The Choice

This has been the hardest week of my life.

Duncan had his CT scan on Monday. That was hard because I was afraid the anesthesia would kill him, and I think I’m starting to deal with the emotional weight of the issue. So I cried all day. After I dropped him off, I went to get coffee and I sat in the car for 20 minutes just crying. I couldn’t stop. Around noon, we went to visit him. He was dopey, but happy to see us and he clearly wanted to leave. He kept trying to get out of his cage, tripping over his various ivs. I was glad he was OK, but I hated leaving him there even though it was just for 2 hours so he could hydrate. The anesthesia is hard on his already diseased kidneys. So, they flush his system with plenty of fluids.

Tuesday, Russ left for a weeklong shoot about prizewinning bulls or something like that. That evening, I had a consult with a holistic vet. She was wonderful. And to my surprise, she recommended amputation. This cancer is so aggressive particularly if it is partially excised. She mentioned that she had one patient who had one surgery and the tumor grew back, but they were able to keep her going for nine months. That was the greatest success she had with holistic therapy and this cancer. Amputation however can successfully remove all of the cancer so the cat can enjoy a cancer free life. Survival rates are highest with radical surgery alone. Partial surgery has the lowest survival rates and radiation and chemo have rates in between. Of course it depends on which study you read. And it depends where the cancer is. But the holistic vet felt strongly that amputation would be the way to go. She assured me that animals don’t have the same emotional attachment to their limbs that people do. Duncan won’t wake up and think, “AHHHK! Where’s my leg?!???!?” He will wake up and think, “Hmmm. I have to figure out a way to stand.” And then he adapts. And his human freaks out.

Wednesday, the surgeon called. She consulted with the oncologist, who is reported to be one of the best in the west. They reviewed the scan and felt that amputation is the way to go. BUT she did give us the option of NOT amputating. Well, this throws a wrench into it. Now there is a choice. Another choice. We could leave the leg. I didn’t think she would offer that as an option. She could scrape out as much of the cancer as possible. He wouldn’t need as much recovery time. He would still be my same little Duncan. BUT. There is always a but…. The tumor mass is so close to the shoulder blade that they feel the need to take that. This cancer likes to grow along connective tissue and muscle fascia. If anything is left, it will quickly invade the shoulder and the chest cavity and ultimately the lungs. Operations would not be an option at that point, nor would any other treatment. We’d make him comfortable. He would have a few weeks. He would be in pain. And his human would freak out.

Thursday, our regular vet called. He was unusually down. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. It really sucks.” I asked him about his experience with tripods and cancers. He told me the same thing about animals adapting to their new stance. That, apparently, is not a big deal. For the animal. This human, however, is having a really hard time with it. He also told me that most people opt for the lumpectomy, which never works. It always comes back, fast and nasty. He told me he always wishes they had done an amputation the first time around. Always. Wow. That’s 3 vets and an oncologist telling me that amputation is the right thing to do. And still I question it.

Friday, I go to a therapist to talk about how guilty I feel and the fact that I can’t stop crying. She has pets too. She cries. She asks a lot of questions about vaccine-associated sarcomas. She didn’t know. She assures me Duncan will be happy to see me no matter how many legs he has and that I’ll feel better once I see that his personality hasn’t changed. He is still the same cuddly kitty. In the car as I drive back to work (minus all my eye makeup), I beg for a sign that this is OK, that I’m not subjecting something I love so much to needless pain and suffering. I mean I don’t believe in declawing, how could I believe in AMPUTATION? It doesn’t make sense.

That night, I get into my car and flip on the radio. “…who lost his arms, both of them, to landmines. But he still defuses them with his teeth.” It was NPR. I don’t know if the speaker was talking about a book, or a real person. It doesn’t matter. The point was made. I drove to Hollywood to see my friend Herschel in a play. In the parking garage, there were numerous traffic directors since it’s the site of the Oscars. Even though they are a week away, there are rehearsals and pre-event dinners and parties. Security is everywhere. I search for the correct route for a non-oscar-related-freaked-out-owner-of-cancer-cat. They didn’t have a sign for that. But a guard lazily pointed the way with a sweep of his right hand. Wait! Is he cold and has his left arm tucked in his shirt like I used to do on cold nights at football games in high school? No. That’s an empty shirtsleeve. His left arm is missing. It was not lost on me that he was pointing to the right. I wondered if it bothered him to be stationed on left-pointing duties. He seemed fine, if bored. Maybe Duncan would be fine, too.

Saturday proved to be nice relaxing day full of lots of rain. It rained as I have never seen it rain in California before. It stormed. All night, there was lightning and thunder, which is very unusual. They were storms of mid-west proportions! Around 12:30, I was awakened by gunfire. I had just convinced myself that it was the heater warming up when I heard it again. Nope, that’s gunfire. And it’s really close. Five shots. I froze waiting for the next sounds. Tires screeching? Police cars? Ambulance? Six minutes later, helicopter. For some reason, LA police like to respond with helicopters. Even to noise complaints. No sirens, no screams. I lay awake terrified, yet enjoying one last night snuggling with Duncan and his four paws. This last night ends with a bang. Lots of them. The human is going to need lots of anti-anxiety drugs if this continues.

Tonight, he must fast after 10:30. Which means I sleep in the external bonus room. He and Paxton like to eat several times a night and they just won’t take no for an answer. We found the best solution is to leave them in the house alone then whisk Duncan off to the vet first thing in the morning. Since this will be the third time in so many weeks, I’m sure he’ll know something’s about to happen. But he’ll have no idea how monumental. And his human freaks out.