[Dailydrool] Elsinore is in Grade Two

[Elizabeth Lindsey]

The surgeon called to say the pathology report is in. I suspect it came in on Friday, but when I didn't hear from him then, I decided not to sweat it. He said he'd go over with me when I bring our Elsinore in on the 19th to have her stitches removed. Whether I hear the instant the report comes in or two weeks later isn't going to change the outcome of whatever's going on with her, and it's not as if we need to know immediately in order to make any decisions quickly. In fact, I was sort of enjoying living in ignorance, a state that's much easier to be in now that the big tumor is gone from Elsinore's left hip. Truth be told, I was hoping the vet would say that strangely enough the "tumor" was actually a huge pocket of infection or something else equally benign. That happened with our late Jane Basset. Her surgeon was positive the mess deep inside her ear was cancer, but after her total ear canal occlusion it was discovered it was only a horrific infection. 

My state of ignorance is now over, and Elsinore does not have an infection. The big tumor has been declared an intermediate, or grade 2, soft-tissue sarcoma. The vet said that means it's not a super-aggressive cancer (grade 3) or a super-slow-moving cancer (grade 1). If money, time, and other factors weren't an issue, we would next send Elsinore to stay at our state's vet school for four weeks of daily radiation therapy that would kill what's left of the cancer and she'd be considered cured. But she's 11 or 12 (maybe older), and we don't have that kind of money. So, according to the vet, Elsinore "has months," instead of "years" or "weeks." How many months is impossible to tell, but perhaps enough for her to die of something else. Or not. Time will tell. 

In the meantime, however, we know that the best use of the time we have with her is to live it intentionally. I am so grateful for this gift time. Too many people don't have the opportunity tell their dogs, "Let's go for one more walk together. Let's share one more ice cream cone. Let's just cuddle up close a while longer." I'm feeling blessed just hearing our Elsinore snoring on the floor behind me as I write this. I know there's a good probability her cancer will return and we'll have to make the decision to let her go, but we're so very fortunate to have some space between that time and our present. We know her train is approaching its station, but we've been given plenty of time to gather our things together before it arrives so we'll be better prepared for putting her on that train that'll take her away. 

I've spent the last week feeling as if Elsinore's tumor de-bulking surgery has been a dress rehearsal of sorts for her end with cancer when that finally comes. Unlike our Jane, Elsinore is a terrible patient. Our Jane went through two horrific total ear canal occlusion surgeries and two surgeries for three ruptured disks that required months of recovery. She was in a lot of pain and felt simply awful in the weeks immediately after those surgeries, but not once did she snarl or snap at us or even fight us when we needed to care for her. She submitted to everything we did to her, using only a look of profound suffering to guilt us into stopping, or at least feeling very, very badly for having to give her pills, clean her wounds, and carry her outside for bathroom breaks. 

Our Elsinore, on the other hand, believes a good offense is a hell of a lot better than any sort of defense, especially the wimpy guilt-inducing kind. She's never stood for any kind of assault to her person, whether that be vaccinations or anal gland expressions, and she sure hasn't put up with us trying to care for her after her surgery. Getting pills down her throat for the first four days was like wrestling an alligator, the way she angrily whipped her head back and forth and gnashed her teeth. I had to muzzle her with Ken hanging onto her front end every time I needed to clean her bottom. Merely looking in her direction often triggered a warning snarl and her signature hooded-cobra look. On Friday she left her bed to come sit beside me the way she does when she wants to be patted, but when I patted her she swore at me and said some horribly insulting things about my mama. I got the distinct impression she wasn't happy with her own behavior but was too afraid to put her dukes down.

There will come a time when she will feel crummy and need more intensive care again. If she could let us help her like our Jane did, I believe her quality of life would remain satisfactory for quite some time like that. But she's been so upset by our help, which has had us talking about how her inability to relax and be cared for, her feeling as if she always has to be on the offensive, doesn't do much in the way of enhancing her quality of life at all. With the de-bulking surgery we knew she would improve over time and it'd become a non-issue. But as her cancer progresses, she won't get better, and her feelings about being cared for will have to be taken into consideration when we need to make a decision about letting her go in the face of a deteriorating quality of life. Better to be aware of this ahead of time and not be caught by surprise, I guess.

Happily, though, that's a decision for another day. Life is getting better around here, for which we are all grateful!

Elizabeth