Back to Work

Sam's staring at a large bug on the other side of the

pet door.  Can you see it?

The last few weeks have been crazy busy in the Schneider household, and by crazy busy, I mean I've been travelling and generally being a kept woman.  Oh, and Jim started a sort-of-new job.  Somebody's gotta pay for the horse, and it ain't me. 

Anyway, in Jim news, the new job is really a new position within the same company/department, and it's been a looooooooooong time coming.  When Jim was hired by Exelon (then ComEd) back in 2000, this new position (Licensed Control Room Operator) was the ultimate goal.  We were told by the company that Jim and his fellow newly hired co-workers could expect to be non-licensed operators for 3-5 years.  It's been 11.  So we're very happy that this new position finally came open (and it's based on seniority, not merit, so that's partly what's taken so long).  Jim is currently in Reactor Operator Training, which will take between 18-24 months.  For the time being, he works 7-3 Monday through Friday, and cannot be forced to work extra shifts.  He also gets holidays off.  After 11 years, we're finally living what is a relatively normal life.  Once he's passed the training, he'll go back to 12-hour shift work again, but it's still nice to have a break from that routine. 

Jim is now able to pursue interests he previously had no time for (12-hour shifts don't allow for much else in your day), like training for a half-marathon.  He also has time to take riding lessons and go for bike rides with me.  We can run errands and go grocery shopping together.  Oh, and lots more time for Criminal Minds.  Whew.  Don't forget that!

This new job will put a bit of a damper on our travel schedule, as he's not really able to take vacation days right now.  He can't really miss classroom training, so our travel, for the time being, will be relegated to weekends and holiday weeks.  That'll be the hardest part for us, honestly, but it's not forever.

Meanwhile, our critters are loving the new schedule.  Daddy is home at 3:30 every day, so if Mom is out, Daddy can feed them lunch, and give them snuggle time.  They have two parents home more of the time.  It's a win-win for them.

In other news, Indiana is doing well.  She's bright-eyed and alert, eating pretty well (though picky), and getting around as well as can be expected.  She has recovered from her earlier UTI, and we're waiting on test results to tell us how her kidneys are doing.  Her tumor on her back is larger now, and it's carrying a lot of heat.  This could mean one of several things: that the tumor has grown larger, that the hematoma around it has grown, or that there is some kind of abscess around it.  Our vet doesn't want to poke it to find out, so for now, we're simply putting a clay mask on it to draw out the heat, and adding in a drop of Frankincense, which is an essential oil with anti-tumor properties. 

Our horse, Cimba, was diagnosed with bursitis in his neck last month.  That's a swelling of the joint--for him, it's just behind his left ear.  He has a rather large lump there, and I know it causes him some discomfort.  Today, the equine vet is coming out to take an x-ray, to see if there is any arthritis, and to see what the extent of the lump is.  My poor boy has to be tranquilized, which freaks me out a little but is probably totally safe.  Anyway, I'm crossing my fingers for good results--nothing we've done to the lump so far has changed it in any way, so I'm anxious to find a treatment that works. 

I don't know why my lot in life is to have animals with every sort of lump or bump known to man.  Between Indy and Cimba, I'm gaining a pretty good knowledge of lumps.  Surely we have to run out of types pretty soon?

Kibbles and Bits

Last week, we were having major problems getting Indiana to eat.  Raw food, her main diet, was out.  Canned food, her usual safe go-to, was out.  I tried scrambled eggs.  I tried cooked turkey.  Nothing was working.  She wouldn't eat her pills either, not in cream cheese, not in liver sausage, not in canned cat food, not even in liver sausage dipped in canned cat food.  I was freaking out, a lot, to be honest. 

It's not that I was worried that Indiana was going to starve.  She didn't even seem like she felt sick, just that everything I offered wasn't quite what she wanted.  What I did worry about (because this latest round of food aversion was probably brought on my her last UTI and subsequent antibiotics) was that maybe this last backslide would be the one she wouldn't bounce back from.

Indiana has battled illness after illness with grace and strength, and she has recovered from all of them, more times than I can count.  Major illnesses, minor illnesses, this dog has fought them all, and won.  I know someday this will stop being the case.  As she ages, I know that each illness puts more stress on her body, and while we do everything we can to build a strong immune system for her, I know eventually, because she is a biological organism, that she won't be able to recover from something.  This is the way of life, and it totally sucks, and I live every day trying to delay that.  But I am aware of the realities.

So when Indy stopped eating last week, there was a small part of me that wondered, "What if?"  What if this was the one she couldn't recover from?  What if she was just going to stop eating and waste away to nothing?  I turned to my online pet friends via Facebook, who offered loads of support and advice, reminding me to take a step back, to take a deep breath, and just let her be.  Getting her to eat anything was, at some point, more important than getting her to eat the ideal diet.  So I turned to my last resort: kibble.

I keep some grain-free, human-grade kibble around, because my canine brother, Bill Wilson, visits often, and that's his favorite.  Indiana happens to like it too.  And while I'd rather a dog eat high-quality kibble than the large, commercial brand foods out there, I'm still not generally a big fan (it's less a quality issue than the fact that I prefer feeding whole foods).  But I was desperate, and I know that feeding kibble, especially temporarily, isn't going to hurt Indiana.  In fact, it had the potential to help her.  So I poured her a small bowl,  set it in front of her, and she inhaled it.  So I poured her more.  Gone.   And more.  Gone again.  So the next day, (because I believe in rotating foods as often as possible) I headed off to the store for samples of kibble, so see what other kinds she'd eat.  The answer?  All of them.  Some she likes better than others, but basically, I gave her samples of every grain-free food in the store, and they were all a-okay in her book. 

So yesterday I headed back to the store to buy actual bags of food.  My first time buying kibble for my own pets in almost 5 years.  I felt almost ashamed.  I work at this particular pet food store a few days a month, so I'm familiar with all of the food and frequently recommend favorite brands of kibble (even if I don't feed it, I still learn about the different brands and do, indeed, have favorites) to customers.  But I felt completely lost buying food for my own dog.  I'm comfortable around the raw foods and the canned foods.  Years of an aversion to the baked stuff has given me a complex, I guess. 

I headed right away to the food Indiana inhaled the fastest, a locally distributed food called "Born Free," a grain-free food manufactured by Fromm (on my list of faves).  But I still wanted more, so I headed to the one she ate second-fast, the most expensive foods in the store (of course, right?), Orijen and Acana.  (Also faves, though sometimes customers shy away from these because of the price)  After picking up a couple more samples, I was good to go.  And I felt, oddly, very free.  I had purchased kibble and survived. 

I'm still not generally a fan of kibble (I firmly believe that each pet owner should feed the highest quality food they can afford, and because I can afford raw, that is my preference), but I am a fan of Indiana.  And she's loving kibble right now.  She eats it up right away, as fast as she can.  She's excited, her bright eyes staring at me while she munches away at her (now beloved) food.  And that's what's important. She's getting all the nutrients she needs.  She loves it.  What more can I ask?
I hope eventually to be able to get her back onto canned food, and then, maybe, if I'm lucky, back on to raw.  Because Indy has kidney disease, and because kibble is baked and therefore very concentrated, it's still a food that is hard on her kidneys.  So I'd prefer not to keep her on it forever.  I do know, however, that she's calling the shots.  And if she wants to eat only kibble for the rest of her life, then that's okay with me.  I guess that makes me a fan of kibble.

I Made Four Trips to the Vet's Office Yesterday

Mr. Squiggles did eventually figure out how to get into those treats.  Again.  And Again.  And Again.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

5:20 am:  Wake up.  Eat breakfast.  Feed the dogs but not the cats, because Q*bert is going in to see the vet, because his paw is massively swollen.  He still feels fine though, so there are four really annoyed cats who don't understand why the dogs are being fed but they are not. 

8:20 am:  Feed the other three cats, because Q*bert is outside, and we'll be leaving in a few minutes.  After all the complaining at 5am, I fill the food bowls and no one cares. 

8:40am:  Get Q into the vet.  Because we adopted/found 800 cats last year, and took them into the vet the before they had names, there are a million nameless files to sift through to figure out which cat is which.  Mr. Squiggles has two files.  Confuse poor Lynda at the front desk.  Finally get correct cat names with correct cat files. 

9:00am:  Marathon Starbucks get-together with friend Amanda.  Spend hours talking animals and life.  The happiest, sanest part of my day. 

12:45pm:  Sitting in the Starbucks parking lot, making a cell call to vet to check on Q.  Get put on hold.  And hold.  And hold.  Fifteen minutes later, decide to hang up and just drive the two minutes back to the office to check on him in person.  Realize this would have been a smarter decision fifteen minutes ago.

12:50pm:  Find out Q is currently in with the vet, getting his paw fixed.  No other info, but they'll call when he's done. 

1:00pm:  At Razzle-Dazzle Doggie Bowtique, picking up food, because the house is somehow devoid of everything all at once.  Get a call from the vet that Q is done and will be ready to be picked up in just over an hour.  Would we prefer liquid medication or pill form?  Finish picking up two bags of Freeze Dried Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Frozen Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Northwest Naturals, one case of Wellness canned cat food, one case of Tiki Cat canned cat food, 7 cans of Weruva dog food, four small cans of Wellness canned turkey cat food, and one shaker of appetite stuff that Samson goes nuts over (not because he needs it, but simply because we got some free samples and he really loved it).

1:40pm:  At home.  Discover Indiana is outside, stuck under the deck.  Crawl under the deck, calm the freaked-out dog, and push her out from under the deck.  Have 20 minutes to unpack the pet food purchases, wolf down some trail mix, feed the dogs and cats, and get out the door to pick up Q. 

2:00pm:  Headed back to the vet.

2:15pm:  At the vet's office.  Q is pretty alert for having been sedated, and I am handed a large bag of medications.  Thankfully, most are from an order placed earlier in the day for Indy and Isis.  There is no info on what happened to Q's foot, but the doctor will talk to me about it at my 4pm appointment later that day.

2:40pm:  Back at home with Q.  He is annoyed with me for his ordeal, but is more hungry than mad.  Feed Q and sneak his antibiotics in with the food.  He doesn't notice. 

3:00pm:  Oh my gosh, 20 whole minutes before I have to leave again.  Spend 10 minutes on the chaise lounge looking over some music scores.

3:10pm:  Start wondering where Sam and Mr. S are, because we have to leave for the vet in 10 minutes. Sam is in the kitchen, but Mr. S is nowhere to be seen.  He's never outside.  Well, hardly ever.  Except now.  He'd better be close by.  Oh, good, he's on the porch, just hanging out.  Hmmm...Samson just crawled into the small cat carrier.  Was going to put him in the large one, but, hey, a bird in the hand.  Close the door and decide to leave a few minutes early.  Pluck a happy Mr. Squiggles off the back porch and shove him into a cat carrier.  He is inexplicably not so happy any more. 

3:15pm:  Realize preparing the car for two cat carriers would have been a good idea prior to taking said carriers to car.  Decide to wing it.

3:20pm:  Back to the vet.

3:40pm:  Arrive early to fill out paperwork but run into a family I know from doggy physical therapy.  Spend time reassuring Mom about her dog's recent kidney disease diagnosis and talking to the adorable daughter instead of filling out paperwork. 

4:00pm:  Appointment time, but we're just getting into an exam room now.  The doctor will be running late (as usual) but this time it's sort of my fault, as my cat's paw played a role in her delayed schedule. 

4:01pm:  Wonder whose brilliant idea it was to bring the two smartest cats in the house in at the same time. 

4:02pm:  Pluck Mr. Squiggles off the counter for the third time.

4:03pm:  Cats are weighed.  Mr. Squiggles has gained 3 1/2 pounds and is almost back to his pre-missing weight of 10.5 pounds.  Samson weighs in at a whopping 13.5 pounds, which is amazing because he's a skinny guy.  Just huge.

4:10pm:  Vet assistant comes in to procure cats for blood draws.  Samson volunteers to go first but changes his mind when the vet assistant touches him.  He freaks out, and there is 13.5 pounds of cat legs flying everywhere.  Decide that Mr. Squiggles with go first.

4:15pm:  Mr. S is back, and it's Sam's turn again.  Vet assistant is less than enthused about grabbing a squirmy, sharp creature.

4:20pm: I hear a cat yelp.  Ooops.  Vet assistant returns, wordlessly opens the door a crack, hands me my cat, and, just as wordlessly, closes it again.  One fewer person on Sam's "friends" list.

4:40pm:  Finally, the vet.  Find out that Q basically pulled out the nail of his "thumb," and it's infected.  She gave him a little gas, squeezed out the pus, cleaned up the wound, and is putting him on the highest dose of antibiotics.  Time for exams.  This vet's never met Sam before, so we go over some of his greater virtues, and he's a big, loving blob of Maine Coon for her.  Unhappy about a liver palpation, he hides under the couch while Mr. Squiggles is examined.  Find out that Mr. S is probably mostly blind in his bad eye.  His teeth, while bad, don't need to be seen by a dentist just yet.  Mr. S is sweet and loving, and melts against the vet's leg while she examines him.  He is okay with having his liver palpated, unlike Sam.

5:00pm:  Vet gets tools to lop some tartar off of Samson's tooth.  This could go very badly, but he's actually pretty good for it, and the procedure is successful.  Mr. Squiggles takes advantage of our focus on Samson to jump onto the counter and steal treats out of a bag.  The vet and I both think this is pretty cute.

5:05pm:  Time for rabies shots.  There is much confusion over how many cats need the rabies shot (Samson got one in '09, but apparently, our state, in its infinite wisdom, makes owners revaccinate Animal Control adoptees after the first year, even though it's the same darn shot and is actually good for three years, not just one.  Grrrr.)  So two shots it is today.

5:10pm:  Time to put cats back in carriers.  Samson goes in easily, but Mr. Squiggles resists.  Realize this is because he has both pooed and peed in the carrier.  Clean up the poo and pee and shove cat in.

 

5:11pm:  At the counter, ready to check out.  Have to wait for another client to check out first.  I know this client as well (we met at a dog show years ago, while her dog was undergoing treatment for cancer).  I kill time by getting kisses from her adorable yellow lab. 

5:15pm:  My turn.  I have several more medications to pick up.  Then I remember that the doctor and I never talked about Indiana's urine culture test results.  Front desk manager Lynda talks to the vet, finds out the tests came back negative for bacteria (a good thing), but since Indiana is still leaking urine (a bad thing), she'll be going on some supplements to help that.  Have to wait for the assistant to bring that up.  Finally check out.  My total is over $1000 for the day, but I've gotten something for five of the six of my animals, so I guess it's not too awful...I still have a minor heart attack though.  Ask if I'm the highest total for the day and am told no.  Am sort of surprised, but not really.

5:16pm:  Lynda has to fill out rabies vaccination paperwork for the two cats, who are being really good and quiet.  So we're in no big hurry.

5:20pm:  Out to the car!  Toss the cats in and get out of here! 

5:45pm:  We're home!  Both cats whine and cry on the trip from the car to the utility room but have been oddly silent during the ride home.  Both cats bolt out of the carriers as soon as I open the doors.  Immediately grab the smelly towels from the carriers and wash on the hottest setting. 

5:50pm:  Call my Mom to catch up on both of our days.  I care about her day, but I also really want to just whine about my own.  Am exhausted but happy when Jim pulls up early from work.  Crap.  Now I have to feed us both.

6:40pm:  Making dinner for me and Jim, eating dinner, then feeding the clan.  Everyone is happy and well, and I'm glad that my day is finally over!

Changing the Way We Think

Indiana teaches me something new nearly every day.  Oh, and Dr. Becker, our vet, too. 

Now that Indiana is nearly 13 years old, and suffering from kidney disease (although she doesn't really suffer,  but she does have it), her eating habits have changed drastically.  It used to be that if she didn't eat or, specifically, didn't inhale the food put in front of her, that indicated something was wrong with her.  But not so much anymore.  She eats three times a day (thanks to a missing pyloric sphincter from cancer #1), and if it goes smoothly once a day, I consider that a success.  Some days, she eats three meals really well.  But other days, well, let's just say it doesn't bring out the best in me.  I try to be patient.  I try to be understanding.  But I really wish she had a way to clearly communicate with me 100% of the time. 

Readers of my blog know that I firmly believe in the power of a whole, fresh diet.  This is the building block of wellness for any living being.  So when Indiana doesn't eat well, I worry that she's not getting the nutrients that she needs. 

We see Dr. Becker twice a month now, and we spend a lot of time talking about Indiana's over-all well being (short-term is kind of more important than long-term these days), which, naturally, includes her diet.  Her lack of interest in eating has concerned me, not because I worry that she's sick, but because it's not what is expected.  We expect our pets to eat the same amount of food with the same gusto their entire lives.  But, apparently, this is not normal.  So we shouldn't expect it.

You see, living bodies contain something called leptins (enjoy this manically complicated Wikipedia entry--good luck understanding it), which are essentially hormones that regulate appetite. Dogs (or humans, even) who are leptin-resistant never feel full.  But as the body ages, and as the dog (or human) becomes less active, the leptins tell the body that it requires fewer and fewer calories.  Little to no activity = little caloric intake.  This is why, if you are fortunate to have elderly parents or grandparents, you see them eating tiny amounts and then declaring themselves full.  But you only ate half a sandwich!  And now you're full?  It's the same with our pets.  A 13 year-old dog shouldn't require the same amount of food as a 4 year-old. 

Yet, we feed our pets the same way their whole lives and expect it never to change.  But it does.  And that's ok.  We are now offering Indiana smaller amounts of food and not worrying when she doesn't eat as much.  Some days, she just gets a can and a half of food, or 2/3 of a pound of raw meat.  It doesn't sound like much, and back in the day, she could eat a whole lot more.  But this is what her body wants, and actually, all it requires.  And now that I've learned that, I will respect it.

*Thanks to Dr. Becker for explaining all of this.  Any potential errors in this post are a product of my crummy memory and are completely mine*

***UPDATE***  I should note that while Indiana's caloric needs have decreased, her nutritional needs have not.  Therefore, we're starting to give her a multivitamin to cover any nutritional holes.

Everything is OK

We're into week three of Indiana's Poly-MVA treatments, and all is well.  She is handling the supplement well (we expected a period of detox but didn't really see anything), and also importantly, she is actually taking  the supplement.  It can be a struggle to get to her eat sometimes, so we're really happy that she's been cooperating where the Poly is concerned.  She gets it three times a day, and a day's worth of medicine costs about $20, so we certainly don't want to waste even a precious drop of this stuff!  Luckily, it looks, smells (and kind of tastes, according to our vet) like soy sauce--i.e. super salty, and apparently Indy likes that.  Good times.

I haven't noticed a difference in her tumor yet; it seems to be the same size as before.  The consultant for Poly-MVA told me it takes up to two months to see an improvement (and sometimes there just isn't one), so we're still early into this whole thing.  I have, however, noticed an improvement in her movement, which is, in my opinion, even more important.  Indy doesn't know she has cancer, but she does know that she has arthritis. 

Another good thing--she has started eating raw again!  Yay!  She stopped eating raw about a year ago (her choice--trust me, she definitely calls the shots around here) but we were curious to offer it again and see if she'd change her mind.  The thing is, dogs with kidney disease get aversions to certain foods--usually because they have felt ill while eating it at some point, and so now they associate the ill feeling with the food--and once they're off a food, they're off for good.  Indy has eaten just about every raw food out there, but we found one company--Oma's Pride--that Indiana had never tried before.  The owners, whom we met at the dog show, were kind enough to give us several free samples, which we fed--successfully!--to Indiana.  As much as we'd like to give it to her for every meal every day, we know that Indiana gets tired of foods pretty quickly, so we have to pace ourselves and remember to give her a variety. 

Indiana has a lot of rules when it comes to eating, but for now, we're following her rules, and she isn't changing them.  As long as we are respectful of her wants and needs, she will cooperate.  And I love her enough to do that.

Everything in Flux

The worst case scenario has come true. Indiana has cancer. Again.

Jim and I (and of course Indiana) successfully battled leiomyosarcoma--and it's still gone--only for Indiana to survive long enough to get another, completely different, type of cancer. While the first cancer was an extremely acute case that put her life immediately in danger, this cancer is different. Everything is different.

On Thursday, September 30, we were told that Indiana had a Stage 1 Soft-tissue Sarcoma. It's a small, quarter-sized tumor on just to the right of her spine, though not actually attached to any muscle. U of I wants to perform surgery within the next month, and four years ago we would have taken this option eagerly. But this time around, our course isn't so clear.

Indiana has a host of health problems, partly from being 12 years old, and partly from having gone through chemo four years ago (ironic, isn't it?). Though arthritis (from being old) is HER biggest complaint, kidney disease and a heart arrhythmia (from the chemo) are OUR biggest concerns. We worry that anaesthesia could put too much strain on her heart and kill her on the operating table. Or that it could screw up her kidneys even worse.

Typically, I'm not the kind of person who vacillates in making a decision. I'm strong-willed and opinionated. Even if I take some time to make a choice, I probably have a particular way I'm leaning in my mind. But not with this. I am absolutely, 100% torn. If I had to make a decision today (and thank goodness I don't), I would be lost. Because I AM lost. Indiana is telling me she still wants to fight. She feels great, and the light in her eyes gives me hope. But I can't let her die on an operating table, either. But how can I let an evil monster like cancer just grow on her body?

Jim and I have the beginnings of a plan. I've already made an appointment to see Indy's nephrologist (her kidney specialist--an amazing man), and today I'll be calling her cardiologist (also a wonderful guy), and making arrangements to get a second cardiology opinion. I've already spoken with our vet, Dr. Becker, who encouraged us to get as many opinions as possible, but she isn't necessarily pro-surgery, and I respect that. I'm not sure I am either. I am comforted that our plan involves a visit with Dr. Becker in three weeks, where the three of us will make a decision together. Hopefully before then, my heart and my brain will decide what we want to do.

I am so heartbroken about this, I don't even know what to do. In the last four years, I have made every conceivable change in Indy's life--the best food, the best doctors, the best supplements, the best proactive care--and still, she gets cancer again. I am going through three of the five stages of grief all at once--denial, depression, and anger. I don't want to hear, see, or think the word "God," because I am now convinced he doesn't exist. It's stupid, I guess, but I am tempted to avoid Facebook for all of the status posts my believer friends make referencing God. They really do make me a bit sick, because I can't believe he even exists, because if he does, he has absolutely forsaken me.

The denial part is my inability to really process this. I KNOW my dog has cancer, but I haven't really allowed myself to absorb that idea or really think about what it means, because to do so means to allow my soul and my spirit to be crushed yet again. It's been damaged so many times in this past year, I'm not sure it can handle it again. So that's why I'm depressed too. I was depressed before this diagnosis, and the cancer is really the icing on the cake.

I hate that I couldn't prevent Indy from getting cancer again, and I hate that I don't know how to help her. I am so lost, and so sad, yet I know I have to keep going, to fight for my precious baby. I have to remove myself from much of the "real" world, because honestly, I don't have enough left inside me to be able to fight this cancer and be a regular person. I hope all of my friends and associates will understand. I don't really have much of a choice. At least that is clear to me.