Diagnosis Day
Within a minute of hearing the word “cancer,” I knew I wanted to amputate. Many and maybe even most don’t have that reaction, but I had an obsessive tunnel vision about it. There was something bad in my dog, and I wanted it out, stat.
When the vet pressed on Jake’s swollen shoulder, he yelped in pain. She ordered X-rays, and immediately told me she suspected osteosarcoma. Injury doesn’t cause that level of swelling, she said.
I headed home without him, as he needed mild sedation to get the pics they needed. By the time I picked him up hours later, I had 4 different amputation consults scheduled and put us on the cancellation lists at all the surrounding veterinary hospitals. I had a first choice, but time was of the essence, so I’d go with first-available.
Amputation
Exactly three weeks later, they removed his left front leg.
What’s more, the definitive diagnosis didn’t come until the day before… but they knew. These doctors have seen much more than me, and I trusted their judgement. No one throws out cancer as a shot in the dark. The biopsy results were merely confirmation.
In the weeks prior, Jake was on Rimadyl for pain, which was so effective that his limp was nonexistent. He’d only been mildly limping a couple weeks before Diagnosis Day. The day before surgery, he was zooming like a puppy.
I’d like to think my fast action made a difference for him, but we’ll never know. For him, he was never truly suffering, that I could tell anyway. One day, he took a nap … and woke up missing a body part.
Discharge
Two days later, on the drive to pick him up from the hospital, a flood of anxiety hit me. I have no idea what I’m doing! I was so focused on getting the surgery, that I hadn’t considered what happens after.
My boyfriend had the perfect analogy, for those parents out there. It’s like having your first baby. You go through all the checklists, do all the things to get ready for having a baby … and then, oh sh*t! How do I take care of a baby?!
The hospital was excellent. They sent me home with a suitcase-style harness and helped me to the car. Jake was pretty drugged up and not too steady on his paws. He and I hobbled to the car together, and as the nurse was explaining to me how to help him into the car, he willfully launched himself in and faceplanted. He made no effort to correct this, just settled himself and closed his eyes.
Recovery
I helped him out of the car when we got home, shuffling my suitcase-dog slightly uphill towards the front door. We never use it, but the porch only has two steps so it seemed the most logical.
He laid down in the yard. Jake is not an obstinate dog, so his refusal to go on was a surprise. He was struggling. And my anxiety was telling me I underestimated things.
We made it indoors eventually, but it was clear I had work to do. I dragged a futon mattress onto the living floor, wondering if he would ever be able to handle stairs. (Spoiler alert: he most certainly would.) I set up baby gates. I bought carpet runners for the vinyl floor. I ordered rubber toenail caps to give him better traction (which honestly, are fantastic regardless of the number of legs). Some of it was overkill, but I needed to do it.
Though I was generally anxious about our transition to his post-op life, I only had one brief moment of true regret. Three days after his amp, he was squirming awake from a nap, seemingly uncomfortable. He stood up … and just started screaming. It wasn’t a bark, or a howl, or any sound I’ve heard him or any dog ever make. He was screaming in pain, and for maybe 10 or 15 terrifying seconds, I thought he might be dying of a heart attack or something similar.
And then it was over. He laid back down. But for hours and perhaps days, I beat myself up. What have I done?
I’ll never really know what was wrong, but he was wearing his harness. I guessed it was pressing against the surgery site. After that, I made sure to remove it unless we were going outside.
