Today we prepared Everett for her "radiation planning session" by sticking her for blood and other fluids. Like a pro, she made it through both withdrawals with flying colors (please note the pretty red tape on her leg). And true to form, while I was packing up for our departure from the hospital, she climbed onto the chairs in the reception area.
Many years ago, in a state far from here, Everett had a fatty mass removed from her left foreleg (see the scar on her leg just below the red tape). Because of the mass's location, we knew there would not be enough skin to close the wound. She'd have to wear a bandage for several weeks, possibly longer, while scar tissue developed to close the incision. The bandage would have to be changed weekly, and that meant many, many trips to the clinic. Massive drooling, hair loss, whining, and other signs of high stress accompanied EVERY visit to the vet, so we went to work on desensitizing her to the clinic before she had her surgery.
For I-don't-remember-how-long, every Saturday morning we'd pull into the parking lot just as the vet clinic opened, and sit in the reception area for an hour. I brought books. I talked to strangers. I admired cats and petted all kinds of dogs. I met another owner doing the same thing--therapy for the anxious pooch. And it worked. One week, she stopped pacing. Soon thereafter, she actually sniffed in the general direction of a nearby terrier. And finally one day, she climbed onto the pet friendly, slatted bench, and sat next to me. Now, that she was sitting at all was remarkable, but that she was sitting ON FURNITURE was an invention all her own--Everett is not allowed on any furniture, ever. But for this creativity, or was it an act of defiance?, she received a treat. Multiple treats. The staff, who'd been marking her progress over time--from neurotic mania to relative calm--with all kinds of encouragement, came from behind the counter to indulge her with doggie crackers and much praise. It was all delivered in quiet, low tones, with slow moving hands and gentle smiles, and she remained sitting. She ceased panting. She closed her mouth. Soon, she lay down. I won't say she actually closed her eyes and slept, but she was calm enough to survey the room without whining.
I still smile when I think of how those very boring, long hours paid off in spades for her. The necessary surgery went well, and her weekly bandage-changes were less traumatic. It still took 4 to 5 people to hold her down to remove/replace the dressing, but it was kisses for everyone both before and after. And in every vet office and boarding kennel reception area, she accomodates herself on the chairs provided.
Her radiation planning session is Tuesday. When she's sedated they'll do a CT scan, measure the tumor, clip her nails, and other preparatory things to give her the best odds of success. Okay so cutting her nails has nothing to do with preparing for her treatments, but it's still going to happen.
I am not excited for any of this, but I do feel hopeful that what we are doing is going to make her the most comfortable, for the longest amount of time. She's such a funny dog. Such a character. I am so fortunate to have met her, survived her, loved her. The Little Girl.
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