Before, During and After

BEFORE:

I've been sleeping even worse than usual.

I've been wanting to eat nothing but starchy, fatty foods.

I've been less patient and less creative.

People I know, and people I only know of, are experiencing health stressors and death, babies being born, anniversaries of deaths, and new beginnings with new dogs.  They all want attention and advice and permission to be self-absorbed.  Those new to deeply loving, new to 24-hour caregiving, or new to loss want to tell me how to feel and what to do.  Scenarios of how I would say, "This is sadly not new to me," or between gritted teeth spray out, "You, in NO WAY, are just like me," or yell, "You are not the only person under stress and duress in the world, you know!!!" play out in my mind as I continue not to sleep.

I think I'm stressed about Foster's chemotherapy.

Foster has been a beautiful and powerful healer.  Everything is ready.  I've done all that I know to support his physical and mental health.

Let's do this FD.

He is so sweet...

DURING:

In the dark hours of the beginning of this day, Chemotherapy Treatment Number One, I decide to stop focusing on my human irritations.  I decide to stop focusing on all Foster is going to have to endure.  I decide to stop accepting the sick feeling of what I am about to do to him.

I decide to focus on the blessings of what we are able to do for him.

Foster says, "It's all good, Lady.  It's no big thing."

 How do we always get the best ones?

How do we always get the One-In-A-Million Dog?

AFTER:

We wait for side effects in a house with no electricity.

We voice our collective knowledge that no electricity does not mean No Power.

We are powerful.

We are a family.

We are Team Foster Dog.

Our Team Captain is tired.

Heal Heal Heal, Little One.

You are The Focus.

We are Your Team.

It's not you. It's them.

Foster Dog is doing so well, I am overwhelmed!  He is wonderfully strong-willed and strong-hearted.  I am amazed by him, and I shouldn't be.  He's Foster Dog!  He's Awesome!

J has to tell him, "Not yet, buddy.  You'll be able to go for a bike run in about two weeks."

Fosse hates to be told, "Not yet, buddy."

While there is more treatment to come, I am living in the moment that Foster is feeling better and better.  I do not have to do anything but care for him and enjoy him and let him be himself...within incision-holding-staple limits!

I do not want any of my energy to go to the negativity people are compelled to say, so I am going to describe some of it here and let it go.  I've already described some, I know, but in the short time since Foster's diagnosis, I have experienced more.  I know that since I have made my experiences public, I have opened myself to the opinions of others.  I am not sharing to defend myself, receive pity or praise, or to spread negativity.  I am sharing so that if this negativity happens to you in any capacity, you will know that I am with you saying, "It's not you.  It's them."

People can be terribly mean, and I have found that it is often their coping mechanism for managing their guilt.  People often criticize what they see in you because they cannot see it in themselves.  Here are some examples:

There are some people for whom you cannot do enough.
- I can't be counted on as a friend right now because I am "not there" for someone.

Foster has had 2 surgeries within the last 3 weeks, and one was a surprise and nearly an emergency.  I haven't been able to return phone calls as quickly as usual, and I have tried to return business calls before personal ones because I have to work to pay for Foster's surgeries.  I have responded by text to let my friends know a little of what has been going on and nearly everyone has been beautifully supportive.  One person has been experiencing some stress with her cat and is angry that I didn't respond to her message of "I have a question for you.  Call me as soon as you can," quickly enough.  I have learned that she was concerned her cat had cancer, and has since learned that the cat does not, but she is angry that I wasn't "there" for her.  She knows that Foster does have cancer, and she knows that Foster had to have his spleen removed.  I do not believe in competing or comparing, but I do believe in understanding that I have had my own issues to manage and therefore could not help her manage hers.  I can see that she is using me to blame for her stress, fear and anger.  I can see that it's not about me.  Still, it's not right, and I can't put my energy into it.


Some people can think of only how events affect them.
- I have been asked if I'll still be able to provide a presentation for a seminar in November.

Instead of showing concern for Foster, or even me, a friend, I've been asked if I am "planning to honor my commitment." I understand wondering if different arrangements need to be made, but Good Lord, could that have been worded differently for goodness sake?


Some people need to have a source of blame to comfort themselves that stressful events won't happen to them.
- Since so many of my loved ones have had cancer, have I considered that I may be bringing it on myself?

Wow.


Some people who have the money would not spend it on care for their dogs, and seeing what you do makes them feel guilty.
- The money I'm spending on my dog could have been spent on a person's cancer care or could have gone to charity.

The money I earn is spent where I decide, and how does anyone know how much of that money does or doesn't go to charity?  Taking care of my family is always my priority, but no matter how much money I have made I have given to the charities of my choice.  Sometimes, all that I can give is time to charity, so that is what I do.  Sometimes, all I can give is money.

Some people have to criticize to make themselves feel better.  It's just sad.  It's not you.  It's them.

Prepared

I prepare for things.  Some have told me I over-prepare, but those who have benefitted from me having dental floss in my "magic bag," baby wipes in the car, and an extra phone charger in my suitcase are thankful.  It has been said, "You want her with you when you go anywhere," and I love that.  Sometimes there is pressure to think of everything, but it is really pressure I put on myself to be prepared for adventures, events, outings and emergencies.

How does one prepare for a splenectomy?  Good Lord, I read everything I could find on recovery, planned where we would sleep, packed water, snacks, the ramp, the inflatable e-collar, and my Steno notebook of questions.

I've been able to stay with all of my dogs through many procedures over many ailments and years.  I was prepared that I wouldn't be able to stay with Foster during this one.  We were able to stay with him as the Propofol went in, and we were allowed to see his spleen once it was removed, but we weren't allowed to be with him as he woke up from anesthetic.  That was upsetting to me, and then I wasn't prepared for how strongly he would walk out of recovery and wag his tail upon seeing us.  He nearly trotted to me and buried his head under my chin as I knelt down to stabilize him.

My Fosse's shaved skin matches his hair.

We were prepared for the challenge of getting Foster in and out of the car.  He is a jumper and does not like the ramp.  I think it's his independence.  The ramp is not rickety, it's just not the same as jumping, and he wants no part of it, in or out of the car.  The whole experience of getting him home was challenging, but we were prepared that the usual 40-minute trip would take much longer.  There was obstinance and painful moaning, but we did it.  We did it.

I was prepared for Foster to not want to eat or drink, and I should have been prepared for his amazing mobility, but I was still surprised that he wanted to walk around for four hours straight.  This seems to happen with all of our dogs.  Maybe it happens with everyone's dogs.  We're always told that our dog will sleep for several hours, even days, and not have pain due to the injectable whatever.  Well, Foster cried and moaned on the way home, but was so tired his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and his swallowing reflex was low, creating anxiety for me to give him the Tramadol prescribed for "add on" pain relief.  And even though he was that tired, he would not stop moving.

He finally laid down at about 10:30pm, was up a few times, changed location a few times, and was up for the day at 7am.  I think we are what may be described as an "active" family.  I shouldn't have been surprised.  No big deal.  It wasn't a sleepless night, and we've had a lot of those.  We're always prepared for that.

Fosse prefers to be wedged to rest.

The surgery was thankfully uneventful.  The largest tumor was bigger than a golf ball, but slightly smaller than a lacrosse ball.  His entire spleen will be analyzed, and we should hear the pathology and immunocytology results in 7-10 days.  Foster's staples come out in about 2 weeks.  I am still formulating The Pack's complete nutritional plan, and once Foster is healing from this Divine Detour, we will continue with the Healing Plan.  We will heal Foster Dog.

In the last 18 hours, Foster has had a few naps, a few small walk abouts, one Tramadol in an Applegate turkey sausage, and a few laps of water.  He's just hanging out and healing.  We do not have to be separated until 11:15am tomorrow.  I am prepared for this great day.  I am Team Foster Dog.

Sleeping

Detours and Thank Yous

I was mentally prepared for the stress of today.  Chemotherapy treatment number one of eight for Foster.  I was feeling stress about the separation for the preliminary abdominal ultrasound, but hoped it would provide some easy, non-cancerous reasons for Foster's change in appetite and frequent intestinal bloat.  I voiced my anxiety about separation as Foster was led away from me, and my anxiety only increased when the oncology assistant told me I could come back with her about 30 minutes earlier than expected.  I knew that wasn't enough time for Foster to have an ultrasound, have it read, and have a chemotherapy infusion.

Foster was reportedly angelic during the ultrasound, licking the oncology assistant's face during the procedure.  Sadly, two masses were seen on his spleen.  They are unrelated to his mastocytoma.  Before any further mast cell treatment can be considered, Foster must have his spleen removed.  The incision will be neck to pelvis.  My Sweet Angel.  My Foster Dog.  Oh, man, buddy.

So, it could be really bad, and I initially felt devastation and defeat, but three hours later, I have hope.  My J said something that has given me peace.  He has once again made negativity and fear evaporate.  J said that Foster is lucky he had a mast cell tumor.  This is right.

Foster Dog knows how to Road Trip

We are all lucky Foster had a mast cell tumor, and we are lucky we have the aggressively healing attitude to treat it.  Most splenic tumors become known through slow bleeds or death from their rupture.  Due to Foster's mastocytoma, and seeking treatment, the preliminary abdominal ultrasound, looking for metastasis, showed these splenic tumors while they are intact.  Foster can live without his spleen.  He can live without it.  Without cancer, we may have learned of these splenic tumors only after it was too late to save him.  Because of cancer, Foster can actually live.

Today, we can thank cancer.

So the treatment plan has taken a detour.  Removal and biopsy of Foster's spleen is next.

Foster Dog, let's do this, buddy.

Oh Yeah, I'm Awesome!

A Break In The Healing Action

It's been all Foster all the time for a few weeks and he is doing great.  His stitches are out and his incision is nearly healed.

Even with the challenges, Foster Dog knows how to heal!

Foster is not the only member of The Pack, and his Pack Mates have been busy too.  While Fosse was healing, he couldn't go on The Walk with us, and sadly, he missed this discovery.

Another paper lantern.  They've been a big hit this summer.

Atticus has been home for a long time now and he's shown us he has a great nose and fast legs.  He's also shown he's pretty quick on the leash.  I received a bit of whiplash when Atticus pounced, grabbed, shook and flung this little one in the span of about three seconds.

Sorry, little snaky...

We've all known for the 10 years she's brightened our lives that Luna is something special.  She sent a supportive note to a friend of ours and the friend sent these to Luna.

The card simply said, "Thank You Luna!"

The Pack has been busy doing Pack things.  Our adventures are small, but we make the most of them!

Phase Three: Diagnosis and Treatment

Ok, a few things have gone on since Foster's emergency room visit and incision dramas.  Pretty much all good!

Even with a cone on, and antibiotics in his stomach, Foster has been feeling pretty good.  He's been rather picky about eating, and has decided he no longer likes sweet potatoes.  He's loved them for two years, but now, or at least while he is antibiotic-filled, he says, "Um, no thanks."  I mean, who wouldn't want to eat this?

Kibble, brown rice, bone broth and baked sweet potato

Foster's favorite meal lately is eggs with sardines, so that is what he is healing with, as well as chicken, no rice, just chicken thank you very much, Lady.  He knows I'll feed him whatever he wants, and Luna and Atticus have had no problem eating Foster's "leftovers"!

The Diagnosis:
Foster had a Mast Cell Tumor of Medium Grade.  Specific immunocytology provided information on three markers which show he does not have a genetic issue, but the tumor is aggressive.  It has been removed, and just a few years ago, surgical removal would have been all that could have been done, but now there are a few more options that increase survivability to over 80%.

The Treatment Plan:
Foster will begin chemotherapy next Wednesday.  He will receive 8 treatments over 3 months and should be cured.  Cured.  Most dogs tolerate the one drug administered through a "quick push," not an IV drip, very well, and they do not lose their hair.  If there is intolerance, Foster may experience some diarrhea.  It is not a given response, but if he does respond with diarrhea, there are drugs to give to support him.

We are also scheduled for a Nutritional Consult to go over the home cooking plan, which I've decided to supplement with kibble, as well as supplements and herbal remedies to support Foster through treatment.  I will continue the home cooking for everyone even once Foster is healed, and I will give supplements to everyone to support The Pack's immunity and overall health!

I feel a little stressed about what is to come, but also calm because we have the choice to do this.  Foster is such a champ, I feel confident he will manage treatment with the sweetness and strength he manages everything.  He is feeling great and doing great.  He is our Super Foster Dog!

Phase Two Part Two Addendum B: Still Still Healing

I am starting to feel a little panicky.

I know Foster has cancer and I feel confident the treatment protocol will be at least radiation. I can see my ability to work lessening while my expenses to care for him steeply increase. I can hear some people saying I am manifesting cancer and my panicky feeling turns to anger.  What if what I am seeing are facts of the future, and my ability to see these facts clearly and quickly have me well-prepared when action becomes a plan?

As I've typed before, I've been down this road before so I know we can do it, but I've been down this road before so I know it sucks.  Some of the things that suck the hardest:  People.  Let me tell you something I am going to anti-manifest - the kinds of people Satchel and I encountered when he was going through cancer treatment.  These kinds of people are not going to be in the realm of Foster's healing space.  I will not have them near him.

1.  The kind of people who say, "Cancer touches everyone's life.  You are no different or more special."

This bit of "advice" was given to me about nine years ago when I answered the seemingly polite questions "How are you?  What's new?"  I had responded with a confession of stress and emersion into healing Satchel from soft-tissue sarcoma.  It was not a lengthy confession, nor an effort to receive praise or pity.  It was just a response of something that was new that was also consuming and stressful.

I wasn't looking to be seen as special, but being a full-time caregiver to someone who is ill can be challenging.  Being a full-time caregiver to someone who is healthy can be challenging.  Loving is wonderful and consuming, and sometimes it really hurts and is stressful when the focus of your love is hurting.

Some people need to make themselves feel important by making you and your life experiences appear insignificant.  I will not have these people in Foster's space, and if I hear anything like this, this time I may respond with, "Well, you're mean and you suck."  If nothing else, those kinds of words inspire my "Are-You-Sure-You-Want-To-Say-That-To-Me?" look.

2.  The kind of people who ask, "You do realize he is just a dog, right?"

While I am already feeling the physical and monetary stress of caring for Foster, he is my family, and to take care of my family is why I work.  I know what people mean when they say this, but I have no understanding of it.  Instead of being angry all the time, I feel sorry for people who think this way.  They are unable to experience the depth of love and devotion available in a relationship with a dog.  They do not know the level of love I do, and I feel sorry for them.

3.  The kind of people who, with a snarky tone of importance, say, "Let's not choose dogs over people."

This example often results from spillover from #2.  This statement of superiority usually enters when there is any conversation about dog behavior people don't want to work with.  I believe dogs who have bitten, bark incessantly, dig, run away, chew everything, look like pit bulls, are pit bulls, etc. can be well-behaved, loyal listeners with a dedicated owner.  Instead of saying, "I don't have the discipline or motivation to work with that," they say, "Well, you don't have kids.  I don't choose dogs over people."

It also comes up with respect to money.  Surgery and radiation alone for Satchel were very very expensive, and the additional costs of medications, home cooking, daily travel to and from radiation appointments, my inability to work, and more were very very expensive as well.  During the time of Satchel's cancer, when I was asked to do some thing, or to donate to a friend's fundraiser, I remember saying something like I couldn't afford it right now, and I remember this type of response more than once, "That's what happens when you choose dogs over people."

That's what happens?! So if I'd donated to that person, or paid for a baby shower, I'd have more money?!  My statement of inability to afford was never a complaint, just a fact, and people's efforts to shame me or judge me as stupid, or less in some way, did hurt.  It hurt because I felt so lonely.  I've experienced judgment before, but this type of judging is deeper.  The harsh judgment of my values.  Being considered fat or ugly has been less hurtful than being considered stupid or being pushed to believe my values are shameful.

These are just three examples of the mean things people have said.  This time, with Foster, I may encounter these same kinds of people, but this time, I hope they will be quieter.  This time, I still won't have any burning comebacks, but maybe I won't need them.  My ultimate comeback will be walking beside me - a living, healing, dignified Foster Dog.  There is no better proof of right decisions made.