July 16, 2024
It’s like I was picturing this black fungus hastily taking over Cattie’s insides like a horror movie, & every hour doing nothing felt like we were losing her little by little. We said yes to chemo because we had to do something.
I don’t know about other clinics, but NCSU has a rigid policy for chemo: Drop off your dog before 8:30am, then pick up after 4pm. Because Cat was getting skittish when I’d bring her to that clinic, and bc I could easily work my job in the waiting area, I spoke to the oncology team several days before the appointment. Since I’d be able to stay there all day, we arranged to have Cat hang out with me in the (usually sparse) waiting room when she wasn’t being seen.
That memo either got lost or ignored.
At 9:30, they led us into an exam room. The tech then took Cat to the back for tests — and that was the last I saw of my dog for 8 hours. Mind you, in the meantime, I could hear her wailing in the back, locked in a kennel, knowing full well that her mommy was 10 yards away. It was torture.
Multiple times over 8 long hours, I asked the desk to have Cat brought out to sit with me — to no avail. Finally the oncologist came out to see me. He let me know that all was going fine; no sign of metastasis, & her heart looked good. “Is she ready to go?” I asked. No. She had been back there this whole time & still hadn’t gotten her chemo. He said it’d be in the next hour or two, & I reminded him they’d agreed she could stay with me when not being treated.
They obliged & brought Cat out to me. She looked like hell. Puny, shaken, scared — just a shell of the dog I’d brought in earlier. I took her outside, & she just had no interest in potty time. She just pulled me to our car, but I resisted, knowing we had to go back in FOR THE ONE THING WE’D BEEN WAITING 8 HOURS FOR: The f-ing chemo.
When I got her back inside & [WARNING: GRAPHIC DETAILS] she did something she’s not done since she was 4 months old: she pooped herself — in the waiting area. But it wasn’t really poop — it was some sort of poopy gelatinous blood. OMG. She’s dying, I thought.
I frantically called out to the front desk to get the doctor — stat. WTF was happening??
The doctor came out, surveyed the situation, & basically shrugged it off, saying it was, “simply the result of anxiety.”
Huh? My translation: “Don’t fret. Yeah, your dog’s body is so f-ed from stress — which happened on our watch — that she just defecated blood. No biggie. She’s just a dog. And she’s gonna die anyway.”
None of this is ok, no matter any dog’s condition. But this dog HAS CANCER. I’m no doctor, but I’m well aware that stress exacerbates illnesses. The lack of concern and empathy was maddening and disturbing. What were we even doing here? Subjecting my dog to this bullshit just so they can pour poison into her??
I was ready to jet. But I was exhausted, my brain was fogged, and I relented. I’d already put her through too much to leave without what we came for. Just one more hour — & she stayed with me for all but the 15-minute infusion (also FIFTEEN FREAKIN MINUTES? THAT’S WHY WE SAT THERE FOR SEVEN HOURS AFTER HER TESTS??)
When done, we raced outta there, leapt into the car, sped home, and she crumpled into the arms of her daddy.
All was right again.
—
UPDATE: We did end up doing 5 rounds of chemo (3 of which were elsewhere). I wasn’t all in, but my husband felt ok about continuing — & it was later hard to have regrets when the chemo experience was positive at our other clinic & her 4.5-month staging then showed no sign of metastasis. I will continue to elaborate on this, along with the combination of therapies we’ve used.
