A Lovely Spring Day

It has happened again. We have lost another special greyhound to the killer cancer. Since Girly Girl’s passing, I can’t read any story about a greyhound losing the fight to cancer without breaking down. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the people or the hound involved. I feel connected through the fraternity of pain and loss. But this time I do happen to know the people and the very special girl we lost this week.

 Dear friends Pat and Rick did the unthinkable. They bid goodbye to their sweet girl Emma. As goodbyes go, it was everything that anyone would hope to be able to give a beloved family member. They were able to let her go at home, with everyone who loved her best gathered around her to see her on to her next journey.

Emma’s cancer story sounds horribly familiar to any of us who have been through it ourselves. She developed an unexplained limp. It seemed to resolve. Then it came back. They had her examined and the vet felt it was orthopedic. She got pain relievers which seemed to help. But the limp came back. It always comes back. They had her x-rayed and it was a happy day when Pat sent us all an email letting us know that the vet saw no cancer. Finally, someone dodged that damned bullet. Except the limp came back. As it seemed to worsen with no explanation, the decision was made to do another x-ray.

This time there was no doubt as to the diagnosis. Emma was an older grand dame so the excruciating decision was made to keep her comfortable and let her run out the measure of her days as she might. Emma has always been daddy’s girl. As you can imagine, Rick struggled greatly with the situation, with the inevitable conclusion of the story. How do you watch someone you love so well begin to detach from this life? To decline in health? To suffer pain? All the while knowing that you

can’t do anything to change the outcome.

Emma was part of a family with her mum and dad and two other greyhounds, Vinnie and Jester. Emma had lost her brother Jim, a handsome blue brindle boy to stomach cancer not too long ago. The plan was not for her to see Jim again so soon. That is never ever the plan. Emma’s mum and dad did everything they could to make what time she had left comfortable and filled with love.

As you hope for just one more day and then one more day, you watch as the one you love has some bad days. But they rally and most days are good. Then there is a string of bad days. What do you do? Is it time? How will you know? A question with no good answer. So it was with Emma. She enjoyed her yard and flinging her stuffies. Her appetite remained good but the limp became more pronounced and the bad days came more often. Then after some particularly bad days, the vet was called.

On a lovely spring day Emma headed off to see Jim, and Girly Girl, and Indy, and Taylor, and Louie, and Dickie and Dutch and Nora and so many others I have been privileged to know. I’d like to say I can’t imagine how Pat and Rick are feeling now, but I can. There is another hole in our greater greyhound family. Someone said that as long as someone remembers you, you never really die. I and many others will remember you Emma. We remember and we miss you.

Osteosarcoma Sucks

The "C" Word

I’ve made no secret of the fact that the loss of my heart dog Girly Girl has been a devastating event in my life. Every day has been tough without her but for 4-5 weeks before her birthday in February and again before the day I lost her in mid-October, my heart always reminds me of just how broken it is. Sometimes I don’t even realize at first why I start crying more. Why I feel so much more sad than normal. Then somewhere in those weeks I figure out what anniversary is coming. The flood gates open for a while. During Girly Girl’s cancer battle, I spent a lot of time on Grey Talk. I distinctly remember one lady telling me that 10 years after the loss of her heart dog, she was still greatly affected by it. I recall thinking that is a long time to actively grieve for any living creature, even a heart dog. But here approaching anniversary number two since her passing, I have no doubt that I’ll be in the same place at year ten. I have learned for myself that there are some things that you just never get over.

Canines and cancer have not only been on my mind, but they have also been much in the news lately. There have been a couple of interesting study results published that give me hope. The Ohio State University Greyhound Health and Wellness Program in collaboration with Dr. Carlos Alvarez of The Research Institute at Nationwide Children’s Hospital have sent for publication the results of a study they had been conducting on cancer genes in greyhounds. They were able to isolate a particular gene that, when carried by a greyhound, pre-disposes them to osteosarcoma. That in itself is not a cure but knowing about the gene, we can now test dogs to see if they carry the gene. We can apply everything we know about prevention and stack the deck in our favor. Breeders can make informed choices based on the presence of this gene. Not too much further down the road, they will develop gene therapy which will target the cancer at its genetic source. Possibly, even further down the road, we will find a way to simply switch that gene off so it will never be expressed. It’s a first step with a long way yet to go, but paraphrasing Lao Tzu, every journey must begin with a single step.

The other study done by two veterinarians from the University Of Pennsylvania School Of Veterinary Medicine took dogs diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma and gave them compounds called PSPs derived from a type of mushroom called Coriolus versicolor. This mushroom is more commonly known as Yunzhi. The dogs who received this compound had the longest survival times EVER reported for dogs with hemangiosarcoma. This is a particularly pernicious cancer that affects blood cells and is incredibly hard to treat. Prognosis for the unfortunates with hemangiosarcoma is dismal even with treatment. The possibility that the time we get to spend with our babies can be extended, potentially significantly, just by adding a mushroom supplement to their daily regimen is incredibly hopeful. This may end up being a step that is inexpensive and within the reach of most of us even when expensive surgeries and chemotherapy are not. I remember the feeling of helplessness in the face of cancer all too well. I was lucky at the time to be able to give Girly Girl all the treatment available. The thought that I don’t have that option any longer should Blue or Bettina get the dreaded diagnosis keeps me up at night. Here is something that we can all easily do which can prolong the quality and length of time we get to spend with our companion animals.

Though this mushroom has only been studied on canines with hemangiosarcoma; there is also every possibility that it will have similar effects on other types of cancer as well, including osteosarcoma and lymphoma. Further studies are planned to confirm the results of this study and compare the results from using the mushroom to groups receiving conventional treatment.

The fraternity of loss due to canine cancer now has these two things to celebrate. The pace of research and discovery is picking up. The Morris Animal Foundation, the AKC Canine Health Foundation and many other groups are funding scientists so that by the time I reach the 10th anniversary of Girly Girl’s loss, we won’t be having this “C” word discussion about any more of our beloved companions and I’ll have to find something else to write about every October.

Retired from Racing, Not from Life*

I was browsing through Twitter, catching up on all my electronic friends’ doings when I came across a tweet from @greytfriend with a cryptic invitation to “also check out Retired from Racing, Not from Life” with a link.

It piqued my curiosity so I clicked on the link. I ended up at the online store for a company called Blurb. The site lets you create amazing books and sell them if you are so inclined. Blurb goes way beyond the typical photo books you would create at Shutterfly or Walgreen’s. I even have an account with Blurb, created almost a year ago in anticipation of designing a book celebrating Girly Girl’s life. So far I can’t bring myself to sort through the thousands of photos I am lucky to have taken of her.

It turned out that Retired from Racing, Not from Life is a book. It was created by True North Greyhounds. This book contains absolutely incredible, stunning photos and reproductions of art work about greyhounds. All of the images were donated for the project by photographers and artists around the world. A teacher of mine once said that the sign of a good photo is when you look at it, you immediately wish you had taken it. With every photo and piece of artwork I looked at in the preview, I found myself wishing I had the skills to make art and photos like these, of one of the things I love best in the world.

The sales of the book will benefit the Ohio State University Greyhound Health and Wellness Program (GHWP). This program, led by Dr. Guillermo Couto, is at the forefront of research and treatment of greyhounds. Particularly greyhounds with cancer. We first became acquainted with the program when we heard Dr. Couto speak at one of the Adoption Reunions held at the now defunct Raynham race track.

Oh so shortly after hearing him speak, we were in contact with Dr. Couto and the GHWP on behalf of my heart hound, Girly Girl who fought, and lost, her battle with osteosarcoma. Throughout that still unbelievable odyssey, GHWP reviewed Girly Girl’s x-rays, confirmed her diagnosis, offered us treatment direction and advice, referrals to specialists in our area and most importantly, gave us free chemo drugs. They covered not only her first round of chemo, but also her second round. If we hadn’t needed her third round specially compounded, they would have sent us those as well. But we weren’t special. They do this for all retired racing greyhounds, at no charge.

I’ve raved about this program, the staff and the services of the GHWP a couple times before in this blog. I don’t think I can ever sing their praises enough. Without the help they gave us I would probably have had to face the horrific possibility of having to let my heart dog go because I couldn’t afford treatment for her. The thought of that situation gives me nightmares still.

So, as I approach the first anniversary of Girly Girl’s departure, I can’t imagine a more fitting way to remember her than by buying this book in her honor, supporting OSU Greyhound Health and Wellness Program, and letting you all know about this beautiful book that allows you to give even while you are getting so much in return.


*Click on the title of this post to learn more about the book.

And Now, the Rest of the Story…

October 12th of this year ended an odyssey that began in early December of 2009. It was during that first week of December that Girly Girl and I got the initial diagnosis of osteosarcoma. I remember so well sitting on the floor with Girly Girl. She was still zonked out from the anesthesia they administered to take the x-rays. I was sobbing uncontrollably, holding her in my lap. I stayed in that exam room just holding her and crying for so long that at least three staff members walked in on me, believing that I surely must have collected myself and departed by then. But it was some time before I was able to come out of the room. Girly Girl just wanted to get the hell out of the building and into my car.

We fought for eleven long, hard months. Girly Girl taught me about amazing courage, equanimity and living to the fullest in the face of great illness and often, great pain. I frequently wondered how I would be able to live with the terrible hourglass poised over our existence at all times. There were times it drove me to complete despair. But mostly it helped me truly appreciate what it means to live in the moment. To savor each special minute we shared. It taught me to slow down and just sit in the sun for a nice long belly rub.

During that time, spending precious minutes writing blog updates simply wasn’t an option I was willing to entertain. But now that my girl has gone, telling the rest of her story seems important –if not just for my own soul, maybe also to share her brave, fighting spirit and to leave a record for anyone else who may face the agonizing choices you are forced to make when cancer enters your lives. I know it helped us to be able to learn what others had tried, done, and faced in their journey. Though most everyone’s story ended like ours, knowing what to expect and just knowing others had walked (and were walking) in our shoes made many a long night just a little shorter. If our story can help someone else make an important decision or avoid a mistake we made, then this is Girly Girl’s last gift.

At that, I resume our story where I left off in this blog. We had reached the end of Girly Girl’s chemo. She had sailed through her first round of chemo like a pro. We were discharged with an appointment to follow up in three weeks for our first set of post-chemo lung x-rays. The plan was to x-ray her lungs every three months. She also underwent an echocardiogram at discharge and was given a clean bill of health on her heart which could potentially have been damaged by the chemo drug she was on, Adriamycin (Doxyrubicin). My girl was minus all her whiskers but one stubborn hold out on her cheek. She had no eyebrows either. The chemo had made them all fall out, but by god, her heart was sound.

We arrived back for our first x-ray at three weeks out. A staff member disappeared with Girly Girl and Dr. Romansik was soon back out, asking me to come with him. I knew that this wasn’t good. There on the light box were Girly Girl’s x-rays from April and the x-rays from that days visit. Typically, there would not have been a set of April x-rays, taken during her chemo, however, on that particular day I had a very strong feeling of dread while driving to the chemo appointment. There was no outward indication that anything was wrong but I had such a strong feeling that I must have convinced Dr. Romansik. He took the unscheduled x-rays which revealed a tiny little spot on her lung. Dr. Romansik was of the opinion that it was a small tumor from the metastasized osteosarcoma. We learned, that day, about “lung mets,” what they call the tumors that almost always show up in the lungs of osteosarcoma patients eventually. The goal had been to keep them at bay for as long as possible. In my mind, that was going to be years off. We were going to beat all odds. I was devastated by the x-ray but Dr. Romansik told me to “keep my chin up.” (I would come to HATE that phrase out of his mouth.) The radiologist had to read it for the official diagnosis. I cried for the days it took to get the radiologists report back. The radiologist told us it was not a lung met but an anatomical abnormality. I wanted so badly for this to be true, I chose to believe it and I didn’t follow up any further.

I had done such a good job convincing myself that it was anatomical, when in June, her first set of x-rays post-chemo, showed a now larger lung tumor in the place where the questionable spot had been in April, I felt as if Dr. Romansik had physically punched me in the gut. Near the now larger tumor were three other smaller lung mets. I was so in shock by the news, it took me a couple days to snap out of it and decide what to do next. Whenever I looked at my heart dog, I couldn’t imagine losing her and so the decision was made to fight on. I wasn’t sure if I should put her through more chemo but she continued on living each day seemingly healthy and full of life. We made an appointment for further chemo and I worked with Ohio State University Greyhound Health Program to get Carboplatin sent for Girly Girl. OSU provides free chemo drugs for retired racers. Not only for the first round it turns out, but all subsequent rounds as well.

After the first day of the second round of chemo, Girly Girl was so anxious to get out of the office and go home, she wouldn’t even wait for me to open the backseat car door. Instead, when I first opened the front passenger side door to drop my purse and her paperwork, she leapt in past me, over the front passenger seat, coming to rest in the driver’s seat. She could not be convinced to come back out so I ended up carrying her from the driver’s side, around to the back passenger side. On that day, Mumma felt pretty bad about her decision to move forward with more chemo.

Girly Girl, being my incredible brave girl, settled back into the chemo routine and after several treatments of Carboplatin, Dr. Romansik took yet another set of x-rays. I had come to despise x-ray days and on that day at the end of July, Dr. Romansik was out too quickly, dragging me back to the light box. There, like a horrible series of family photos where everyone gets bigger every year, were April’s, June’s and July’s x-rays. In July’s x-ray you could plainly see four tumors. Formerly the size of peas in June, they were now the size of walnuts. Carboplatin was not working. There was still a Hail Mary option and we had fought so long and so hard, I knew immediately I wasn’t going to give up. We got two meds Doxycycline, an antibiotic and Cyclophasphamide, a chemo drug, specially compounded for Girly Girl at a compounding pharmacy and sent to us in the mail. When I researched the drugs later, I learned they were a modified version of what is known as the Metronomic Protocol. The actual Protocol would have included a cox-2 inhibitor in addition to the two other drugs.

Thus Girly Girl began her third round of chemo. During this time, finally, my steel core magnolia showed some signs of not feeling 100% up to par. She developed a cough that was at first, dry and unproductive but as the weeks went on, became wet and at some points was productive. Dr. Romansik told us that canines could lose up to 50% of their lung capacity and not be affected; however, I felt that in this case he was wrong and the tumors were causing her cough. As time wore on, it became quite clear that this was so.

While Girly Girl tolerated the Metronomic Protocol well, her cough continued to get worse. Soon it was affecting her activity level. She would cough when she got up from lying down. She would cough when she lay down after standing up. She would break down into coughing fits trying to “speak” to me to demand her half of the couch. She stopped running with Blue in the backyard. It reached a point every movement she made or sound she tried to make would send her into a paroxysm of coughing. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the cough also got progressively wetter. Her lungs were filling with some sort of fluid. She also constantly ran a temperature of 103 degrees.

Based on her symptoms, I feared that maybe a heart issue had been missed on her last echocardiogram. The symptoms mimicked heart issues so closely that I took Girly Girl to see our family vet, Dr. Edelbaum. She examined Girly Girl. She did blood tests and took x-rays. She listened to Girly Girl’s heart. She found her heart to be normal. The x-rays, on the other hand showed a giant mass in the center of her lungs. Either one tumor had grown to the size of a baseball or two tumors had grown together to appear as one in the x-ray. Dr. Edelbaum feared to treat Girly Girl for a heart problem given that the tests weren’t indicating she had one. I was pretty distraught about my sweet baby’s growing level of obvious discomfort. I was begging for some sort of action to give her relief. Dr. Edelbaum got us in for an appointment with Dr. Rossi, scheduled for the next afternoon. Dr. Rossi would complete an ultrasound of her heart. The only catch was we had to drive to Salem, Massachusetts from Bowdoin, Maine being that he was the closest option. But drive we did.

The ultrasound revealed a perfectly normal heart. In fact, there was a heart in there that was in great shape for all the abuse it had taken in its short life. Dr. Rossi also did an ultrasound of her abdomen but found nothing out of order there either. Finally, he suggested a lung tap to see what sort of fluid was in her lungs. It was the last thing I wanted to put her through given what she had already endured, but Dr. Rossi told me dogs tolerate it well. I knew we had to find out what the fluid was in her lungs if I had any hope of getting her some treatment so I had him go ahead with the tap. Dr. Rossi extracted fluid from her lungs and it appeared to be blood. Examination under the microscope confirmed that but we sent a sample out to a lab to be absolutely sure. The next day, the results were back from the lab, and the fluid that was filling Girly Girl’s lungs was blood.

Once we knew what the fluid was, Dr. Edelbaum gave us a Traditional Chinese Medicine to use called Yunnan Baiyao. The next day, a Friday in mid-September, we saw Dr. Romansik for our first follow up on the metronomic chemo. I explained what had happened during the week and he began calling around to get all her records. Eventually these were all faxed to him while we sat in the waiting room. He took Girly Girl and gave her a quick exam. He was soon back with her. He told me to take Girly Girl home. He said there was nothing more we could do. We had lost the fight. The blood in her lungs was due to the tumors growing and bursting blood vessels in her lungs. Her fever was also common in end stage cancer patients. It was a completely unreal moment and I had a hard time believing we would not be coming back. I did have the presence of mind to beg him for something to make her feel more comfortable. Though he said there was not much he could do, he did send us home with 20 mg of Prednisone to give her daily. He said it would give her a sense of well-being. If she was in pain, he would call in Gabapentin or Tramadol.

I cried the entire two hour drive home. I am not proud to say I drove in that condition but I just wanted to get home with my girl. We stopped at Grammy’s on the way and broke the awful news, then we went home to begin the last leg of our journey together. I started giving her the Prednisone and Yunnan Baiyao. Though Dr. Romansik said there was no point, I couldn’t give up the fight and continued to give her the Metronomic Protocol drugs. The Prednisone and Yunnan Baiyao worked a minor miracle. Girly Girl’s lungs cleared of blood. She still coughed from time to time, but it was dry. She began playing with toys again. She was running in the backyard with Blue. She was the girl we had before the tumors began to affect her lungs.

Dr. Romansik had given us a couple of days to a week at most. Girly Girl, being stubborn, and not speaking human, made it a month further. More amazingly, the Prednisone and Yunnan Baiyao gave her a very good quality of life. We were cruising along in a strange sort of limbo until the evening of Sunday October 10th. At 6:30 pm that night, one or more of her tumors pressed on, or ruptured something crucial. At that time she had been laying on the living room rug. She looked up at me strangely and struggled to her feet. She took a halting step towards me. She stood where she was a while longer staring far away. Panic set in and I called her to me. She lurched towards me slowly. From that moment on, she slid downhill quickly.

Blood filled her lungs again. She had difficulty walking any distance. It was bad enough that I was carrying her in and out for her potty breaks, fearing she would collapse on the stairs and seriously injure herself. She had trouble keeping her balance long enough to pee. At one point when I carried her back in from a potty break and set her down I noticed drops of blood on the kitchen floor. She was bleeding from her nose. There was nothing I could do for my first baby, my heart, my soul dog.

In the afternoon of Tuesday, October 12th, Dr. Edelbaum made the trip to our house. Girly Girl, Blue and I had spent the day being together and, as if to make me question everything, Girly Girl rallied a bit. My girl got belly rubs in the sun in the backyard. She got stuffed with all her favorite treats. She and I spent a lot of time just cuddling on her bed. Then, as the sun was setting, out in the backyard in Girly Girl’s favorite belly rub spot, with her beloved Grammy, Charlie and Blue by her side, she departed for the bridge from the shelter of her Mumma’s lap.

We kept Girly Girl with us overnight. I wanted Blue to have a chance to understand what had happened to her and to say goodbye in whatever way he chose to. The next morning, I took my sweet girl on her last ride to the cremation facility. We are truly blessed here in Maine to have Fluke’s Aftercare. This small business located in tiny Litchfield, Maine came to be after the proprietors had to experience the traditional method of death and dying with their cherished dog, Fluke. Not wanting to ever have anyone go through that again, they decided to give people in Maine a different option. To put respect, dignity and trust into a process that is extremely hard to deal with while you are trying to come to grips with the loss of a companion that meant so much. They are amazing people and I at least had the peace of mind that my heart dog was cared for and treated with respect. I also knew that the ashes I received back were hers. The next day, she came home in a beautifully hand carved box. Meanwhile, Blue and I have been trying to move forward with our lives that don’t include Girly Girl. He experienced grief and depression. Normally a social butterfly, Blue became withdrawn. He would wander the house whining every day for a month. He spent a lot of time lying in my lap. Don’t let anyone tell you that dogs don’t mourn.

That, as Paul Harvey used to say, is the rest of the story. I know that I will bring another greyhound into our lives at some point when I am ready. At this writing, I can’t conceive of that time yet. Blue is desperately sad and lonely and I know he needs another four legged family member to share his experiences with. The chance that Blue or this future unknown hound may take me on another cancer journey looms large in my thoughts and frankly petrifies me. Still Girly Girl changed my life so profoundly, telling her story, and our life together would not be honored if we remain a one dog household. Maybe, after all, the one person that this story will end up helping is me.

One. More or less.

One more stubborn, tough as nails, “iron core magnolia,” Alabama girl gone the way of the old south.

One less belly to rub in the sun.

One more lonely blue loofah doggie (a cherished favorite).

One less fear of doors.

One more set of knees saved from the exuberance of a Mexican jumping hound.

One less champion helicopter queen.

One more human at a loss about where to go because her human herder is missing.

One less adoring “Grammy’s Girl.”

One more snake safe in the world because the “Snake Hunter” has gone.

One less cold nose and wistful look demanding (and getting) half the couch.

One more wild strawberry patch left unmolested.

One less pair of Elizabeth Taylor eyes.

One more army of well-loved squeaky toys, now silent.

One less bed carefully arranged, rearranged, arranged again until it is perfect.

One more retired racer felled by osteosarcoma.

One less heart dog in the world.

One big empty space in MY world.

One half of my heart suddenly gone forever.

My one.

In memory of Girly Girl

2/15/2003-10/12/2010

Writer’s Block for a Bigger Purpose

It’s very funny how the creative muses mess with you. I’ve been trying for two weeks now to write something for the blog. I’ve had two or three good ideas and though I’ve tried and tried and tried writing them up, I cannot get the creative juices to flow. My muses simply refused to cooperate. So I have three pieces of lackluster, half-baked writing. When that happens, there is nothing for it but to let them sit until those accursed hags (oops, I mean my lovely muses) decide to grace me with their presence again and then I can rewrite, turning them into sparkling, witty, inspirational works of art. Sure.

In the absence of any creative inspiration, an option did present itself and slapped me in the face today. I almost didn’t pay any attention to it though it literally had me in tears. I had defined my blog fairly narrowly in my own mind. Specifically funny stories about what happened with my hounds. Well, I guess it’s already sort of morphed a bit away from that so what I’m about to do won’t be a huge departure. Maybe just in my own mind.

I was catching up on the tweets from the peeps I follow. In and amongst the many was a tweet about a greyhound quilt that had been mentioned on the Etsy blog. Being a fan of all things greyhound I had to check that out. It was a stunning quilt. So, I clicked through to the artists’ Etsy site. The quilt seemed to be a new departure for her as all her other offerings were jewelry. And I guess there really are no coincidences in life and all things happen for a reason.

The first piece of jewelry I saw, a necklace, said, “My Tripod Rocks.” It had a stylized greyhound on it and the number three. The next necklace said “Osteo sucks,” and had the stylized greyhound along with a second ring that said “Compassion, Hope, Bravery.” There was more greyhound jewelry both for hounds fighting cancer and those who had crossed the bridge. There was also jewelry for hounds that were lucky enough not to have to face an illness. All of it was beautifully made.

Just seeing that first piece made me catch my breath. One cancer dog family immediately recognizes another. I knew her story before I looked at any other part of her website. I only needed to see the photo of the tripod necklace. And indeed when I read her story, she had lost a beloved hound to osteosarcoma in January of 2010. The amazing heroes at OSU had fought with her to save her boy. A large percentage of the sales from the jewelry are going to the OSU Greyhound Health program in memory of her special boy and in recognition of the incredibly special work they do there.

While all of our money currently goes towards chemo treatments, medications and veterinary visits I realized there was a way I could help even if I wasn’t in a position to go on a shopping spree. I could spread the word about this artist’s special jewelry with a purpose. In the interest of full disclosure, I get nothing from this but the hope that some more money ends up at the OSU Greyhound Health program. In fact, the artist does not know about this blog entry and doesn’t even know who I am. But I think she is doing a wonderful thing and being the mum of a sweet girl with osteosarcoma, I can vouch for the fact that it does indeed suck. I am thankful there are people out there like this woman who channeled her sadness into action to help me and my girl and all of us. I hope you’ll take a look at her site.

Beth Wade's Etsy Site
 
Beth Wade's Website

The Forest for the Trees

You should keep a “cancer log” for your dog. This was one of the many pieces of excellent advice that I read in the book “Help Your Dog Fight Cancer” by Laurie Kaplan. Since I tend to have difficulty remembering what happened yesterday, this seemed like a very good idea. I started to keep a log for Girly Girl on the day I read about it in the book.

Girly Girl ate her breakfast, or she didn’t eat her breakfast. Or she finally ate it at noon. She refused to eat yogurt anymore when she always used to love it. She stopped eating her pills and supplements mixed in with her food. She would only eat them with cheese. She won’t eat her pills and supplements with cheese anymore, she’ll only eat them with cream cheese. She won’t eat dinner. She ate dinner but not until after 10 pm. She will only eat dinner if it has baby food mixed in. She will only eat food if I feed it to her.

Girly Girl’s doctor visits are noted. She had chemo. She went to see Dr. Edelbaum our family vet because she just wasn’t feeling very well between chemo treatments. She went for blood tests because there was concern the chemo drugs were lowering her white blood cell count. She was seen by the emergency vets. She had an echocardiogram because the chemo drugs cause heart damage.

The myriad of supplements and medications that we stuff twice a day into my little 54 pound peg-legger are all listed in our log. There are the medications that Dr. Romansik prescribed for her for nausea and diarrhea after the first chemo. These unfortunately did not work. He gave us Sulfasalazin for the diarrhea and Cerenia for the nausea after the second chemo and these worked much better. In addition she also gets marshmallow root, slippery elm, aloe vera juice, L-arginine, Denosyl, Joint 3 (glucosamine, chondroitin and hyaluronic acid), Bone Stasis and a probiotics-enzyme powder blend.

All food choices must be logged. As a cancer dog Girly Girl eats a high protein, low carb diet. Cool proteins only (duck, turkey, and rabbit). When she does eat carbs I try to ensure that they are complex carbs. Finding crunchy treats that are lower in carbs can be a real challenge and we’ve logged a whole bunch of attempts. The furry kids have always had extras mixed in to their dry food. We log all of these and we’ve had to make some changes there as well. With chemo, Girly Girl’s tastes have changed. What she will and won’t eat gets noted for future reference.

We also write down all the real fun stuff like the times she vomited on my arm while I was comforting her and later on my leg. We also note every days poop status. Poop has become very important in our life. Within 24 hours of a chemo treatment Girly Girl begins full on diarrhea. She never recovers normal poop status before the next treatment even with medication. The trick is to make sure that she stays hydrated. The trick is also how many different ways you can describe the consistency of poop. Salad shooter, mashed potato, soft serve… I don’t mean to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities but this is life with cancer.

Every day I write all these things down. After awhile you get very caught up in these details. Was her poop this morning soft serve or was it more firm than that? Did I remember to give her the Denosyl? I have to remember to log in that we changed food yesterday from Nature’s Variety to Blue Buffalo. But I also note the occasional victory (she played with a toy for the first time since surgery today, she tried the basement stairs today, she ran today, she’s jumping up on the couch with me again, she did a helicopter today!).

While I was busy thinking about poop and food and vomit and supplements and when the next chemo treatment was, I failed to see the proverbial forest for the trees. There, in my log, day by day. All those small victories. They added up. When I finally stopped writing and took a good look at Girly Girl, really watched her. When I stopped thinking about cancer and just thought about my sweet, heart dog. I realized she was back. She was on three legs, but she was truly back. My joyous, squeaky mad, midair toy catching, helicopter doing, roaching (almost), cleaning her bowl, running, jumping, sniffing, demanding to share the couch, loving, girl had snuck back in. Welcome home baby girl! Settle in and stay a good long while.

A Milestone Reached

Girly Girl has been very busy of late. She’s been learning to walk on three legs (and run on three legs, and pee while balancing on three legs, and hop up into the car with three legs, and…well, you get the idea). She’s also been visiting a lot of doctors. Surgeons, oncologists, radiologists, family vets, emergency medical personnel, orthopedists and on and on. 

She’s filled her days with chemotherapy. Adriamycin (Doxorubicin) which can be cardio-toxic and so she has also had an echocardiogram as well as blood tests with each visit and some times in between visits. The chemo causes her side effects (this happens in only 10% of dogs-oops). So Girly Girl spends much of her time between chemo visits dealing with nausea and diarrhea. She also has a pretty extensive regimen of a special high protein diet and a long list of supplements including Traditional Chinese Medicine formulas.

When she’s not doing any of these thing her mumma has been trying to get her back to some semblance of a normal life. In addition to visits to Grammy, whom Girly Girl adores, mumma has dragged Girly Girl to greyhound meet and greets where she has reconnected with all her favorite humans in our MGPS family. She also recently went on a week long business trip with mumma to Plattsburgh. This was a trip she used to make regularly “before.” She has been handling the return to regular activity like a pro.

With such a busy calendar it almost got lost in the shuffle. Daily life dealing with the “Big C” word can suck up all your time and energy. Focusing on the minutiae of serious disease has a way of excluding everything else. So much so that you lose sight of what is really important. This is why a big milestone almost got by unnoticed and under-celebrated. You see, Girly Girl turned seven years old on Monday February 15th while we were in Plattsburgh on our business trip. In December, I wasn’t sure we’d have any more birthdays together at all. Happy Birthday my sweet girl.

Better Living Through Chemicals?

So it seems a lot of people struggle with the decision to amputate. Being the frail, vain, two-legged creatures that we are, it seems we are unable to wrap our minds around the possibility that our greyhound companions will be far better off rid of a leg that is causing them great pain and is harboring the means for their destruction. We’re also, apparently, pretty concerned about how all the other dogs will look at them down at the dog park. If you research amputation on the internet, you can find all sorts of articles that address whether or not to amputate, the vanity concerns, and the mobility concerns. They assure you the dog will get around just fine and all the other dogs don’t care what your dog looks like whether with four legs or three.


Your surgeon is also very well equipped to address any concerns you may have about amputating. And he or she can explain to you the healing process. But unless you get a surgeon who has actually had a pet whose leg was amputated, they don’t know what really happens once you take your hound out the doors of the hospital.

I searched the internet and could find only one blog posting from a woman whose greyhound underwent amputation that actually addressed what to expect after the amputation. She went through what it was like and what to expect. Though she doesn’t go into as much detail as I might like, I have been clinging to this article as if it were a lifeline. You see, there are so many things they don’t tell you about amputation before you decide to do it, or after it’s done and you’re driving your beloved companion home. Getting a sling to assist with mobility at first and being careful of infection is really just the beginning.

First there are the medications. They can have strange side effects that aren’t obviously side effects. My previously normal hound became strangely zoned out. She suddenly began panting all the time. A formerly dry mouthed hound is now a copious drooler.

My “eat anything” hound won’t eat things that she would have turned herself inside out for before. She refused to eat breakfast at breakfast time, but is happy to eat it at lunchtime. She previously had no problem eating her supplements with her meal but now absolutely refuses to touch them. I must resort to wrapping them in cheese to get them in her. Some nights dinner is ok, some nights dinner isn’t interesting. Sometimes it’s good served at 6p and sometimes it won’t be touched a minute before 7:30p.

She will look for the missing leg. At times when she would typically use it or when she is walking she may stop and suddenly look down to where the leg would normally be. Sometimes she looks a number of times as if she doesn’t believe what her eyes are telling her. No, it must be there. It always used to be there.

Some days she will sit and just stare at me. For hours. I have to wonder what is going through her head at those times. Is she thinking loving thoughts or cursing the very second I saw her at the rescue kennel?

She will frequently move wrong or sleep on the incision side, or sometimes for no apparent reason at all will let out a horrible shriek of pain. And just as frequently she will just whimper to herself in pain. Both of these are heartbreaking and make you question your decision over and over again.

Then there is the depression. It is the only way I can describe it. After a particularly pain filled day for her, she went into a funk that had all the appearances of depression and there she has stayed for a number of days. She has stopped trying to be mobile except when absolutely necessary. She sleeps most of the time. She doesn’t engage with me or her brother Blue. She eats when coaxed. Only recently has she started to come out of it.

My girl, who used to live for her squeaky toys hasn’t even acknowledged one since coming home. Won’t touch one, won’t look at one. She also lived for belly rubs and has asked for these only twice since coming home. Essentially the hound that came home from the hospital is completely different from the steel core magnolia that I dropped off last Wednesday.

They don’t tell you to expect an alien coming home in place of your heart dog when you make the decision to do this surgery. They’re just worried that you’ll be shocked by the sight of the incision and the fact that she now has three legs. And other than the one blog article, there is no guidance on the internet either. No roadmap for the stuff they don’t tell you. I do, of course, know that my sweet girl will return to me at some point when we get through the healing process (at least I hope so!). But I frankly have no idea when, or how. I don’t know how long this should take. I know I’m not the first person to go through this but no one else seems to have written about it before.

Thus we continue to muddle through the healing period. Bowdoin’s newest tri-pawd is sleeping and releasing noxious gasses (did I mention that’s another great side effect-completely screwed up bowel flora). In another week we’ll get the staples out of Franken-dog. In the meantime I’ll be looking up the prices for doggy Prozac.

Without a Leg to Stand On

How do you say “Bon Voyage” to a leg? After much back and forth, countless tears and gray hairs on my part and I’m certain some number of years off my life; Girly Girl’s fate has finally been determined.


The good doctors and pathologists put their knowledgeable and specialized heads together to determine that Girly Girl does, in fact, have osteosarcoma.

Through two months of scans, x-rays, blood tests, consults, biopsies, aspirations, ultrasounds, more consults and pathology smears we went from osteosarcoma to bone cyst to osteosarcoma, back to bone cyst, to cancer of some unspecified type, back to bone cyst, then to hemangiosarcoma or osteosarcoma and finally settling on osteosarcoma. This was, as you might imagine, a bit of a rollercoaster ride in just about every sense of the word.

Ironically, as a result of this crazy ride, I was never so happy to hear that Girly Girl actually had osteosarcoma as when Dr. Pastor called us last night with the final diagnosis. Since hemangiosarcoma is so much more aggressive and has so few treatment options, we were far better off if she had osteosarcoma. I never could have imagined sending out an email to friends and family with the subject line “It’s Osteosarcoma!!!!” Just like I was announcing the birth of a child. When I first stood in Dr. Edelbaum’s office during the first week of December looking at the tumor on Girly Girl’s x-ray and first heard the diagnosis of osteosarcoma, I thought the world had ended. Back then I cried for days and days. From there to actually being grateful for osteosarcoma? Who knew?

For those who may not know, the standard course of treatment for osteosarcoma in greyhounds if it has not already metastasized is to amputate the leg. After that you go through a course of chemotherapy. So without further delay I scheduled Girly Girl’s surgery with Dr. Pastor. We go tomorrow. Once you get a final diagnosis, there is no more messing around.

Now that it is scheduled, suddenly, I had to take a real hard look at the fact I was preparing to hand over my heart dog, the furry love of my life, so that they can sever what appears, on the outside, to be a perfectly good leg. Up to the time it decided to give quarter to a deadly invader, it was a great leg. We liked it. It definitely served its purpose. Until it turned traitor, it had never been lame, never faltered. It has a lovely paw with pads that smell like corn chips. It is her dominant leg. When she performs her “Human Whisperer” trick that is the leg she uses. I don’t think she’ll be able to perform that trick anymore once the leg is gone.

So on the eve before the surgery it became important to mumma to celebrate her leg. It had been a good friend for most of her 6 years and we were facing a difficult procedure and recovery to be parted from it. How to say goodbye to a leg? Well, we kicked off the evening with a happy hour. We had appetizing treats. Blue, Girly Girl and I enjoyed time together. I got out the video camera and for the last time Girly Girl performed her “Human Whisperer” trick for the camera. I had never thought to capture it on film before. Funny how that is. We have performed the trick on stage together during the Pet Idol contest at the Adoption Expo at the Raynham-Taunton Greyhound Track in Massachusetts before. But I had never put it on film. It seemed important to memorialize it as Girly Girl ran through it a last few times.

We followed our happy hour with a special dinner including Girly Girl and Blue’s favorite canned food. Girly Girl got an extra portion since it’s likely she won’t be eating again for a few days and even then she won’t have a big appetite. We spent the rest of the evening cuddling together on the couch where mumma said her goodbyes to the offending leg. I wondered what they would do with the poor leg once it was no longer part of Girly Girl. But then I decided I probably didn’t really want to know the answer to that. The leg still has the staples in it from the bone cyst procedure. They probably won’t even bother to remove those. This poor leg has been through quite a bit already and will soon meet an inglorious end.

The fact that Girly Girl will be a three-legged dog makes no difference to me. She will be as beautiful to me with three legs as with four. She could have two legs, or one eye, or no ears and it would make no difference to me. The piece I struggle with is making such a life altering decision for her without any idea if this is what she would want. It is very hard to know what she is about to go through and wondering if she would think it is worth it. If she would sanction it should she have a voice in the matter? These are decisions I never envisioned having to make as a greyhound caretaker though we all know cancer is a real possibility when we sign on. I wonder if the decision I am making now, to put Girly Girl through this, will leave me in her eyes, without a leg to stand on.

We Have Cancer

She has osteosarcoma. That is the scariest and loneliest thing I have ever been told. Girly Girl is now facing a terrible disease with an end game that is, at best, dismal. We have cancer. Except it didn’t take me very long to learn that we were anything but alone. And that it wasn’t just Girly Girl, Blue and I who were facing this. There were so many resources out there just waiting to lend us their knowledge, strength, shoulders, ears, experience, hugs, encouragement and support. In the darkest moments, when things seemed most hopeless, so many heroes have appeared and pointed the way.


Family: Grammy and Charlie provided a safe haven for Blue when I had to take Girly Girl to appointments and procedures. They took care of Girly Girl with the tenderest care in order to allow mumma some time off with friends every now and again. They spoiled both Blue and Girly Girl. They understood how Blue and Girly Girl are my children. They let me cry and cried with me.

Friends: They also understood that Blue and Girly Girl are my children and never once behaved any differently. They checked on me and Girly Girl constantly and let me know they were there for me, whatever I needed. They let me cry and cried with me.

My Meet and Greet Family: They formed a tight circle around Girly Girl, Blue and I. They checked on us daily and sent us encouraging and supporting emails. They offered their service, their knowledge, their resources and even offered to pool funds to help us pay for Girly Girl’s treatment. They let me cry and they cried with me.

My Facebook and Twitter Friends: They offered their support and encouragement. Many offered their experience which was invaluable in figuring out what to do and what not to do next.

Work: My bosses (who I am also blessed to have had as friends before they became my bosses) also miraculously understand that Girly Girl and Blue are my children and have allowed me the time I’ve needed to bring Girly Girl to her appointments and procedures. They never hesitated once. From the minute I told them of the diagnosis, they told me to take the time I needed and to do what I needed to do and they are still telling me the same thing.

The Animal House: Our favorite pet supply store. Aubrey and Dan Martin who own and operate this store believe in a holistic approach to pet care. We have considered them friends and mentors ever since we met them. They have provided us with all their knowledge regarding nutrition and supplements for cancer patients as well as their experience and support.

Help Your Dog Fight Cancer: A book recommended by Aubrey at The Animal House. This was written by Laurie Kaplan. It was the only book we could find on the subject and turned out to be a wonderful resource. It wasn’t osteosarcoma specific but well worth the read nonetheless.

Grey Talk: A group of greyhound fanatics who have found a home on the web. There are all sorts of forums in this community including Greyhound Health. The people in this community are, without a doubt, unsung heroes. Anyone posting a thread about their hound’s health issue can count on immediate feedback with support and shared experience. They are there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You are NEVER alone.

Dr. Laura Edelbaum: Our family vet. We love her. She is allopathic but has an interest in Traditional Chinese Medicine and has a working knowledge of supplements as well. When we first went to her regarding Girly Girl’s limp, she felt it was orthopedic given the signs. But she was willing to consider my concerns and set up the x-rays that revealed the tumor earlier than we may have otherwise discovered it.

Dr. Guillermo Couto: We had heard Dr. Couto speak at the Raynham Adoption Expo so we knew to reach out to him, but even if we had not, so many people in the greater greyhound community directed us towards him, it would have been hard not to end up at his doorstep. This is another unsung hero. Here is a doctor who heads a very busy Greyhound Health and Wellness Program at Ohio State University. He spends time volunteering at a greyhound rescue clinic in Spain, he does research and he is willing to consult, for free, on the cancer cases of retired racing greyhounds. He responded to our numerous emails quickly, even when he was out on vacation. Not only that, he took the time to give us some words of encouragement and support along the way.

Dr. Erin Romansik, NEVOG: When our local surgeons were unwilling to work with us regarding my wishes for Girly Girl’s care and were unwilling to even speak with Dr. Couto’s colleagues at OSU, we were at a loss as to where to go next. There weren’t a lot of options here in Maine. Dr. Couto suggested the New England Veterinary Oncology Group in Waltham MA. We saw Dr. Erin Romansik and he was wonderful. When the Fine Needle Aspirate he attempted was unsuccessful, he worked with us on the next step.

Dr. Karen Pastor, Massachusetts Veterinary Referral Hospital: Dr. Romansik referred us to Dr. Pastor and we were again in very good hands. Dr. Pastor, a surgeon, consulted with us about doing a biopsy but in the end, after a day spent there, we ended up doing a different procedure. We now await the pathology results and the next steps. Not only did Dr. Pastor make it clear she cared about Girly Girl but when she learned that Girly Girl is my heart dog, she took time to show me a photo of her “soul mate dog.” A beautiful, giant, harlequin Great Dane. The 5x7 photo sits framed on the counter in the examining room among the many photos from her patients.

So though sometimes it feels pretty lonely, with a team of heroes like this behind us, we’ll continue to fight. You see “we” have cancer.

Dem Bones...Dem Bones...

I may have mentioned that in preparation for my greyhound parenthood I bought and read every book about greyhounds that I could find. This bordered on the fanatical. OK, so it crossed the line into the fanatical.


So when Girly Girl came home I had a pretty good store of book learnin’ from which to draw. That isn’t to say I didn’t make mistakes. Plenty. I have $2000 worth of damage to my bathroom from the time I “felt bad” and decided to put Girly Girl in the bathroom instead of her crate. All the books said don’t do this. Your greyhound will feel safe in her crate but will feel anxious in a larger space such as enclosed room. Eh, what could they know about MY specific dog? What could they know about Girly Girl. She’s a steel core, brave, feisty little tiger. It turns out, they knew a lot.

I continued collecting and reading books. I broadened my subject matter. I got books on canine allergies, vaccinations, raw diets, behavior and body language, health and cancer. By the time I brought my second greyhound, Blue, home, I knew a whole lot more. And even still, I have many, many more books waiting to be read.

All this knowledge can be a great thing. It saves you a lot of time and trouble and heartache (when you pay attention to it). It can also be a double edged sword. Every time your hound gets a sneeze or a belly issue, or a hiccup, you imagine all sorts of horrible diseases because you’ve read all about the terrible things that can befall your beloved greyhound

I’ve been through blood tests with Girly Girl for a non-existent flu. I went through serious emotional distress and blood tests, an abdominal ultrasound and various tick panels for an as yet undiagnosed digestive tract malady with Blue that disappeared as mysteriously as it came but which had me, and the vet fearing liver disease by it’s symptoms. Don’t ask me about the bills for these excursions.

So when Girly Girl started limping in early December, all my reading immediately put me on high alert. Greyhound. Limp. Must be cancer. Most normal people would, of course, assume their dog pulled a muscle and, when it didn’t heal, take the dog to the vet. Unfortunately, when you’re a greyhound owner who’s done any reading at all on the breed, you know that one in three racing greyhounds will get cancer. And that the cancer generally manifests itself as osteosarcoma of a long bone, generally the leg. You also know that one of the first visible symptoms, if you get any warning before a broken leg, is an unexplained limp. So see? Knowledge = Double Edged Sword.

When Girly Girl’s limp did not seem to resolve, off we went to the vet. We love our vet and Dr. Edelbaum poked and prodded her. She asked me a lot of questions. She took Girly Girl’s temperature about which GG was quite indignant. Based on the lack of any symptoms otherwise, Dr. Edelbaum felt she had an orthopedic problem. Since we have such a great relationship with Dr. Edelbaum, she was willing to entertain my concern about cancer and since I was the one writing the checks she agreed to schedule an appointment for x-rays.

A couple days later I dropped my sweet girl off for her x-rays early in the morning. Since they would anesthetize her this involved preparation. She could have no food after 8pm the night before. That meant no “night-night” snack. That did not go over well. It also meant no breakfast or water in the morning. When I had to leave her with the technician she tried to turn and follow me back out. The look she gave me made me turn and leave quickly before I broke into tears in the vets lobby.

I sat on pins and needles all morning since this was the first time since she had come to live with me that she was going to be under anesthesia. I had an appointment to pick her up at 4:30p and to discuss the results of the x-rays with Dr. Edelbaum. Just after lunchtime I got an unexpected call from Dr. Edelbaum. Initially I was in a panic fearing something had gone wrong while she was under sedation. While I was busy worrying about that, Dr. Edelbaum just dropped the bomb on me. There was a lesion on Girly Girl’s left elbow. It appears to be a tumor, suspected osteosarcoma. The dog of my heart, the furry love of my life has cancer on her elbow. Congratulations. My instincts were right.

Now my vet wasn’t as unfeeling as all that, but honestly I heard cancer, elbow, instincts were right and early. Beyond that I know she was talking but I have no idea what she said. She made me write down a number and reading it later I saw that I had written the word biopsy next to it. When I called the number, it was for a veterinary referral service, or so they said. When I told them what I wanted, they set us up for an appointment for the next week.

I spent the rest of the afternoon desperate to see my sweet baby girl again. I must have called Dr. Edelbaum’s office five or six times in hopes of picking her up early. In the end they did not let me do that. I also spent the time crying and thinking about all the things we wouldn’t have together. How unfair it all was. How much she didn’t deserve this after all she’d been through in her short life. I wondered how I would ever pull myself together to do whatever it was that we must do next.

Oh dem bones. We think so little about them until we have to and then they’re all we think about. Say a little prayer for Girly Girl if you are a praying person. Consider reading a book or two because while knowledge can be a double edged sword, the alternative is most certainly worse.