An Answer to Our Prayers!

What a difference a month makes…

When I last posted, we were disheartened and hopeless. Amputation was Lucy’s only option to ease the suffering and sickness brought on by her sarcoma. The tumor was enormous, constantly oozing, and necrotic.

Her appetite began to wane, and she struggled standing for even 15 minutes so that we could bandage her. She would just whimper and begin to drop down, unable to put weight on her right leg, as it began swelling due to edema brought on by the tumor slowly choking her shoulder.

We could see that although she was sweet, and still had that precious sparkle in her that we loved, the tumor was draining the life out of her. Her strong muscular legs were wasting as she lost protein through the tumor. We were so worried. We felt helpless.

Then, we had a miracle.

A relative discovered a grant available at a nearby vet school. We cautiously hoped. To even be considered, Lucy’s prognosis and cancer staging would have to be determined. We went in for Lucy’s first formal diagnostics (prior to this, all we had was a sarcoma diagnosis from a fine needle aspirant). We waited nervously as she underwent chest radiographs, blood work, and a biopsy of the tissue. We took our groggy girl home, and waited even more nervously for the results. Would it have metasticized? Were we past the point of no return?

Thankfully, no. Joyfully, remarkably, amazingly, despite the enormity of the tumor, nothing indicated that it had metasticized! We were beyond joyful. We couldn’t believe it.

…Then, just as a casual aside, the veterinarian mentioned that the board had agreed to cover her procedures through the grant, and that they needed to schedule Lucy’s CT and amputation for the next week.

I burst into happy tears. I never in my wildest dreams could have believed we’d get the grant. I knew she was worth it, but it was too much to hope for. But there it was. Our miracle. My baby was going to get better.

With an anxious, thankful, and joyful heart, we loaded her in the car this past Thursday morning. We left her in capable hands, and awaited to hear the results of the CT scan. We prayed that the scan wouldn’t reveal anything new that could cast a shadow on her otherwise bright prognosis. We knew that the tumor was so massive, it could possibly be blocking something in her chest that the radiographs were unable to see.

The plan had been to have the CT on Thursday, and the surgery Friday (assuming there were no surprises). We waited by the phone, and when we answered Thursday afternoon, we expected to get news on the CT’s results. Instead, we were told that the doctors had made the decision to hold off on the CT until Friday, so that she would only have to go under anesthesia once and could proceed straight from the CT into surgery. We were happy with the decision and trusted that it was in her best interest. We were still anxious for the CT results, but knew she would be in good hands overnight.

In the early evening, we received another call. Lucy had eaten her supper well and been to the bathroom. The vet had taken time to play fetch with her. But as they played, she noticed that Lucy’s gums, which had been pale pink that morning at check in, were now even paler. As a precaution, Lucy would spend the night in ICU.

Understandably, no one wants to hear that their baby will be in ICU. And the night before her surgery, no less. We were still so grateful she was in the safest place possible, but there was a lingering fear. What if we’d gotten this far and something happened? What if she was too sick for surgery? Could she be this close and not make it through the night? Despite reassurances from the vet that her vitals and panels looked fine, and that ICU was largely precautionary, we still spent a restless night waiting to hear from the vet in the morning.

Morning came, and just like clockwork we received a call from the vet hospital. Lucy had experienced no problems during the previous night, and her color was much better. Privately, her daddy and I wondered if maybe she had just been worn down from the day and the stress of a new environment. Nevertheless, she was doing well, and scheduled for CT at 11 AM, with surgery to follow soon thereafter.

Time never moved so slow. We kept track of the time out of necessity, while also trying not to think too hard about exactly where Lucy was and what was occurring at any given time. We updated family members on Lucy’s status from the night before and her upcoming procedures. We waited.

The phone rang around 12:30. Lucy’s CT scan hadn’t revealed any new growths. When they called, they were still combing through her scans with a fine tooth comb, but her lungs looked clear! The surgeon asked if we were still on board; if so, they could wheel her into OR and begin the amputation. We consented. It was her only chance. They promised to call as soon as she was out of surgery.

Time moved even slower. I must have googled “how long does dog leg amputation take?” a half-dozen times before realizing I probably wouldn’t get any helpful information. Besides, I knew that knowing wouldn’t help. The tumor was massive, and what mattered was that the surgery was happening, not how long it took. We just kept praying she’d make it through alright. The previous day, the surgeon had (in the kindness and most professional way possible) reviewed with us all the possible risks associated with the procedure. We had a good idea of what could go wrong. Yet, we had an even more certain idea of what would happen to Lucy without the surgery. Her life was more important than our fears. We waited.

The phone rang again several hours later. It was the surgeon. The surgery had gone well. They’d cut out all the tumor they could see. We already knew radiation was planned for the microscopic bits that were certain to remain. They’d been able to close the wound (a concern due to the damage on the skin that had covered the tumor). Lucy was even breathing on her own. Our girl had done it. She now had three beautiful, healthy legs, and was no longer burdened with one wrought with disease!

We thanked the surgeons, the vets, anyone who would listen. They had been our walking, talking, healing miracles. Each person who had interacted with Lucy was a miracle in the flesh. The had saved our baby girl.

We were told to come in Saturday morning; we could visit her in ICU and if she was able to take oral medications instead of relying on IV, we could take her home! We were cautiously optimistic and set the car up to transport her home, although such quick turn-around seemed too good to be true. But make no mistake, we were going to see her! Even if she still needed to stay a bit longer, we hadn’t seen our baby in almost 48 hours. We hadn’t been away from Lucy that long in the entire time we’ve been her family, since she was a few months old. (And I kid you not, we were practically sniffing her blankets, we missed her so much.)

On Saturday morning, we were given the miraculous news that we could take her home. The vet went to get her, and we waited, desperate to see her, and each imaging how our new, three-legged puppy would look. They wheeled her into the small room in a contraption that looked like a wagon. I took my first look at my baby post-op.

She was beautiful. Ray of sunshine, dew in the morning, mountain vista after the rain beautiful. She was half shaved, and had a Frankenstein scar running from a pointed tip above where her shoulder used to be, down to under her armpit. As I gazed at her, I couldn’t help but be more focused that the horrible tumor was finally gone, than focus on the loss of her limb. In some ways, it is probably selfish to feel that way. But if it gave her back her life, even temporarily, I consider a leg a small price to pay, and I pray that Lucy felt and continues to feel the same way.

She was on her side, and seemed a bit subdued, but began to lick and wriggle when she saw us. As we gently pet her, we tried to take turns listening to the vet explain various aspects of her treatment and the surgery, although we were both so enamored with Lucy, it was hard to look away. (Thankfully, we did get some one-on-one time to review all aspects of her wound care, treatment, and follow up with the vet while they got Lucy fully ready to go home with us.) The wonderful personnel at the hospital helped get her strapped into her harness, and after a quick word at the desk, and a reminder to schedule a follow-up appointment, daddy carried Lucy to the car for the ride home.

Thank you to everyone who has thought about, prayed for, and wished well for Lucy. Thank you to anyone who offered advice, and thank you especially for the encouragement. The Tripawds community has been wonderful, and all of the tips, gear reviews, and especially the photos of post-op pets have been invaluable as we have planned and mentally prepared for our baby’s operation.
I would like to share the name of the amazing institute which saved my baby’s life, as well as the human angels who have gotten her this far. I have shared neither out of respect for the privacy of all involved, but if I get permission, you can bet it’s going on a Good Year blimp!

I’ll update on the next part of this journey (recovery, healing, and radiation therapy), shortly. For now, I leave you again with my gratitude, joy, and this beautiful picture I took of my baby girl just now. She’s slept next to me the entire time I’ve been writing this. I can’t think of a better or more beautiful ending to this post.

Love to you all!