Month: February 2010

Just a little note for now. Life and other things have gotten in the way of posting in the last while.

Catie’s first round of chemo was spectacularly uneventful. She went to the clinic; she visited with the other patients and the staff; she had her treatment; she visited some more; and she came home.

Two nights later, at 3:00 AM, I was awakened by the sound of a dog trying to retch. “Here we go,” I thought (ever the optimist), and leapt out of bed with a cry: “Catie!”

The dog retching by the door of the bedroom – what turned out to be an undigested but unrecognizable piece of something – was Riley.

The dog sitting upright and non-retching on the other side of the room was Catie. Obviously startled by my early morning outburst she wore an expression that without a doubt said: “What??? What?????”

I cleaned up Riley’s bit of mess, assured him that moral support didn’t mean he had to throw up for Catie, gave them each a cookie and went back to bed.

Her second chemo treatment is next week.

No regrets.

Riley and I have been doing some summertime dreaming while we wait for Catie to return from her first round of chemo. We seem to be doing this a lot – waiting for Catie. My husband will bring her home on his way home from work (he works afternoons; I work days). When he headed out the door earlier, Riley was distressed at being left behind (“freaked out” were the actual words my husband used).

Riley doesn’t like change. He’s obsessive about his need for routine. Trips to the park are to be scheduled at the same time, every day. Bitter cold mornings are not to be used as excuses for delayed departures. Meals are to be at 6:00 AM and 5:00 PM; the same kibble is totally fine; a little more in quantity than usual is appreciated. He’s the first one to head upstairs to bed; 9:30 is delightful – any time past 10:00 PM confounds his patience and he spends a great deal of energy running up the stairs and down again to remind us of bedtime. Biscuits – for the most part to be given liberally, at any time – are absolutely expected if anyone says, “good boy.”

Most importantly, under no circumstances whatsoever – Catie is NOT supposed to go anywhere without him going too.

He was overwhelmed with joy and relief when I came through the door.

I don’t like change either. It’s why I’ve lived in the same house for over 15 years and stayed at the same job for 20. There’s a comfort in the familiarity of my surroundings even though it’s all somewhat of an illusion anyways because, although I’ve stayed here, life has changed and marched on despite my resistance. My children have grown and are making lives of their own. I’ve gotten older.

And Catie has cancer.

Riley and I have decided that we hate this disease. To pass the time and cheer ourselves up from a passing moment of gloom, we’ve been listening to peppy pop music (it is true: Riley likes Madonna and Lady Gaga) and looking at summertime pictures and we can barely wait to have more of them. Rick and I will drag out the plastic pool this summer and Catie and Riley will splash and play like they do every year.

Riley:

Catie:

My husband just phoned. Catie’s treatment went well and she was enthusiastically socializing with the staff and other clinic visitors. The vet said if we wanted, Riley could come and spend the day during her next treatment to give her moral support.

Riley and I have decided that summer will come in its sweet time. For now, these moments are quite enough.

I dreamed of Clint Eastwood last night. Not that I’ve ever been particularly enamoured by him but just before bed last night, Catie, Riley and I caught the first bit of a movie called “Space Cowboys” with Eastwood, Tommy Lee Jones and James Garner.

Brutal.

Riley couldn’t even stay in the room; Catie only remained because she was ensconced on the couch beside me and a bad movie wasn’t enough to move her.

The movie did result in an addition to my growing list of life’s unanswered curiosities (like: what DOES the tooth fairy do with all the teeth and do I really want to know?; and WHEN exactly did children’s strollers become the size of Smart cars?) … what I’d like to know now in all seriousness is whether all men’s waistlines advance higher to their arm pits as they age or did Clint just have a really poor wardrobe manager?

I digress.

I awoke this morning to a familiar presence in the bed. In my dopey first moment of consciousness, I thought it was Riley, but while he’ll cuddle at night before the lights go out, he doesn’t typically linger until morning. I was incredulous to discover that the furry warm body against mine was Catie. We have a king size bed and it’s quite high off the ground; Catie hasn’t been on it for months now.

I assumed that my husband must have helped her up.

I assumed wrong. He assured me he hadn’t.

I can’t imagine how she managed it.

Catie says: Never underestimate Hollywood’s penchant for bad movies nor  the determination of a Golden Retriever

It’s only 7:10 on a Friday evening and I’m ready for bed. I’m envious that Catie and Riley are having one of their dozen daily naps, Catie on the pillow by the front window; Riley about a foot from my chair.

The two of them have had a good week; daily trips to the dog park; had their meals and their treats and lots of loving. Catie’s been playing the piano more frequently: being a tripawd has enhanced her musical inclinations. If she was more predictable about her keyboard whims, I’d try to catch her on film. But she doesn’t particularly like it if I pursue her too persistently with the camera – she eventually gets annoyed and tries to eat it.

It was vet oncologist visit on Thursday. Catie will have her first chemo treatment on Monday. The decision to proceed wasn’t difficult: without chemo, median survival rate – 3 to 6 months; with chemo, median survival rate – 12 months.

A no-brainer decision, really.

The vet said Catie may be sick for a day or two afterwards. She’ll have one treatment every three weeks until she’s had six. Catie has gone through so much the last couple months; so much pain and discomfort, and recovery from major surgery. I’m feeling a bit guilty and sad about the fact that just when life seems normal and she’s feeling good, we’re taking her for a treatment that will make her feel lousy next week.

The vet said goldies have strong constitutions and we all have our fingers and paws crossed that she won’t be very ill.

Saturday and it’s off to the vet to get the staples removed. Riley – never to be left behind – hops into the vehicle and we help Catie into the back. It’s time for a vehicle that’s closer to the ground.

It doesn’t take Riley long to determine that we’re going in the wrong direction of the park. Catie’s really not that surprised. She’s been to a vet’s office so many times in the last couple of months that she’d be astonished if that wasn’t where we were headed.

At the office, we meet Floyd – the world’s biggest lab. A 118 pound monster of a dog with a head the size of a bear cub who whimpers if his dad scolds him. And we meet Daisy – a dainty, diminutive Golden Retriever, who had a stage 2 tumor removed from her leg and is there to see the doctor because she won’t stop panting.

“There were a lot of staples,” the technician says, bringing Catie out of the back room.

And it’s time for the park.

It’s a dreary, dull day. One of those Alberta winter days where the world is monochrome and it’s hard to tell the ground from the sky except for the dirty piles of snow along the road.

The weather is irrelevant to Catie. She doesn’t have pain. She’s at the park. She sniffs and snuffles and rolls in the snow, picks up Riley’s discarded tree branches. She visits with Patrick, a lab cross who likes to chase Riley. Our neighbour shows up; Catie spots her long before we do and she runs.

It’s a good day.