Author Archives: OhMelvin

Heartbreak.

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I miss Jake. That is my entire existence right now.

All of me, misses all of him.

I’m surprised to even be here on the blog.  When I learned of Jake’s cancer, the future of the blog loomed in the back of my mind. I thought that when I lost him, so many things would go silent, including this space. This is a blog about my little family. My little dog family. And that little family…is gone now.

It has only been two days. To say it’s been two days seems crazy because it feels like forty lifetimes since we parted. I’m not sure why he feels so far away from me, I’m sure it has something to do with my protective barrier. Losing Jake is familiar in some ways, Melvin has not been gone that long and I know how grief goes. I know that sadness will try to hold me down and that I have to move through it. But like any loss, losing Jake is also completely different. Jake is my baby. Jake and I got each other through the last year. I know, I will work through this. This part, I know is torture and heartbreak that will one day find its way into joy and love and memory. This part I know is the heavy debt of true love.  I know that wonky little monkey will light the way with his magical googly eyes for me. I will learn to persevere the same way he did, making every difficult step count.

I keep telling myself, it’s only been two days.

If it was just losing Jake, that would be enough, losing him is unbearable. While that part is ‘the given’ part of loss and grief, there is this new and complicated part of losing him that began to suffocate me an hour or two after Jake died and that has continued to spiral ever since.

I am overwhelmed to not be caring for Jake.

Not the normal things we all miss about caring for our pets, like meal time, or potty breaks or walks or training or treats or them just being there and needing us. I am overwhelmed by the things that fill up the day when you are taking care of someone with special needs. Like getting up several times a night to check to make sure Jake has not fallen out of his bed and to make sure he is not sleeping on or near poop. To carry him down and out in the morning, to clean his diaper area in case bugs got on him while he was outside. To change his diaper 25 times a day. To clean up all the accidents. To apply ointment after ointment after ointment to his infection. To care for his eyes, his MRSP, his mobility, his movement from room-to-room, to cook for him, to answer the ten alarms I had set throughout the day for all his treatments. To get him to the front door for neighborhood watch, to his stroller for walks, to his sunspots in the afternoon and to the couch for evening lounging. To carry him upstairs and help him get into his bed each night, tucking his legs in exactly the way he liked them. I do my laundry once a week.  I do Jake’s laundry daily. I don’t leave the house for more than 3-4 hours without making a plan to have Jake’s diaper changed or to go home and change it myself. Jake is gone and I have gone from providing 24/7 care to providing nothing. Every minute that goes by and he does not need me to help him anymore, breaks me. I get up at night and he’s not there. I stand up at 1pm and 2pm and 3pm to change his diaper. I had alarms set for the entire day so I would stay on track with his treatments and although I have silenced the alarms, I am unable to silence the ache that occurs each time I realize, he does not need my nurturing anymore. Additionally, with or without the alarms, my body still gets up to stay on track with our schedule.

I have no idea how to transition from caretaker to just me. Not on top of dealing with the loss of Jake. As Jake’s mother, there is nothing more I want for him than to be running and jumping and leaping in heaven. To be able see all the loveliness and all the joy with both eyes. To be struggle free, infection free and most importantly, enveloped in Melvin’s embrace and love. Soul mates, reunited eternally. Being together, is where they belong. But there is still a part of me, a raw part of me, that also wants Jake here.

In addition to the loss, and the disruption to the beautiful cadence of my day with Jake, I am also now a mom, with no dogs. The boys are both gone. If I thought coming home to Melvin not greeting me at the door was hard, coming home to no Melvin and no Jake and no need for a noise machine and radio is a most deafening silence. This one, this one is just going to have to suck until I get used to it. It’s more just a reality that will have to sink in.

When Max died, I got up because Melvin needed me and he kept me going. When Melvin died, I got up for Jake. Jake needed me and we moved forward together. In this now dog-less house, I get up because I know  they would want me to. I try to remember who we are, even if we, is just me now. And there are parts of me that know I’m capable even though I feel incredibly weak.

It’s only the start of day three. I’m trying to be kind to myself.

I will find my way. The boys will guide me and love will continue to live on.

Thank you for your messages, your comments, your thoughts, your prayers and your general awesomeness. Thank you, for you. I do plan on sharing with you what happened with Jake, probably next week. Until then, here is a photo of my little angel from our recent photo shoot.

BT4A0031 (1)

Run free, my love.

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Jake Holupka

September 27, 2007 – July 18, 2016

“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong. I knew it from the moment that we met, no doubt in my mind where you belong…

…no there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do, go to the end of the earth for you, to make you feel my love.”

I love you, bug. Forever. xoxo

The infection.

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Jake still has an infection.  He has had it for a few weeks. Other times battling his diaper area infections have turned out fine. Those other times however, we were not also battling cancer.

This infection has consumed me. It owns my mind and all my time and energy goes into battling it or worrying about it. This is one of those times when you start to understand what they mean when the cause of death is something other than the disease at hand.  Like…he died of complications from cancer. This infection, is most certainly a complication.

There have been a lot of vet visits, countless efforts to fix it, so many creams that I had to make room in the garage. There have also been some tough conversations in the case we can’t get it under control. Luckily, his pain meds seem to be protecting him from feeling much of it at all.  And his wonky spine takes care of diminishing the rest of the sensation, so for that I’m thankful. He is for the most part, still Jake.

Since returning from my trip, I have not really left Jake’s side. I lay with him so he can have the infected area uncovered and untouched. I put different medications on him. I have to use surgical gloves which makes sense but feels strange.  I do homeopathic treatments (made for us by our amazing holistic vet), making a paste out of herbs and honey and I put that on the area for 15 minutes.  Then I meticulously clean it off and start back on the medications. I have everything on a timer and the timer is almost always going off.

I’m desperate for more time with him.

But more so, he still feels joy.

I had the worst migraine of my life this past weekend and every time that alarm went off, I somehow got up. He is my purpose right now. He is my goal.

There is a part of me that knows that this infection might be the sign that it’s time. To let him go before the cancer takes him. I know that his time is coming. But there is also still this light in him that ignites a light in me and it makes me wants to solve just one of his problems before I say goodbye. I’m not sure that light ever goes out. But I have started adjusting the glow. Instead of always saying ‘you’ll be fine bud’, I have started saying ‘if it’s time to go to Melvin, I understand.  I’ll carry all the sadness bud, you need only travel with joy’.

I had a conversation with someone recently. I was working through a let down, trying to focus on forgiveness so I could move on. Forgiveness is way better than bad mojo. I learned that from Melvin.  During the conversation, came some great advice.  He said… ‘never set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm’.

And I thought a long time about that and it hit home in ways that were probably way outside of the scope of his meaning for it (although it made sense that way too).  I decided I was going to cut back on everyone else’s needs for a bit and only focus on Jake and me. I had been spreading myself too thin. I recall feeling this way last year with Melvin. When my capacity was focused on him.  And now it’s the same with Jake.

Right now, my plan is Jakey. His time is short and my time is his.

It’s funny, during this past week with Jake, I realized that the fire advice has some parameters — if setting myself on fire would help Jake, I’d be ablaze right now.

Love is so infinitely wonderful and so incredibly hard sometimes. What love looks like can change in an instant. We work so hard to make the end lovely but the reality is that it’s also impossible and messy and it always feels like yours is the very first end ever and no matter how many people surround you or call you or show up, you are still…alone. The end is lonely. So my advice is…don’t feel bad for needing ‘me/us’ time. Remember that being human has its limitations. For cripes sake, do not set yourself on fire! Most importantly, try to forgive the end (even more importantly, always try to forgive yourself).

But don’t forgive infections, they suck.

 

Side note:we had the infection cultured and it’s not an easy one to treat but there are medications we can try so we are going try that route, for now.

I promise you that suffering is not in Jake’s future. I’m still hopeful this infection won’t be the end.

Don’t forget to feed me woman. 

 

Leaving.

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I had to leave Jake for a few days.  Leaving anyone towards the end of their life feels impossible and complicated and emotionally painful but sometimes other loved ones in your life need you also and you make compromises.

The only saving grace was that if Jake were able to make his own bucket list, the first nine out of ten items would be to have his dog sitter, Tayler (and her mom), come stay with him.  He may love her more than me.  And I’m fine with that. For the record, Jake’s tenth item on the bucket list would be for us to go live wherever Melvin went and for me to pack really good snacks for the journey.

Tayler has watched him many times before,the last time this past winter.  That did not stop me from channeling my inner insanity detailing every step of Jake’s day in notes. Here is a look at the note, the highlighted areas are items that are new/different since the last time she watched him.

Crazy, party of one.

The original plan was to take Jake on the trip. But sometimes life puts cancer in your day and you cannot add to your baby’s struggle anymore than it already does.

Jake’s bucket list: own a harem. Check.

 

Most of you don’t know this but I had to leave Melvin for a few days, just after we found out he was dying.  There was a very special and important family trip and although I could have canceled, there was the potential for regret no matter what choice I made. As it turned out, Melvin was just fine without me and he too got to spend a special last visit with his love, Vasha.

Even in dying and death, we have to live. It’s not always easy (I cried so much when I left Melvin for that trip but I also had some wonderful people around me, giving me strength to go back and face the hardest phase of my life).

So I left Jake for a few days, and there were tears (mine, not his!). I worried way too much, but I did relax some. I overthought everything and yet still found some clarity. I checked-in like a crazy person and even had the vet come by to check on him and of course, he did fine.

I would care for Jake until the end of time. I would change his diapers, care for his infections, carry him…forever. But it’s always nice to get a little break.  I came back rejuvenated and when Jake pooped on me as I was giving him my snuggly hello, I laughed so hard. That is what our love looks like and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

Formal wear.

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I pride myself on finding solutions for Jake. There have certainly been times when those efforts have failed to produce options, but usually just for the minor stuff.

Jake drags his hind legs around now, which means his diaper gives me a big F-you every time I put it on him.  I readjust his diaper, true story, 100 times a day. Ask all the carpets we have waved goodbye too, the system was not working great. I had tried suspenders but Jake is pretty small and since he is on his stomach a lot, having the underside suspender part was not ideal because it would cut into him.  I also tried wrapping a scarf around the diaper (tighter), the scarf also gave me the big F-you. I even tried that mesh wrap the vet uses but I’d have to get a 2nd and 3rd job to afford that for every friggen diaper change.

So  I did what Elsa suggested and I let it go, and I just became the re-adjuster. Then Amazon, who serves up ideas based on my previous searches (guys, my searches would make you full on pee your pants — and we would have a diaper for you!), put the solution in front of me. Sheet binders. The straps you put on your fitted sheet to keep it in place.  They were 8 inches, the EXACT length Jake is from collar to diaper. Same day delivery? Yes, please!

We are only on day two, but my back is already hollering hallelujah! And Jake looks like he just came from a wedding reception. Pretty much the ONLY time you’d see white suspenders.

I mean, try not to laugh!

It took a while to get the sizing right so he was not choking.  Choking is bad. 

For the record, dude had just pee’d in this bed and I was taking it up to wash.  He has no shame. He is more like a wedding crasher. 

 

Opposite.

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Melvin and Jake’s cancers are completely different and my handling of them are also, almost opposite.

Melvin was, except for the cancer, very healthy at his end.  We’d beat and cured all his issues.  The one thing we struggled with was weight loss.  He lost 10 pounds his last month despite him eating a ton. His cancer type must have been hungry.  Jake on the other hand has a ton of problems to go along with his cancer. A cancer leg that refuses to move (and is changing color) and a TERRIBLE diaper rash, to name a few. He however, is one of the very few cancer dogs that gains weight — he gained one pound last week.  Woohooo!

Then there is me.

With Melvin’s cancer, writing about it kept me grounded. It gave me strength. With Jake’s cancer, I don’t always feel compelled to put the words to web. That might just be a round two issue.

When Melvin got diagnosed I was devastated (that is no different for Jake), but after seeing two radiologists, the oncologist, our regular vet and our holistic vet (all within one week), I knew he was terminal and I knew our time was going to be very short. I went from living mode to survival mode and everyday I focused on getting Melvin to his end with all his joy intact. I have zero doubt or guilt that letting him go when we did, was absolutely the right thing to do.  It was the worst day of my life, but it was one of the most right things I ever did for him.

With Jake, sometimes in my head I operate like his decline is just the normal progression of his spine. It is a plight we’d already begrudgingly accepted so my brain thinks it’s normal. And sure, you can argue that some denial is good, but I need to start being truer to Jake’s end. His decline, is due to cancer. My inability to cure this round of diaper rash, is due to his cancer.  When strangers see him and say ‘poor little guy’ my response can’t be ‘oh, he’s fine’ all the time. He is not fine. I can say he’s happy, he’s loved, and he has the best care imaginable but truth is, Jake is struggling. I need to become less ‘ok’ with what is happening to him in the sense that this is not our original diagnosis of spinal issues and become more ‘ok’ about the fact that he has spinal cancer.  I’m still so desperate to fix him. I still think that this is our normal progression and I still google solutions for everything. Which is the opposite of how I was with Melvin.  And that is not to say I give up or I gave up. It’s just a matter of learning where to put your energy. I wanted to save Melvin every minute that he was on this earth but when he got cancer, I understood (not accepted) the end was near.  He and I cured his life and although getting a terminal cancer with no options went against everything we were and had been through, it was what it was. With Jake, he has struggled so much these past few years that we now are used to it. We have really, solved nothing with him. We ‘saved’ his eye. We have products that help. But everything he has faced, we just sorta had to seek solutions to make it ok to live with. So when he got cancer, I probably thought the opposites would continue, that with him, we’d have options and maybe for once a cure for him. I have to accept some hard truths. It’s complicated to have a special needs dog and then have them get cancer and have that cancer affect the areas they were already special in. For Jake, It’s almost like I don’t comprehend.

So our vet(s) have suggested switching to a ‘hospice’ mentality.  It’s not Jake’s time yet, but the term hospice can sometimes help the human move into the necessary mindset. It helps me process things like ‘the radiation didn’t work as well as we hoped’.  My normal response to that is ‘what do we try next’ and I am fairly unable to process the words ‘nothing’.

Thankfully there are still some things we can try to ease the diaper rash. We may not cure it (but watch me try!).

I’ve been laughing about the differences between the boys situations (ahhhh, the ability to find humor in strange places),  and I know that most of the reasons there are differences is that they are not the same and neither are/were their cancers.  I’m grateful for the most remarkable ‘Team Jake’ vets and I’m grateful for all of you who read these posts and who understand why there might be fewer posts right now.

To conclude, there is always joy to be found.  The recipient of Jake’s wheelchair (Oliver) is going on tons of adventures in his new ride and he has gone from uncertain of how to get around to owning that cart like a boss!  Heart happy.  Heart full. Love lives on, even in wheelchairs!

Whatcha doing woman? When you gonna unroll that new carpet? 

Oncology check-up.

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Jake got diagnosed with spinal cancer and a nerve sheath tumor four months ago. I cannot decide if it feels like four-months, if it feels longer or if time is flying by.  I guess mostly, it feels like four months.

We had an oncology appointment this week. For the most part, Jake is doing great! He has maintained his weight (thank you home cooked diet and peanut butter!).  His mobility has declined (terminal spinal cancer will do that) but his decline has been slow and steady so he has been able to acclimate. He’s comfortable, our pain management approach is working. That last one, is everything.

Jake was always going to be paralyzed in the back, so that part was already (for lack of any control on our part) accepted. Of course it got accelerated by the cancer, but we had already made peace with his mobility plight. And he’s still perplexing the medical community, which I love doing, as his cancer leg is changing color and no one knows why!

I asked the Oncologist point-blank (as I do each month)…”You said he’d have three to six months, do you still feel that is the case?”. She said…”I think so”.

It’s odd, but I left that appointment happy.  Sure, Jake has a cancer we can’t treat (the reality) but his slow, steady decline has given him a chance to keep his chin up (the blessing). We are controlling the parts that we can. We are doing it all as right as possible.

Focus on the joy.

A lot of loveliness can occur in a few months. Sure it will feel short when the end comes, but that is the case with all ends, there is just never enough time.

A few human months is about one to two dog years — Jake is going to have an AWESOME dog year or two!!

More peanut butter, please! 

Rugs, they come and go.

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Dogs have accidents.  You clean up and move on. Jake is a master of escaping his diaper or the diaper fails or meatballs pop out of his butt.  All of these things happen several times a day. I clean up and move on.

Despite having a 14-point clean-up process for every accident, sometimes it comes time to let rugs go. In three years, I’ve lost count of the number of rugs that Jake has killed ruined sent packing. Recently, it was one of our favorites. A high pile, thick shag carpet that was really never supposed to be ‘for Jake’ but in a pinch, I had to relocate Shaggy to an area so that Jake could move from kitchen to couch. As it turns out, Shaggy was ‘let go’ not due to accidents (although there were a few), but because Jake realized Shaggy was REALLY good at holding his peanut butter Kongs steady while he licked the good stuff out and she went from being white to being sticky and orange.

Note to all: peanut butter in a high-pile shag rug does not come out, regardless of how many cleaning products you use.

So we said goodbye.  Jake was pretty upset.  He spent two days sitting by her side before she finally made it to the curb.

Farewell, Shaggy.  And like all the others that came before you…I’m sorry.

Why are you doing this to us?

Try to unfold yourself, Shaggy. I need your softness on my body. 

I don’t know why she keeps saying ‘this is a first world problem Jake’. Just ignore her.

UPS.

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When the decision was made that Jake could no longer use his wheelchair, I had the normal reaction, put it in the corner and suppress the disappointment.

But that wheelchair kept calling out ‘someone needs me, do the right thing’.  So I reached out to Jake’s rescue and I asked if there were any alumni they knew of that REALLY needed a cart.  They had someone in mind and I reached to that little-big cow dog’s mom.  When she asked me how much I wanted for the cart, I explained that we really wanted to her guy to have it. The only thing we asked in return is that they pay it forward one day.

So last week I loaded it up with instruction (when that cart came I had zero idea how to get Jake in it so that instruction step was crucial) and I carried it out the door and put it in my car.  I stopped at UPS, grabbed the cart and walked in.

That is the exact moment that all the oxygen left the world. I was standing in UPS, there was no oxygen and I started hyperventilating, bawling and then out of nowhere came a honking sound from my body. I panicked (or perhaps terrified myself), turned to run out, ran into the man standing behind me (the wheelchair rammed into him) and somehow made it out the door with a bunch of voices yelling behind me ‘ma’am, are you ok?’

Oh sure, I always honk like a donkey, things are great.  Instead I yelled back, ‘I have nothing to mail’.  (HAHAHAHAH, I have nothing to mail, classic response. That totally makes the situation more normal.)

I got into my car, drove to a side street and parked. What the hell had just happened? I made a few calls to people who could talk me back into some realm of sanity.

I looked over at the wheelchair.

Sending the cart made Jake’s cancer too real for a moment. 

It’s OK to be human. Just breathe.

I did a few other errands. At one point I realized that UPS probably had security cameras so I just prayed that I was not currently trending on You Tube. I eventually went back and mailed the wheelchair. The people at UPS could not have been nicer, they took one look at the notes and said ‘seems like this cart is being sent with a lot of love’. It most certainly is. Love will live on in that cart.

The wheelchair is on its way to Oliver and he is going to rock the hell out of that cart and his mom will hopefully breathe some relief when she sees him take off in it. There is something really special that happens when your mobility challenged dog gets his wheels and is suddenly no longer hindered at all.  Jake and Oliver have similar spinal issues and they just happen to be the two biggest Frenchies in the world so the size should be perfect.

We had a great weekend, Jake is snoring in the next room and luckily for him he has a great replacement wheelchair, her name is Tracey. All is good here.

Why did you honk like a donkey at UPS? I’m embarrassed. 

Everything.

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When it comes to Jake, most days  I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’ve pretty much felt this way for three and half years.

It started off because he does not react to anything I do. He has no tail to wag, he has wiggled his body maybe ten times since I’ve met him and all of those times were for Melvin. When I dance or sing for him, he sits like a statue, almost pretending like it’s not happening.  When I come home, Jake does not even get up, he looks to see what the noise is about then puts his head back down. I have no gauge of if he likes something or not. Except food, he will 100% eat anything and everything.

I know what to do for Jake, if something happens I take care of it, and there is nothing I won’t do to make his life be the best that it can be. But when it comes to most things about him, and his spine and his paralysis and now the cancer, there are a lot of grey areas and most days I just wing it.  I guess it was the same with Melvin’s allergies but I think it’s different when you are solving problems versus dealing with issues there are no solutions for. (I guess even then, love is a pretty good solution).

I have to carry Jake a lot now. I am never sure I am picking him up correctly.  I’ve read articles, watched videos and asked the vet(s) but there is no set way for every single thing that Jake goes through in a day that would suggest one way is the best way. Wing it.

I cook for him now, a cancer diet.  There are so many theories about what they should eat when they have cancer. Then there is balancing that food brings Jake joy. The nutritionist said ‘no dog treats’, only give him fruit or veggies.  I heard, give him peanut butter.  But to compromise I have his peanut butter freshly ground so that he doesn’t get added sugar.  Winging it.

I am a confident person. When someone compliments me, I almost always agree. If you ask me if I’m confident in my ability to care for Jake I would tell you without pause or thought, I am the best person for this job.  I can know this is my purpose, and still not know what the hell I am doing.

It’s called, hoping for the best.

Although I have complete faith I can and will make Jake’s life decisions, I have no clue what spinal cancer looks like at the end. Every day is different and while I do worry and I am sad, most days we just coast. Sometimes you have to provide the light for the dark corners, even when you have no idea where the flashlight is and you are pretty sure the batteries are dead.

Even when I am hoping for the best, it is impossible to avoid thoughts about all the loss that losing Jake will bring. I’ll lose him and that heartache alone is too much to consider. I’ll lose a connection to Melvin. There will be no dogs in the house, in fact I don’t recall the last time I didn’t have a dog.  I will go from taking care of a special needs dog, which takes up quite a bit of the day, to the dreaded void.  I worry about how I will get through. Not that I don’t have support and love and family and friends. But more about where I will derive strength if I don’t have Melvin or Jake to care for. But those moments are short lived, becasue the moneky is still here wtih me, and our life is beautiful.

“You can’t choose the length of your life, but you can do something about the width and the depth.” (saw this on FB this week).

Melvin reminds me to seek out the joy. Find the joy in the little moments. Be a joy seeker.

In being open to joy, one day, I’m at a party and I spot my dad (who I knew would be at the party) and I go up to say hi and he says ‘wait here, I have something for you’. He returns with an article cut out of the Washington Post about a woman who makes dog diapers for her paralyzed dog.  He is a not a dog person but he is a dog person for me and my boys and this non-dog person regularly cuts articles out about dogs and saves them for me. Upon delivering it to me, he tells the people around us that I am ‘a great dog mom’. He says it so proudly, so truly. And I of course think I am, I know I am, but in that moment with him and hearing him say it, it feels like everything.  Everything. Like someone just served up the whole world to me. I didn’t know that I needed to hear HIM say that at that exact point-in-time but in that joy moment, Jake and I won at this life. I realized that Jake I and have already won at what’s to come.  Little moments, are sometimes, the everything.

In life, it doesn’t matter if you know what you are doing.  It only matters that you keep showing up to try.

#findyourjoy #loveliveson

 

 

Memorial Day Weekend.

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On Sunday, Jake and I went over to my parents house for a day of relaxation and pool.  I put Jake into the car at 10:15 and he was up ALL DAY. All day.  Jake is never up all day! But this is how it is at my parents house.  They don’t have a dog so there is food that falls on the floor that no one notices and Jake  swims on the hardwood floors to find it ALL (Melvin taught him well). Add to it that my niece Maddy was there also, and well all these things make my parents house Jake’s favorite place on earth.

While we were at the pool, Jake stayed inside the temperature controlled pool house (such a rough and tortured life). Maddy caught a frog and recalled that Jake loves hunting frogs so we let him hunt it (through the glass) (He was not fooled by the glass but he did try to take one bite!).  I immediately added this to his bucket list and then immediately checked it off. Photo and video below:

Instead of frogs, he ate a kong full of hot dog (his eyes rolled back into his head). Then it was time to go, I put Jake in the car to go home, and he was passed out before we even got out of the neighborhood.  And on Monday, he got up to eat breakfast and then slept all day.

Jake having a great weekend – check, check!

 

Rules are boring.

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After Melvin died and Jake’s gang violence escalated territorial monitoring and prey drive increased, we called our dear friend and trainer Nancy to work with him (and me). I explained to her that his favorite thing to do was sit at the door but with every passerby, especially that of the dog variety, Jake would flip and flail and foam at the mouth.

Her advice, shut the blinds and work with him under controlled open-blind circumstances until we could give him the skills to handle the activity of outside.  It was brilliant and we set off on our positive reinforcement clicker training with fake and real dogs (Yes, our trainer would walk down our sidewalk in front of our house with a fake dog on a leash and I would click from inside with Jake the moment he saw them).  It was awesome! I believe in positive reinforcement training – not just for the dog, but for the human too. It’s not ‘all my rules all the time’, it’s ‘how can we both be the best that we can be together’.

Jake didn’t exactly ‘graduate’. We worked real hard but since he was diagnosed with cancer, the clicker got put in the drawer and the peanut butter came out.

There are so few activities that give Jake joy. Partly because there are so few activities that don’t require struggle. But staring out the front door, has always been at the top of his joy list. After his legs started failing even more and we found out about the cancer, he would drag himself to the front door several times a day to see if the blinds had miraculously opened again.  Sort of like in Willy Wonka where the candy factory has been closed but then one day, boom it’s wonkafied and back open!

So I ompa-lumpa’d and opened that blind and let him be the jerk he has always wanted to be! Even on the rainiest day when there is no activity, he watches the world. He naps and gets up to make sure the outside is still out there, then he goes back to napping. When he kids walk by from the bus, he makes sure they pass by our house safely.  If one of them stops to tie their shoe, he barks at them to keep moving. When the brown truck man drops off a package and gently door taps to say ‘hi’ to Jake,  Jake Barry-White-voice barks at him and tells him to scram. When a dog walks by, he flips the F out.

There are moments I think ‘you should be training him’. Then I think ‘just let him have the one activity he can do no matter how many legs work’. I don’t give in or up a lot so there is definitely an internal struggle.

Sometimes, cancer comes a-knocking and you have to lessen your grip. That said, Jake was an ankle biter and now is not an ankle biter and to his last breath, he is not permitted to be an ankle biter again.  I mean it’s not a totally rule-less society over here! And if Jake didn’t have cancer, we’d be clicker training every day.  I’m not giving up on Jake, I’m just giving up on some rules that don’t fully embrace ‘joy now’.

 

Happy weekend!  Go find your joy!

Ordinary.

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Our life right now is fairly, ordinary. I love ordinary. We made some changes to Jake’s pain management and so far, he’s doing really great. We are in that phase where living in denial is not really possible anymore but we are also not in the phase of ‘this is the end’.

We’ve made it three months since diagnosis. Instead of thinking he has a certain amount of time left, we instead like to rest on our achievements. We made it three months!

Stop! Snuggle time.

Jake is still eating. Peanut butter is a part of his every day. The pain meds help him sleep super soundly (so soundly that I have to set my alarm to check for meatballs because homeboy now does not wake up if he has gone in the middle of the night) but they don’t keep him sedated all day.  He is more limited than six months ago, heck he’s more limited than one month ago, but he in fact is, just Jake. He does the ramp to out back as if he has done it his whole life. He is clearly still CEO of the meatball factory. He still takes his Neighborhood Watch shift very seriously.

Not every day is all lollipops and rainbows. Life is just not like that. I will admit, I do get a tad upset at Jake’s circumstance. Not that he has cancer, I mean geeze, I think it’s a given that I don’t want him to have cancer.  But cancer is out of my control. My angst is more centered around the added struggle for Jake. Why does his cancer have to limit his mobility even further? I mean this one is just hurtful. Why does he have an ear AND eye infection AND a diaper rash flair-up on top of it all? No seriously on that last one, WHYYYYYYY?  But all in all, I find my moments of frustration are brief and short-lived and we instead focus on the gratitude and joy. And peanut butter, Jake said not to forget to give another shout out to the glorious peanut butter.

AT the start and end of every day, I’m thankful. If cancer was going to be, I’m grateful that this time we get a slow decline, that he gets a chance to acclimate. I’m glad we got three months and I’ll be grateful for each and every day we have together.

Wishing you joy and gratitude on this lovely Tuesday!

 

 

Special needs.

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There are a lot of rescuers who think of me when they get a special needs dog into their rescue. They reach out to let me know they have one and we chat about it.  Then, I explain to them that Jake prefers to be an only dog.

I have friends who tag me whenever they see an adoptable with severe allergies.  Or one who wears diapers.

When I took Melvin in, I knew (or so I thought) what I was in for. The rescue group told me that his allergies were severe and they would be an issue his entire life. They told me I was committing to a shared, lifelong struggle. Of course Melvin had countless health issues, but almost all them stemmed in some way from his allergies.  The net, net is that I took him on knowing there were going to be a lot of hurdles. I’d do him all over again. I fell in love with him at first sight.

I did not know with Jake (that he would be such a health challenge nor was it love at first sight. It was definitely like at first sight, but I never thought I wanted a small dog and he didn’t even seem to like me when I first met him…), I think that is probably how it is most of the time. There are no health guarantees when you get a rescue or a puppy (or a human for that matter). Jake’s issues all came unexpectedly.  Eye ulcers and blindness. His legs failing, his need for a wheelchair and a stroller. The need to change his diapers 10-15 times a day, the need to adjust his diapers 100 times a day (not the diapers fault, if you dragged your hind legs around, your underwear would slide off too), his inability to hold his meatballs. The constant struggle with diaper rash, allergies, infections and MRSP.  It’s a lot. Some days it’s overwhelming. But that’s what love is.  We were a year into life with Jake when the first issue came up.  A year in equates to me loving him an immeasurable amount.

Love drives me to care for Jake. It wakes me up at 3am when he has poop’d and it keeps me calm when he starts leaking the moment he comes back inside and dirtys a perfectly clean diaper. Love controls my voice, so that it never sounds annoyed, always gentle. Love gets me through the gagging I go through every day when I smell A&D ointment. For every time I hear ‘I don’t know how you do it’, there is a ‘love gives me the ability to do anything’ response.

To be honest, I have no idea if I would have taken Jake had our paths not crossed until a year later. If I was to meet him as a leaky, wonky legged rescue at an event.  I really don’t know one way or the other. Sometimes I think I would not have. The struggle with Melvin’s health was lessening everyday at that point-in-time and I was glad to be getting a bit of a break.  I might have said no. Sometimes I think, of course I would have adopted him, that I would have known he and Melvin and I were meant to be.  I had a year to fall in love with Jake before our struggle became real. Our rescue played out as it was supposed to.

When I get calls or emails about special needs dogs, the very first thing I think is ‘their owner is out there somewhere, but I don’t know that it’s me’, because if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that I don’t know what I am willing to go through until I meet a dog. In theory, I want to help all the dogs, but I don’t want to adopt all the dogs. There is a connection that occurs, it’s why most of us say that the dog rescues us. Something happens, and you just know from that point on, come hell, cancer or paralysis, you are their forever.

What I do know for certain is that Jake’s struggles, and my needing to adjust to them, have forever changed me. From dealing with his challenges, I learned that being frustrated (or not), is a choice. True story, the next time you are in the heat of frustration, you can choose not to be. It takes practice but it’s a good code.  I learned that no matter what I feel my struggle is, his is always greater. Thus, I rarely complain, if Jake can’t, I shouldn’t either. I learned from Jake, that moving forward doesn’t always have to be physical, sometimes it is more of a spiritual movement.  I found out that my ability to love has infinite depth both emotionally and physically.  Where I think Melvin sensed my love, Jake feels my love more through actions. Some through nurturing and care and patience. When I change his diaper and apply four different medications to his diaper area, and it gives him relief, he feels loved. When I carry him, he feels my love. In the middle of the night, when I meet him with a gentle voice and clean him up, he knows it’s love. Sometimes love is spiritual and sometimes love is found in actions or shared moments. Sometimes love is just who we are. (Sometimes love tries to snuggle and dogs named Jake say ‘if you love me, you will back up’). Love listens. Melvin made me a better person by showing me what perseverance looked like and that happiness can be found in the smallest moments and in the greatest challenges. He made me a joy seeker.  In a thousand different ways, Jake has made me more resilient, more understanding, more calm. He taught me that as challenges stack up, laughter can still reign supreme.

I think this post came from a couple different places. Some of it is the very popular question of if/when I will get another dog. A question that I answer ‘if/when I do’. My heart says it has felt enough ache, but Melvin whispers to me that more dog joy will come. I have to assume that the universe will give me the level of challenge I need when the time for that decision comes. That time, is of course, not now.

I think most of this post comes after the direction that Jake can no longer use his wheelchair as it puts too much pressure on his cancer leg. This one broke me a little, just typing it brings with it a swell of emotion. Not because his wheelchair is something we can’t live without. We can. And not because his wheelchair is really needed all that much any more.  It’s not. But because the wheelchair was the very first thing I ordered when we found out about his spine. It was our very first solution. It visually stands for what we believe, and what we can achieve. And when he’s in it, for just a little while, he’s Jake before the paralysis. He’s free. I had to ask myself, should I keep it.  Will you be rescuing another Frenchie (I’m convinced they will all need wheelchairs!)? Since I do not know the answer to that question right now, I will not hold onto his wheelchair. That wouldn’t be fair to a dog who needs it right now. We will let it go. We will lessen someone else’s immediate load.

Lastly…Sunday, as I was taking my place on the couch next to Jake (after a long, lovely Mother’s Day), I looked over and saw this.  I laughed so hard! Sometimes love can be found in quiet clean-up so as not to awaken the sleeping baby!

#lifewithJake 

 

 

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day!

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Happy mother’s day to all the moms out there! To the moms of humans, to the mom of cats, to the moms of dogs.  To the moms of humans, cats and dogs (an/or add your animal here _________). To God-moms, the step-moms, the adoptive moms. To the male moms and the foster moms. Happy mother’s day to those who so desperately want to mom and are dealing with a wait on that. To the women who help to mother the kids of other moms.  To the moms in heaven. To your mom and you future moms.

To the moms who have lost a child.

To my mom, who is the kindest most loving woman I know. She is the light and joy in my day.

Mom love can be the wildest, greatest most beautiful love. Mom love can heal.

And lastly, thank you to Max, Melvin and Jake for giving me my most favorite role in life and for filling my universe with joy.

Vets, ramps and rugs.

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In the last week, we have seen the oncologist, our holistic vet (for therapy and a check-in) and our regular vet (to get on the same page and decide what the heck that page is).

Here is what I know.

  • Jake’s cancer leg no longer works. I am a very positive person but I think that leg is probably done. I don’t blame it, I’d quit too.
  • Jake has lost 5 lbs. since February.  I know that cancer requires a lot of calories and I think that for Jake, eventually his body won’t be able to keep up on the eating.  As for now, he eats fine, so that is great. We are increasing his food intake and that makes him very happy!
  • Jake is fairly stoic when it comes to pain. He showed no response to having a cracked tooth or various split nails. We do believe we are starting to see signs of him experiencing pain (and nausea) so we are treating both and will continue to monitor him closely. I want him comfortable.
  • It was time for a few of his vaccinations and to refill his heart guard. We had a realistic conversation about his prognosis, that his cancer is not treatable and that his body is weaker with every passing day. I told our regular vet that I only wanted to do the vaccinations he truly needed. We ended up opting against some. I don’t think that his cancer is from vaccinations or from any preventative (I don’t know that for sure but I do believe some of them are important) but I do feel like there is no need to throw any unnecessary treatments at cancer or his body right now. I am Jake’s voice. I have no veterinary training but I am trained in the art of loving Jake and love makes decisions sometimes and right now, love decided that we won’t be putting some of those treatments into his body. These decisions we face are big, insurmountable, giants. But I believe with all that I am that at the end of our pet’s lives, relying on love is the best guide.
  • He still has joy, and for that, we have everything that we need!

Put more food in my belly.

This weekend I continued my quest to find a ramp that Jake can use to go outside. I can carry him, but lifting him up and setting him down so many times a day is not good for his spine (or mine!) and sometimes it seems to bother cancer leg so the ramp is still the most ideal option. The steps to the outside are brick and Jake gets too scraped up going down them on his own.  I have tried carpet pads, nothing has worked. We are now on ramp four. I found a ramp with a Melvin look-alike on the box and I took that as a sign that it was the one!  Then I went to a sporting goods store to buy some yoga mats (one for the ramp since it’s lined with a sandpaper type gripping and that would just result in Jake dragging his then BLOODY stumps).  I told the salesperson I wanted the cheapest ones they had since at some point, it would be pee’d on. I felt bad for him but welcome to my world sales guy!

The good news is, Jake is using the ramp!  I still hold-guide him but it seems to be the one!  Thank you Melvin-look-alike! And of course the cheapest yoga mats are the light ones. The ones that show black mulch paw prints and pee very clearly.

Since getting Jake, he has ‘gone through’ roughly 15 rugs. I clean them, you have no idea how well I clean them(!), but there comes a point when the rug has taken its last beating and we have to let it go. When we got Jake’s diagnosis I decided that I would keep our current rugs and replace them all at once after he went to ‘see Melvin’. Well, Jake’s body had other plans for one of our rugs so its departure came early. Unfortunately it was a rug that covered a lot of ground. So now, instead of matching rugs, I have matching yoga mats, all throughout my house.  They are MUCH easier on Jake and MUCH easier to clean. It’s odd to have random yoga-mat-walkways, but it’s working so I have let go of the decorating fight and embraced the ‘just make it easier for everyone’ approach.

Follow the yoga-mat road! 

Goodbye, fifteen. I remember the very first day I had you and Melvin threw-up pumpkin on you.  It took me three hours to get the stain out. I have a feeling you will be happier at the dump. 

Denial – it’s lovely here, come visit.

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Sorry for the lack of updates. I was opting to live in some denial, which is difficult to do on the blog.

For example, when anyone asks me how long Jake has, I say six months. I still say six months, even though it’s been a few months since we got that prognosis. February 13th to be exact. Since Melvin’s cancer prognosis was in days, being able to say and hold onto months feels like such a long, short time. And since it is really anyone’s guess, six months is not a lie.

Then, we saw the oncologist again. Jake’s cancer leg is now not working, at all.  In fact, that leg is making his hind right leg look like it could go to the Olympics.  His cancer leg is in the back on the left, yet it drags sideways to the right, so his stronger-weak right leg has to ‘jump’ over it with every step.

Why universe? Why?

When discussing this with the oncologist, that clearly his cancer leg is his weak link, she shared concerns that perhaps the radiation did not benefit Jake as much as they hoped.

Wait. Stop. Pretend like you didn’t hear her.

Is that even a thing? That radiation wouldn’t work. I mean I guess it could be, she’s saying it but I just sort of thought it was a given.

She said if the radiation helped him, his cancer leg should not be weaker, it should in fact be a bit stronger. (I had thought radiation would just do its magic internally and slow the cancer down, his leg being better was not something I expected so this was a surprise to me). If nothing else, she said it should have stayed the same.

Pretend like you never came today.  Go home and continue saying six months. 

I asked what that did to our timeline, if perhaps the stupid radiation did not do its freakin job. She said, let’s wait and see.  That in some humans who have his form of radiation, there is residual swelling of the tumor for as long as 8 weeks (which in theory could make his leg weaker and then it could bounce back).  I sensed she leapt into denial-land when she said that but I was happy to have company and we decided to wait and see.  We are currently at just over six weeks since radiation.

The important thing is that his pain is under control.  He is comfortable, he is still moving around (with the new back leg drag/hop), he is still eating, he still has joy in his eye (hamburger eye does not really show that much emotion!). Those are my metrics.

We could do another scan to see what’s going on but I don’t plan to do that. I don’t need to see his cancer.  Knowing it’s there is enough. We are still resting our fate on love and joy and he is doing just fine in that area, so our infinite six months still stands.

Here is my little monkey, and his wonky, crazy legs.

Taking a break on his way out back. 

Sitting pretty in pink. 

Notice my expert wrapping job of cancer legs foot.  That paw stays scraped up and bloody.  We have tried every sock and baby booty known to man.  I kid you not, we have hundreds of socks, shoes and booties.  Nothing stays on him. Gauze, vet tape and Animax are our best friends. 

Keeping watch from the shade. 

 

Update on Jake.

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At Jake’s Oncology appointment, the oncologist was deciding how our future visits should go. She suggested that we be seen every three weeks, but alternate between oncology and neurology. Every three weeks took me by surprise, to see either of them. I was extra confused about why we would go to see neurology (at all). They had pretty much said ‘good luck’ (in the best possible way), as there are no treatment options for Jake’s spinal condition. We do laser therapy and electroacupuncture to help his good parts, but from a neuro standpoint, their work is done. So I asked: ‘I was told there was nothing they can do, why would we see them’. Her reason for suggesting we switch off between oncology and neurology is that they (the medical team) might not know for sure what is the cancer spreading and what is his spine when in comes to decline. So I challenged: “his spinal condition is not painful, in fact it helps some with pain since he has limited feeling in some parts. But his cancer is known to be painful, often very painful. So won’t pain be an indication”. She said, it should be.

I then did what I often do when it comes to making hard decisions for the boys, I took the lead: ‘I’m not going to be looking to you or neurology for guidance on when it is the right time to let Jake go. I will know.’ I said it so matter-of-factly, it caused her pause. And then I think it caused (her) relief.

Our regular vet and I have a system. She tells me when we have done all we can medically, and I take that knowledge and add it to what I know. For me, once we have done all that we can, the question is no longer medical. The decision is based on the science of love and joy. From the day I took all three dogs in I made them a promise to do right with the power to make decisions for them. We do this daily for our dogs, but when it comes to this last decision, well nothing feels so insurmountable.

So pain will be an indicator.  Also, Jake’s cancer is at the bottom of his spine and extends down his left hind leg.  So deterioration in that leg only will be a sign.  Also, since it’s a soft tissue cancer, it may invade his bladder or colon so if he stops being able to go potty, that will be a sign.

No one wants to think about these things but for us, in order to not dwell on it 24/7, we have to outline the medical parameters so we can get on with the joyful task of living. It’s definitely a challenge to not mourn them while they are still alive, but with Jake, I’m trying to save all that for later (or at least until the middle of the night once he’s asleep).

The only thing we dwell on right now is how much peanut butter we have left.

Woman, put peanut butter in my belly right now!