Month: October 2009

The Ultrasound

Monday, I took Mercy’s sutures out of her incision from the mass removal 2 weeks ago.  That felt like an effort in futility – removing sutures from a leg that’s coming off in, now, less than a week.  For whatever reason, it just felt like the routine thing to do, so I did it anyway.  This incision is healing well.  Much better than the last one.  Also, got back the results of her radiology consult for her chest xrays, no pulmonary mets! Hooray for little steps!  Tuesday, her new shirts came in the mail.  One is a pink one with, what seems to have become out motto for the moment, “Cancer took my leg, not my life”.  The other, a gray one with “Cancer Survivor”.  Tuesday also brought a cold front down from Alaska and the beginning of some incredibly cold weather for a little spoiled shorthair dog, so we broke out the winter clothing a little early this year.  Walking around the block in her snazzy hot pink coat and her halloween bandanna definitely gets some looks.  Today, we had another visit to the vets office, so what better way to show up so close to halloween than in a witch costume!  Mercy looks so cute in her hat and dress.  She had to take it off quickly, though, to begin her examination and sedation prior to her ultrasound.  For the ultrasound, we had to shave halfway up her sides, all of her abdomen, and a spot on her left shoulder.  In addition to her left front leg from the mass removals, and the shaved spot on her right front leg from the IV catheters, she’s looking a little risque!  At 1pm, the doctor came with the ultrasound equipment, he came down from Tucson, 1.5 hours away to see her.  The results of the ultrasound were… not bad, but not good.  There is nothing that seemed to alarm either of the doctors, or prevent us from continuing with the amputation next week, but there were a few “oddities”.  She had a small lesion on her spleen, which they believe may be normal geriatric changes.  She also had a very odd round cystic “thing” not attached to any of her organs, just *there* near her kidney.  Neither of the vets knew what it was.  Everything else looked okay, which is good.  We’ll be repeating her ultrasound in 3 months to check to see what’s going on with what we did find.  The visiting vet wasn’t able to palpate or locate her prescapular lymph node with ultrasound, so we weren’t able to send a sample in to check for metastasis.  Chances are, since noone is able to find it, there’s nothing to worry about; however, we’re going to see if we can find it during the surgery and remove it to err on the side of caution.  After the ultrasound, we wiped as much of the ultrasound “goo” off of her as possible (I can’t stand that stuff!) and I took her home.  We’ll be wearing shirts regularly for awhile now!  Between the cold front, not having any fur, and soon losing a leg, it’s regular shirts for awhile.  So now we’re curled up on the couch with a faux mink blanket, some mac’n’cheese and some B horror movies courtesy of the upcoming holiday.  Mercy is still recovering from the sedation.  Oh, how she hates sedation, but at least she’s sleeping now.  Also, just received her new ruff-wear harness in the mail.  We’ll be sizing that correctly tomorrow when she’s not so wobbly.  We’ll also be getting a bath tomorrow to get all the residual “goo” off, and to make sure she’s ready for her surgery next Wednesday.  Saturday will hopefully be a halloween costume contest for the dogs, then rest for a few days… at least for Mercy.  Wednesday will come to soon for me, and yet not soon enough.  As much as I’m not looking forward to the amputation, it’s going to come, and I’ll be glad when it’s over and we can recover together.

Wednesday, here we come…

The little things…

When you’re a high anxiety person like myself, it’s the nights that get rough, when the sleep just doesn’t come because your mind just won’t stop racing.  Of course, as of late, the racing thoughts have all been Mercy.  Thoughts about what we’re losing, what we’re gaining.  The worries.

Once I made the decision to go for the amputation, I’ve taken a LOT of pictures of my girly with her 4 legs.  In doing so, it reminds me of the little things she does that she won’t be able to do, or will have difficulty doing now.

I’ll miss the way she has always “spazzed” and “crawled” when excited, moving her front paws in ways that are hard to describe.  Without both paws, this probably won’t be possible.

I’ll miss playing with her with her favourite toy (or my hand) under the blankets, watching her dig them out.

Watching her dig to make her bed before laying down.

Watching her play with and/or discipline the cats.  I could never get to them fast enough when they were being naughty, and she learned when she was allowed to go tell them off.  She never hurt them, but she sure gave them what-for.  I’m afraid she won’t be able to keep up anymore.

Watching her wash her eyes.  Like a cat, she would lick her paws and wipe at her eyes to keep them clean.  I won’t see that anymore.

Balancing and laying on the back of the couch.  She’s always done this.  It’s her favourite perch to sleep on.  I’m afraid she won’t have the necessary footing and balance to do this anymore.

I’m going to miss so much, all the little things I took for granted before.  I keep trying to convince myself that we’ll gain new little “perks” when she turns this new page in her life… but I can’t help but feel sorrow for what will be lost.

The worst part about the late hours, when my friends, family, even Mercy is asleep, is the miserable thoughts of what could go wrong.  Knowing how horrible and disoriented she gets after anesthesia.  More than many of the other patients I see.  Hoping the pain management will be enough to help her stay comfortable.  Being afraid to touch the surgery site.  Being unsure how she’ll respond to having a leg, and shortly thereafter, being without it.  I’m afraid for the first wobbly steps, or the first time she wipes out.  As a surgery tech, I haven’t decided yet whether to be there for her recovery, like usual.  After her mass removals, I’ve held her until she was ready to go.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to watch her with the confusion of the anesthesia, and the confusion of the amputation.  It’s going to make me cry regardless, and just thinking of the ifs, and the images, and all my worries make my stomach turn.  Which makes me feel ridiculous, since I’m a vet tech and should be stronger for this, and with all the condescending “it’s just a dog” that gets tossed around.  She’s my baby.  My coworkers keep reminding me that it’s going to be harder on me than it is on her, and I hope that’s true.

Unfortunately, the things that go bump in the night aren’t always kind.  I wish it wasn’t 2 weeks away.  I wish it was time for us both to be done with the operation and on the road to recovery.  It’s still all surreal to me. 9.5 years ago, I would never have believed that the adorable little puppy would become this strong, awesome, senior tripawd.  After her surgery, I hope to inspire our clients whose pets are diagnosed with cancer.  Like Baby, a chihuahua whose owners are on a fixed income and struggling with trying to treat their dogs cancer with limited means.  They’re concerned with amputation, and I’m hoping that Mercy will be able to show them, and others, that it truly is better to hop on 3 legs than limp on four.

In the meantime, the milestones Mercy and I have to wait for are,

NLT 10.26.2009 (hopefully) should have the radiology report back confirming there are no pulmonary mets.

10.28.2009 Sutures out from her last mass removal surgery.

10.29.2009 Abdominal ultrasound and ultrasound-guided aspirate of her prescapular lymph node.

11.03.2009 Fentanyl Patch placement.  Hopefully should already have the results about whether there has been any metastasis to the lymph node and whether we need to take that too.

11.04.2009 Amputation.

I’m also working on supplies that might make it easier for her after her surgery.  She already has an e-collar from her mass removals, and is using her soft-sided travel crate so she’s less likely to get hung up or bump herself too hard.  She already has shirts available, and more on the way.  Not that they’re necessary, but why not?  I’m going to measure her and order her the recommended Ruff Wear harness.  I’ll be setting my bed up on the floor so that she’s comfortable and I don’t have to worry about her trying to get up and down the bed.  Over the next couple weeks I’ll be trying to think of other things to make the transition more comfortable for both of us, does anyone have any recommendations?

About us!

I’m just going to borrow my first real blog post from the About section I just typed up, because it’s a good place to start.

Hello! I’m Ashley, Mercy’s mom, and I’ll be writing on behalf of her… as a result of her lack of opposable thumbs. And of course she’s too busy running around like a mad woman and sleeping to do it herself. A little about myself, I’m a 24 year old veterinary technician, mostly specializing in surgery. I spent majority of my time at work, studying for work-related things, spending time with my own furkids, and playing around online. In addition to Mercy, I have a 3 year old domestic longhair tuxedo cat named Mouse, and a 6 year old domestic longhair tuxedo cat named Tippin. We aren’t here to talk about the cats, though.

Mercy is a miniature pinscher (though slightly large, so we call her a maxi-pin), born March 12th, 2000. Her cancer story starts in November, 2008 when we found the first lump on her left front leg. We started with a fine needle aspirate to take a sample of cells to send to the lab, which came back as nothing. By December, she was undergoing surgery to debulk the mass (due to the location, it was impossible to get good margins) and send it in for a biopsy to the lab. It came back as a grade I Fibrosarcoma. Next came leg radiographs, chest radiographs, and a visit to the oncologist. The oncologist said the only options were radiation therapy, or amputation since there was no way to get clean margins. They strongly recommended radiation therapy; however, it would cost close to $10k, I would lose Mercy for 3 months since she’d pretty much have to live in the clinic 1.5 hours away. She’d have to be anesthetized daily (and she feels so horrible after anesthesia) and have an open wound for the duration, with only a 75% success rate after 3 years. Which admittedly is a fairly good prognosis, but the cost would be extravagant to me, and I didn’t feel it would be an ideal situation for my babygirl. The other option was amputation, but we were told that due to the low metastasis rate, we should hold off until the tumor returned first. Then began the bloodwork and radiographs every 3 months, and the monitoring her leg every day. She did a lot of limping that year. We were told it could be tumor remnants causing it, or tightening of the incision from the surgery causing it, or the dissolvable sutures. The incision took forever to heal, which was most likely a result of the tumor tissue. By September 2009, the limping was worsening, for no known reason, and during an in depth exam at the clinic, I noticed another lump, further down her leg. Once we found that lump, her limping stopped. Apparently it was her way of telling us something else was wrong. The process began again. First, the needle aspirate, again with no conclusive results. Then the surgical debulking, again unable to get clean margins, and the tumor was infiltrating surrounding nerves. The conclusion this time? A grade II mast cell tumor. A call back into the oncologist gave the same results, only this time the prognosis was slightly worse, due to the grade and nature of the tumor. Again, unable to do the radiation on the first tumor, let alone the second tumor, we’ve opted for amputation. Two types of cancer in one leg is enough. It’s time to sacrifice the leg to save the life. After all, dogs are born with 3 legs and a spare.

This starts the beginning of a new chapter. We’ve taken 3 view chest radiographs, which on initial inspection look normal, and have been sent to a radiologist for further examination. All of her bloodwork came back relatively normal for her age. She’s scheduled for an abdominal ultrasound October 29th, with an ultrasound-guided biopsy of her lymph node to check for metastasis. Then November 4th is the date when my Mercy becomes a tripawd. Even being a vet tech doesn’t make it easier – in fact, sometimes it’s more difficult. It’s one of the situations where I’d rather be an owner than a vet tech.

In any case, I’m very excited to come across this website today, and hope to keep an updated blog on Mercy’s progress… if only to keep my mind preoccupied so I don’t go (more) insane. Please feel free to ask questions, leave comments, what have ya!

Thank you!

Ashley and Mercy