Jenna's Ashes

We spread Jenna's ashes at her favourite dog park tonight. She's with Harlem now, out under the sun where she belongs. She always loved the change in the weather in the fall, so we thought this was the best time to do it.

It's amazing how the hole they left is still so painful. It has been almost 5 months since we've become dogless, and sometimes we still go to the dog park just because we miss being there. But it's not time yet. We aren't ready for a new dog, because we still spend too much time remembering our old ones. The tendency to make comparisons would be too strong, and a new puppy has to be allowed to be a different dog, if that makes sense. But we'll get there, eventually.

The End

I've been avoiding writing this post, because I just didn't know what to say. We put Jenna to sleep on April 23rd. She could no longer walk on her own, and she had lost all control of her bladder and bowels. She still felt reasonably well at the end - she was eating and drinking and she still loved to be petted - so it was a difficult decision to make. But the vet advised us that there was really nowhere to go from there, and her mobility and functioning were only going to deteriorate. We have always promised her that we will do whatever we can for her, but when there was no longer anything we could do, we were not going to let her linger in pain or misery just for the sake of keeping her alive. And Jenna was not the kind of dog who was content to lie still on a blanket on the floor, constantly being cleaned and fussed over. After a couple of days of this, it was clear to us that it was not a life for her. It was just a slow death.

Jenna has always lived for her daily long walks at the dog park. She was a leaper of fallen trees, a chaser of dogs, an eater of shoes, a raider of garbages - a wrecking ball with boundless energy and a fearless, headlong, often disastrous approach to her life. She has always been a survivor. Most dogs would have had it after the first 4 or 5 times she almost died: she fell through the ice on the river, ate a kilo of raisins and almost had kidney failure, ate a wild mushroom and had a seizure, smashed her head on a tree (from galloping around like a lunatic) and developed a neurological disorder, and then she got Evans Syndrome and lost most of her blood cells. She was a regular patient at the emergency clinic. But she lived through all of that. She was indestructible. Jenna the Tank. I really was beginning to think she could beat anything. Even cancer.

I'm not sure if we did the right thing. I hate it when it comes down to the final decision, because no matter what we do, I always feel like we've done the wrong thing. I panic when I think about the fact that she's gone, that I let it happen, that I was there while the vet put the needle in. How could I have done that? How could we have chosen that? Did we kill our dog? I know it's supposed to be the right thing to do. But I understand why they don't let us do it to humans. It's the most horrible decision to ever have to make. It's nothing but guilt and doubt and panic and terror that you've made a colossal, irreversible mistake. It's responsibility for an entire, sacred life that you have to bear. That's the part I struggle with the most.

And now she's gone, and the house is empty. We are dogless people. We are not going to get another dog, at least not anytime soon. Harlem and Jenna enriched our lives immeasurably. Sometimes, when life got really busy, walking the dogs was the only thing we did together consistently. Long talks at the dog park were our best means of resolving disputes or connecting to talk about our day, our plans, and our dreams. The dogs were even ring bearers at our wedding - they've been there through all our ups and downs. They've given us so many gifts. Now that they're gone, we miss them, we grieve for them, but we still have those gifts they gave us.

Worse and Worse

I'm not sure how to even say this. It's happened so fast, and out of nowhere. On Monday Jenna went into hospital with what looked like a simple case of pancreatitis, and now she can barely walk, and she has lost control of her bowels. They think the cancer has spread to her spinal column. With the sudden rate of progression, the vet doesn't advise a rescue chemo protocol. It likely wouldn't make any difference, and besides, she can't walk, and we must consider quality of life. We brought her home from the hospital tonight so we could spend some quality time with her.

Bad News

Jenna is much worse. The pancreatitis started to clear up, and now she is weak and very, very painful in her hind end. X-rays revealed a mass. It doesn't look good at all.

Troubled Waters

Well, Jenna is back in the hospital with an inflamed pancreas. We don't know why. I guess the good news is that her lymph nodes don't seem to be enlarged. Now we are just waiting...

The Last Day of Chemo

She did it!! Jenna made it through an entire 6-month chemo protocol, and she is still in full remission! Our vet says that Jenna is the only patient she has ever had who has successfully completed an entire chemo protocol. She is also very optimistic about our chances of a long remission. So here's to the Bear, and to many more lymphoma-free years!

Chemo Week #22

Whew! Have I been negligent! I just changed jobs, and in all that hubbub, I ignored Jenna's blog. First thing's first: Jenna the Tank is still bashing through chemo without slowing down. Since I last blogged, she's had 2 treatments and continues to have no adverse effects. We have 2 more treatments left, and then as long as she stays in remission, we only have to go to the vet for monthly checkups. Going to the vet once a month feels like an outlandish fantasy right now, but with things going the way they are, it just might come true.

I guess we must be starting to look tattered and gaunt, because the vet charged us $12 for chemo this week. Thus, hubby took our car to a mechanic today, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that it doesn't need as much work as we thought it did. (Well, he thought it did. I don't fix cars. I just drive them until the wheels fall off. But still, yay!)

February 4th was the 1-year anniversary of Harlem's death. I can't believe a year has gone by already. I don't think I miss him any less; I guess it's just that the edges aren't as jagged and raw anymore. Mostly I can think of him without crying, as long as I don't think too hard. But I miss him all the time. I think about him every day, and I still talk about him a lot. I can't remember the smell on the side of his nose exactly, but I remember the exact feeling of his silky ears and the weight of him leaning on my legs, and the way he would hop on the spot with his toes spread out when you asked him if he wanted to go for a walk.

I think I will always miss him, but I'm glad to know that my memories of him won't fade with time. And as silly as it probably is, I do feel like he's out there, at the dog park where I spread his ashes - in the grass that will come up in spring, and the trees that will bud, and the wildflowers that will grow by the riverbank. We're all made of the same recycled, billion year old carbon, right?

Chemo Week #18

On Wednesday Jenna was treated with doxorubicin, the drug that supposedly causes all the side effects for which chemo drugs are notorious. Jenna is totally oblivious, though, and is bouncing off the walls in the absence of her usual off-leash walks. The vet says we aren't supposed to take her to the park for 72 hours after chemo, and we really do try to be obedient. I think it's as much for other dogs' protection as her own - apparently her saliva, urine and feces are, like, radioactive or something. We're not even supposed to let her lick us, but we do. I figure if she can have this stuff in her veins, it's not gonna kill me to have it on my hands for a few seconds.

So until tomorrow night, Jenna will just have to chill in the house. She lives a life of extreme deprivation, as you can see.

Always Get Insurance

I did something foolish today. I added up all of our vet bills from the day Jenna was diagnosed with lymphoma to the present. And I thought, well, what the hell, the blog is supposed to be about sharing information about lymphoma, so ... I'm sharing.

Four months of chemo, plus accompanying medications and bloodwork = $6045.63

Granted, we do still have 5 more treatments to go. The chemo treatments average about $400-$500 a pop. Sometimes it's better (about $100 for the cyclophosphamide weeks) and sometimes it's worse (about $700 for the doxorubicin weeks). Bloodwork-only weeks run up just a painless $90. Sometimes after these weeks we start getting wild ideas about purchasing groceries or getting our car's shrieking brakes fixed.

We do not have veterinary insurance, because we are idiots. By the time it crossed our minds that coverage might be a good idea, both of our dogs were already churning out lamenesses and rare diseases as fast as veterinary medicine could cure them. No insurance company in their right mind would have us. As it is, I have this irrational fear that any future dogs we have will be refused insurance based on the medical records of our previous dogs.

But this is what money is for, n'est pas? For about $1500/month, we are keeping our dog alive - healthily, happily, and energetically alive. Will this delay some of our financial plans? Yeah. In 30 years, when I look back at this, am I going to say to myself "jeez, I wish I'd just put the dog down and saved that money for a mortgage down payment"? No, I most assuredly will not.

Just the same, I advise all new owners to take out insurance the instant puppy comes home. We're extraordinarily lucky that we are in a position to pay for this. If this had happened a year ago, I really don't know what we'd have done. Imagine having to euthanize a beloved family member only because you didn't have the money to save her?

Chemo Week #16

Yesterday marked week #16 of Jenna's chemo protocol - vincristine this time. We have 5 more treatments to go. Jenna "the Tank" is fine, as usual, so there's not much to report (thankfully).

I am carless this week, as hubby is out of town and has taken our only set of functional wheels, so we made arrangements for Jenna's grandpa to deliver her to the clinic and collect her when the chemo was done. He managed the whole process like a seasoned dog owner, and is, I think, well on the way to getting a furry friend of his own. We just have to convince grandma that this is a good idea. I think grandpa and I have decided that a nice yellow Labrador would be just the thing. Isn't that right, Mom-in-law? ;)

A New Year

Happy new year everyone! We are so thankful that Jenna is still here, and still hale and hearty as we begin the new year. She did great over the holidays, and survived all the visiting and the endless goodies with energy and appetite to spare. She met the cousins' new baby, endured an entire 24 hours with my sister's crazed one-year-old Lab/Beagle, and stole and devoured an entire gingerbread cake, the only consequence of which was a prolonged bout of gag-inducing flatulence.

Next week she's scheduled for her week 16 chemo treatment, and we will be able to celebrate 4 whole months of extremely high-quality life with lymphoma. Of course we're grateful for whatever time we get with her, but the way things have been going ... well, it tends to make you pretty hopeful. So here's hoping for a healthy 2009 for Jenna!

WHAT.THE.HELL.

Ok, so today was the craziest, most horrific day out of all the crazy, horrific days Jenna has had in her near-death-experience-filled life. This morning she was scheduled to go in for chemo as usual. My husband took her to the clinic as usual. He started to unbuckle her collar in order to hand her over to the vet tech - as usual. In the instant that he loosened the buckle, Jenna suddenly wrenched her head back, pulling herself free of the collar, then bolted for the door. Somehow, in her adrenaline high, she managed to shove both the interior and the exterior doors open herself (they are heavy doors), then bolted across the busy street, with my husband and a clinic staff member hot on her heels. To their horror, she then disappeared under a one-tonne truck and took off at a mad gallop out the other side.

This happened at about 9 AM. My husband called me at work, and I left to help him look for her. We spent the rest of the day driving up and down every street and trudging around every park in the vicinity, calling her name and interrogating pedestrians and the postman. By the time it got dark, we hadn't seen a sign of her since some guys reported seeing her at about noon, so we checked in at the pound and then decided to go home to start phoning vet clinics, posting internet ads, and printing Lost Dog posters. Then, just as I was getting ready to take my posters and head back to the area where we lost her, we got a phone call from the clinic. A good Samaritan had brought a dog that matched her description to the pound. Anne, one of the receptionists at our vet clinic, hightailed it to the pound to pick her up, telling us to meet her at the vet clinic. We had no idea what kind of shape Jenna was in, as my husband and a vet tech had actually witnessed Jenna getting hit by a truck, not to mention that she'd been out all day in minus 16 degree weather.

Our vet, who had waited around after her shift was over, came out to examine Jenna right in the waiting room. There were no broken bones, no collapsed lungs, no frostbite, no abdominal bleeding, no nothing. The damage? A broken nail and a bit of a stiff hind end, which is more than likely due to the fact that she was running all day. To top it all off, her lymph nodes are still fine. The vet decided to put off chemo until the weekend to give Jenna a chance to recover from her ordeal.

I know this sounds like I'm making it up. I can't believe it myself. And I can't even express how grateful I am that she's alive, that she's safe, that she's home. I also can't believe how many people came out in force to help us look for her, including a complete stranger who witnessed the accident, drove up to my husband, shouted "get in!" and then proceeded to drive him around the area for an hour looking for our dog. And to whoever saw a lost dog out in the cold night and made the effort to catch her and drive her to the pound instead of leaving her there, I hope karma finds you.

Week #13 Checkup

This post is behind schedule, mostly due to my sudden and somewhat embarrassing obsession with the Twilight books, about which most of my immediate friends and family will have already heard more than they care to. I hope to finish the stupid things this weekend so I can return to my life.

Jenna is indestructible, as always. We didn't have to do chemo this week - the lymph nodes have not come up at all, so it was a false alarm! Hooray! And in the spirit of Christmas, the vet gave us a freebie this week. I think we owe that largely to Jenna, who is a model patient and seems to be a huge favourite with the vets and clinic staff.

Chemo Week #12

Well, it has been exactly 3 months since Jenna was diagnosed, and she's still going strong. Yesterday was chemo day, and as usual, she did great. She got home and gobbled up her dinner and then proceeded to beg for ours.

The only concern is that the vet thinks Jenna's submandibular (under the jaw) lymph nodes are a tiny bit enlarged. She isn't that worried, because none of the other nodes are at all enlarged, not even the original chest lymph node that was huge back in September. However, when Jenna goes in for her checkup next week, if the jaw nodes are still a little weird, we will just go ahead with chemo, instead of giving her the week off. This is fine, because Jenna tolerates the drugs so well, but we were looking forward to a bit of a financial break over Christmas. Oh well. Our Christmas present to each other this year is Jenna!

Week #11 Checkup

No chemo this week!! Jenna went in today for a checkup, and all is well. Blood work normal, lymph nodes not enlarged, appetite very much intact. Vet ecstatic. Lymphoma, you should just give up now. You are no match for the Big Bad Bear. Can I get a whoop whoop?

And here is the long awaited Santa picture:

Album: Jenna and the Great Outdoors

Jenna hiking in Waterton Lakes National Park, Alberta ...

... in Mount Robson Provincial Park, British Columbia

... at the Columbia Icefield, Jasper National Park, Alberta

... and in the Alberta badlands, Dinosaur Provincial Park

Visiting the dinosaur museum - they wouldn't let her in, though. She's too poorly behaved (and mutty) to pass as a guide dog. ;)

Having a field day on a backpacking trip in Cypress Hills Provincial Park, Alberta. There are no bears in that part of the province, so I let her off leash during the day. She thought she'd died and gone to heaven.

A routine walk at our favourite off-leash park.

Prissy-dipping in the river at the dog park. A Labrador she is not.

Chemo Week #10

Well, yesterday was week 10 - doxorubicin. This drug makes me a bit nervous because it can cause heart problems. Also, if it accidentally gets into her skin or muscle tissue (as opposed to into the blood vessels, where it's supposed to go), it causes tissue death. As usual, though, Jenna had no problems.

In fact, the clinic was doing pet pictures with Santa in support of our vet's Rwanda charity, and the vet insisted that Jenna stay after her treatment to have her picture taken. I wish to stress that we are not normally the sort of people who pretend our dog is a child or that she enjoys the same things that children do. (I once saw a young woman pushing a Shih-Tzu, which was wearing a fussy little dress, in a stroller. I was vaguely disturbed by this.) But anyway, when the vet who is giving you huge dicounts on your chemo wants you to stay for Santa pictures, you stay for Santa pictures. Therefore, I will soon be posting a ridiculous picture of my dog wearing reindeer antlers and sitting beside Santa. I don't think Jenna minded anyway - as long as she gets a cookie, she doesn't care what you do to her.

Remembering Harlem

Although this blog is Jenna's, I want to write a post about my Labrador, Harlem, because I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I got Har when I was 16 years old. We grew up together. I took him with me when I went to university and moved out on my own, so we were together for his whole life.

Harlem was one of those dogs who you find once in a lifetime. He was a sweetheart and a gentleman, but he seemed to know when to pretend he wasn't. He was a tall, rangy, solid black, 95-pound gigantor of a dog, and he had an enormous, booming bark that he only rarely employed.

My big dog was well behaved, well adjusted, sweet, cuddly, intelligent, and eager to please. He loved cats. He loved to swim. He loved the sunshine. He brought a lot of sunshine to my life, especially in the darkest times. He was a leaner and a hugger and a magnificent bed-hog. I loved him like a son.

He died of cancer on February 4th, 2008, just 2 months before his 10th birthday. He had histiocytic sarcoma - a rare type of cancer. It spread through his body with incredible speed. It was less than a month from diagnosis to the end of his life. I didn't do chemo for him. The vets did not have very positive things to say about the treatability of this type of cancer. Reported survival times, even with chemo, were still poor. At the time, I decided that putting him through chemo wasn't worth the suffering it would cause him for the off chance that it might buy him a month or two. But now that I see how great Jenna's doing, how the chemo has basically given her back her health, I wonder if I made the right decision with Harlem. Even if it didn't buy him much time, what if chemo would've made him feel better, as it has for Jenna? Back then, I envisioned vomiting, lethargy, and anorexia. I didn't know it could be like this.

These are self-torturing thoughts, of course, and they won't do me any good. And I feel guilty about being sad about this when Jenna is doing so wonderfully. But I can't make these thoughts vanish, and in quiet moments, they sneak up on me even though I am trying to ignore them.

Chemo Week # 9

Yesterday morning I dropped Jenna off at the vet for chemo. While the receptionist dutifully asked me questions like "has she had any diarrhea or vomiting?", "is she eating well?", and "how is her energy level?", Jenna alternated between attempting to launch herself at an animal health technician of whom she is particularly fond, jumping up to stand at the counter so she could lick the receptionist, and making sorties towards the cookie jar. I was unable to sign the treatment authorization form until someone came out to take her from me. When we got her home at the end of the day, she went straight for her bowl, as usual. She's doing so well that most of the time, I forget she even has cancer.

Facts About Jenna

We almost never call Jenna by her real name. We call her the Bear. And sometimes the Bad Dog. I'm pretty sure we started calling her this because we hated her name. We adopted her from the Humane Society on October 28th, 2003. She was already 3 years old at that point and had lived in 3 homes (all of which returned her to the shelter within a year). The only thing she seemed to know was her name, so we decided not to change it.

So why, you ask, did 3 separate people bail on this beautiful dog with the Cleopatra eyes? We can't figure it out either. She's great with kids. She's as housetrained as it gets. She's bizarrely trusting, considering the life she's had: she will lie there, semiconscious, and permit us (and total strangers) to clip her nails, remove slivers from her pads, sticks from between her teeth, and even porcupine quills from the roof of her mouth. Vets invariably declare her a gem among dogs.

Yes, we have to put the garbage on top of the cupboard. All shoes go up on a high shelf by the door. Dirty dishes left in the sink remain there at their peril. We have to restock wooden spoons every other month. None of the Tupperware has a surviving lid. Sometimes we find cutlery in the couch. All that's left of my husband's leather belt is the buckle. Oh, and if you leave dog cookies in a coat pocket, the coat will be dragged off its hanger and the pocket will be surgically removed. I guess those might be reasons why someone would take her back to the shelter. Luckily for us, we don't own anything of value, so mostly her escapades aren't much more than a minor inconvenience. Except that one time that she pried open a kitchen drawer and ate a kilo of raisins, and we had to go to the emergency clinic to have her stomach emptied before she had kidney failure. That sucked.