instance, radiation can add three to four months while the treatment delivers the added benefit of helping alleviate pain. But, like PanCan, available therapies typically wont cure the underlying disease. In many respects, Zoes precipitous decline mirrored my own. Abruptly, we each experienced what easily might have been dismissed as a sign of minor problems. In my case, I felt fine until being hit by a rather uncomplicated episode of heartburn. (The indigestion preceded my more alarming yellow eyeballs and jaundiced skin by roughly 12 hours.) To all outward appearances, Zoe was also doing pretty well for a 13-year-old Goldendoodle. Then she developed a slight limp. I chalked it up to sore muscles from her weekly, often-rambunctious doggie play group. When the limp worsened noticeably over three days, we took her to the vet. Just like my cancer first revealed itself as a hazy white spot on a CT scan, an X-ray showed a suspicious milky area on Zoes right shoulder. My emergency room doctors initially went out of their way to avoid uttering the C-word. They euphemistically described it as an abnormal mass rather than a cancerous tumor. As though that would lessen our anxiety. Faced with the equally troubling blotch on pictures of Zoes shoulder, our vet engaged in similar verbal gymnastics. Wait for the official reading of her films in a couple of days, we were cautioned. But weve fallen down this rabbit hole before. In my heart, I knew exactly what theyd find. For millennia, humans bred canines for the contributions they could make to hunter-gatherer clans: to guard, herd, find or retrieve but most importantly to serve as companion without complaint. Thats why dogs are our undisputed Best Friends. Without hesitation I can say that bringing Zoe into our home was the single smartest family decision we ever made. She established unique relationships with each of us. She cherishes Dan and his wife, Becca. Zoe treats their English Bulldog, Lucy, like a sibling -- maybe because Lucy happens to have a very Zoe-like personality. She treasures Eric -- while gamely tolerating the antics of his Puggles, the much younger Bailey and Jameson. And she has a special connection with Julie, the two of them bonding and watching each others backs in the sometimes testosterone-infused Jackson household. But the real love-fest is between Cindy and Zoe. They think alike, share comparable world views and are the planets most social creatures. Together, outside on our street, they chat with next-door friends and romp with neighborhood dogs. They adore taking brisk walks together. (I amble an increasing number of steps behind, trailing breathlessly and never quite catching up to the dynamic duo.) For better or worse, I suspect Im Zoes alpha. But the truth is she has me wrapped around her, uh, paw. Shes both my spirit guide and my therapy dog. She calms me when Im upset and consoles me when Im down. Zoe is acutely tuned into the people around her. When I returned home from the hospital after my failed operation in 2012, Zoe instinctively recognized the trouble I was in. She was especially sweet and tender with me. She understood the fragility of my physical state, effortlessly adjusting to my condition. Now its Zoe whos in pain. She generally hides her discomfort; thats the kind of Best Friend she is. But that doesnt matter. Now its my turn to be sweet and tender with her. The scariest part of my pancreatic cancer was the insidious, all-enveloping, inevitable sense of finality it carried. It kills all but a few of the people it afflicts. Yes, Ive beaten the odds so far. And my plan is to keep on doing so for as long as I can. But ever since my diagnosis Ive had to cope with the grim realization that although Im fine now, PanCan will probably claim me one day. Likewise for osteosarcoma occurring in dogs. Which breaks my heart. Intellectually, I can bear the weight of my own medical verdict. But Im not willing to accept the same finding in Zoes case; its just not fair. Zoe is lying on the floor by my feet right now. To all outward appearances, she seems content. Her breathing is regular and, with her eyes fluttering closed, is easing into another nap. Looking at her like this, I manage to forget the spot on her X-ray. For a few moments everything seems normal; shes vital and vibrant again. I can imagine her living another 10 or 20 dog years. Before long, though, she will wake and destroy my illusion. She will rise -- slowly, stiffly -- and have trouble hobbling into another room. She will limp significantly as she tries to protect her compromised shoulder from straining under the weight. I glance at the clock and realize she will need another dose of pain medication soon. She never complains about the pain. I want Zoe to ease her symptoms through visualization and Reiki and meditation, like I did. I want her to pray and feel the presence of a greater power, like I did. I want her to trust her caregivers and heal thanks to tremendous emotional support from friends and family, like I did. I want her to emerge in a new state of health, like I did. But she cant, so Im afraid for her. Zoe has an appointment with the canine oncologist on Wednesday. Normally, thats her doggie play group day and we regret shell miss spending time with her canine pals. Cindy and I will try to make it up to her. Her humans will be there for her, both before and after undergoing her radiation treatment. # # # # (To see a Jackson family album of Zoe pictures, or to share this post with people outside Facebook, please visit jacksonjack.blogspot/.)
Posted on: Tue, 06 Jan 2015 21:00:15 +0000