I can't talk about it

My Dear Students,

My best friend, and my daughter’s best friend -- our dog Hank -- has all kinds of medical problems that we did not know about until last Friday afternoon.  He is dying.  Maddy came home at 3:00 on Friday as usual, but he barely lifted his head.  Usually when one of us comes home, he will grab the nearest thing he can find -- a box of kleenex, a stuffed gorilla, a cardboard box, the laundry basket -- and trot around like a little tease.  So when he acted so dispirited, Maddy started feeling around and looking into his mouth, and she noticed that his gums were pale -- barely pink at all -- and cold to the touch.

I left MHS in a hurry, and met her at the vet’s office.  Dr. Bang was already sending us off to the 24-hr. ER vet on South and Palo Verde.  We got there by 4, Hank was put into an oxygen cage, and a series of tests began.  We were sucker punched by this turn of events.  He was fine in the morning, and he’s only 8 years old.  He’s active, well-exercised, well-fed -- a loved and cared for dog.  But they found either cancer or blood clots all over his lungs, and a later ultrasound revealed that he had lots of fluid in his pericardial sack -- that little purse that holds your heart.  Because the fluid was exerting so much pressure, his heart could not pump out mightily to distribute blood throughout his body.  His body was oxygen-deprived, which made his gums pale and cold (they’re better now, but this is the first thing we keep checking).  His heartbeat is erratic and wildly out of rhythm.

None of this good, and none of it is hopeful.  We could embark upon the path of more and more medical intervention, chemotherapy maybe, or a cardiologist to figure out what is the matter with his heart.  We probably could even get a heart transplant.  But we asked ourselves, “what does quality of life mean to a dog?”  JK Rowling quoted Seneca in her commencement speech -- “As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.”  We could spend all of our money chasing down a cure, keeping Hank on operating tables and in oxygen cages, or we could bring him home, and make him happy.

So we asked the vet to draw off the fluid that had collected around his heart.  When that was done, the vet told us it was bloody, so he now suspects a slow leak from a tumor in Hank’s heart.  How this happened, and so suddenly, I’ll never understand.  But Hank perked up quite a lot after that fluid was gone, and we brought him home to spend his last days at home with us, and his toys, and his neighborhood.  When his time comes, we will call a vet to the house.

Leaving the vet on Saturday night, after 30 hours in the hospital, we did not expect Hank to make it to Sunday night.  Or to Monday.  And especially not until Tuesday.  But the boy is hanging in there, and Maddy and I have to go back to work!  As much as we want to, we can’t just stay home and watch Hank sleep, and feed him little bits of chicken and grassfed beef, and freeze-dried duck treats, and scratch his ears and tell him how handsome he is.  Every minute we’ve had with him has been a gift -- a miracle, really.  We made a nest in the living room with blankets and a futon mattress, and we’re hanging out with him.  The doctor was not saying encouraging things at all, but here we are.  Lots of people are praying for us, and I think we’re living in a little bubble of grace somehow.  We’ve asked Carlos to come over and stay with Hank for the hours that we must be at work, so I’ll be back to school tomorrow. 

I cannot talk about this, or I will cry. I’ve been crying a lot already, and I don’t think I’m done. So let’s just do our work, and be kind to one another.  What do you say? 

And right now, I’m going to take Hank for a slow, slow walk around the block so he can smell on his favorite things, and pee on stuff.

See you Wednesday.

PS.  I am out again on Thursday, for a previously scheduled professional development day.  I’m just not going to see you very much this week.,