Emotions

Initially, my intention for writing a blog about Hudson’s progress was simply to keep friends and family informed on what was happening without sending a million emails and texts.  As we’ve been going through this though, I’ve also come to want to write a blog that could help someone else going through this with their dog.  I found a lot of help and support on Tripawds.com and I really appreciate it.  I’ve read through many of the blogs there, and it provided hope and inspiration in a really dark time for both Tony and I.  I was reading some of these blogs today, and it struck me that I never have really written about how I felt when Hudson was diagnosed or how I reacted.  I kept my first post, The Beginning, very clinical and tried to take the emotion out.  I now feel that I may have done a disservice to anyone going through this same ordeal who might read this blog.

I was devastated at the vet, when they told me Hudson had cancer.  I kept it together while Dr. Stubbs was in the room.  My eyes were dry and I was very calm.  I asked questions about Hudson’s chances, his suitability as a surgical candidate for amputation, and chemo treatment options.  Unlike a lot of pet parents that have been hit with the osteosarcoma diagnosis, I never questioned amputation.  As the CFO for Big Dogs Huge Paws, Inc., I’ve seen tripawds come through who live a happy, fulfilled life.  It didn’t even occur to me how much of a struggle it was for a lot of pet parents to make that decision, because they didn’t have the same frame of reference that I did.  Dr. Stubbs hadn’t even told me what our options were for osteosarcoma treatment before I was asking how quickly we could amputate.  It was an easy decision for me.  When they took Hudson away to do chest x-rays, I texted Tony, my friend Marie, and my brother about Hudson’s diagnosis.  Each time I typed the words cancer and amputation, my eyes filled with tears.  I got myself back under control by the time Dr. Stubbs and Hudson returned and made arrangements for surgery.

I took Hudson home and returned to work.  My boss, Brian, suggested I go home early, but I didn’t want to.  I knew I’d just sit there and worry, driving myself crazy.  I couldn’t talk to Tony about the whole thing without tearing up and losing the ability to speak.  We decided to wait until we got home that night to talk about it.

Once we started talking, I realized that Tony and I were not on the same page.  He had a lot of reservations about amputating Hudson’s leg and putting him through chemo.  I had been worried all day that the cost would be a large sticking point.  To my everlasting gratitude, that wasn’t it at all.  Tony’s concerns centered entirely around making sure that Hudson had quality of life.  He wanted to make sure I wasn’t trying to hang on to him, inadvertently causing his suffering to ease my fear of letting him go.  I remember him saying “It isn’t the money.  I don’t care about the money.  I’d fight this with every penny we have for any of our dogs, including Lexi.  But we need to be sure it’s the right choice for them.  We need to make sure we’re not letting them suffer so we can hold on.”

Once we discussed how quickly dogs bounce back from amputation, and the fact that Hudson would be in less pain the day after he went through amputation then he was the day before, the decision was made.  Bone Cancer is THE most painful condition that a dog can experience.  Dr. Stubbs compared it to having your bones slowly explode from the inside and having to walk on them.  If we hadn’t amputated and chosen instead to just manage the pain for whatever time Hudson had left, he would have had 6-8 more months, and he would have been in pain the entire time.

Our next sticking place was the chemo.  Tony felt it wasn’t fair to put Hudson through amputation, and then just as he was recovering from that, start chemo.  Everyone is aware that chemo is excruciating for people that go through it.  They lose their hair and get extremely sick, experiencing nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.  Tony didn’t want  to buy six good months with six bad months.  While I knew that chemo isn’t as aggressive with dogs and that the side effects were much more mild, I didn’t have all the details of what it would be like.  Oddly, searching the internet didn’t help.  I continued to find the same refrain.  “Dogs react much better to chemo than people.  Few of the unpleasant side effects are noticeable.”  What the hell does that mean? What are the side effects?  Just because it’s not noticeable, doesn’t mean my dog isn’t suffering!  I needed details.  That’s when we set up a phone consult with Dr. Janson and got our answers.

Hudson was diagnosed on Thursday and went through amputation the following Tuesday.  During this time, I told virtually no one.  I didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me or him, and I didn’t want anyone’s opinion on what we should do.  That was something we had to work out for ourselves.    Why didn’t I question the vet more when he diagnosed a sprain?  Why didn’t I insist on x-rays when he said Hudson’s spondylosis was advancing?  Why didn’t I ask for x-rays of the long bones when they did his knee?  I was aware that all this regret was useless, but I couldn’t (and still can’t, to some degree) stop feeling it.

The morning after Hudson’s cancer diagnosis, as I drove to work, I started crying and I couldn’t stop.  I got to work and wore my sunglasses for a half hour after I got there because I couldn’t get myself under control.  As I drove home that night, I started crying again.  I remember literally screaming as loud as I could as I drove down the street to try to find a release for all the emotion.  Marie told me that I should go home that weekend and have my arguments with my god.  That made me laugh at the time, but I fully understood what she meant.

I don’t blame any higher power for Hudson getting sick.  What is meant to be will be.  What I struggled with, was how to handle my emotions toward it.  Tony has always been a fairly stoic guy, with the exception of his temper.  He doesn’t show his pain often, and as a result, I tend to hide mine from him.  It’s not his fault, he’s never shown any kind of disgust when I cry.  The opposite in fact.  I just feel weak when I cry in front of anyone.  As a result, I mostly kept my tears to myself.  I cried myself to sleep every single night between Thursday and Tuesday.  I did so silently, because I didn’t want to upset Hudson, Tony or any of the dogs.  I never saw Tony grieve at all, and that worries me.  I know he needs to.

Tony has been really awesome and supportive throughout this whole ordeal.  He has never once balked at the cost of treatment, or questioned the necessity.  He’s been an advocate for Hudson’s quality of life and I couldn’t ask for a better partner to go through this with.  He’s absolutely dedicated to helping Hudson recover.  He’s gone shopping with me for flooring options to cover the slippery wood floors, and helped me pick out harnesses that will allow us to assist Hudson with obstacles he may encounter.  I read this post to him after I had written it, and we both had tears in our eyes.