Harlow

A few summers ago I took Harlow to the vet on Cape Cod because she seemed to be breathing abnormally fast. They came up with nothing, nor could they really considering how she begins to pant in panic whenever we enter a building that smells of animal fear.

Eventually, I wondered if this breathing was just how she breathes and I somehow never noticed before? When she’s totally asleep, it slows, but when awake, it is often rapid. I worried that she was in pain or course, but there was little salivating or other indicators of discomfort.

With Harlow’s Inflammatory Bowel Disease and her lack of interest in food, I am always concerned she’s uncomfortable and that’s why she doesn’t eat much (It couldn’t be that the food is just boring!)

The breathing thing had me having an impractical thought; if we are each given by the Universe a certain number of breaths, well, she’s really going through them fast.

Harlow turned eleven on May 7!

A few months ago, a new bump arose on Harlow’s side. A sample taken by the vet showed it was just an “old dog bump”, but since then it has been growing. I now call it her “marble”, and it’s about the size of a large gum-ball. I was concerned that it would continue to grow and be a real problem when I leave her with the sitter to attend a week-long conference later in the month. I didn’t want it to get to a point where it caused her pain or created some kind of emergency.

I brought her in to have pre-surgery bloodwork done, and was called later and informed that she had elevated liver numbers. Enzymes, did he say? I don’t remember. I just remember the vet saying it’s either a liver problem, gallbladder, or pancreatitis, and it wasn’t safe for the surgery to take place.

We went in for an ultrasound Monday to learn more about what was going on and yesterday I stood on campus taking the call from the vet with the results. They saw gunk in her gallbladder, which can be fixed with meds, but what they didn’t expect to see was a mass on her bladder.

The vet asked if Harlow has been having accidents at home, or seeming uncomfortable while peeing. I told him no, and it occurred to me later that this mass must be rather large because the vet seemed a bit surprised that she showed none of these symptoms.

“The lump removal is no longer the main concern” he told me, his tone serious. I’m supposed to hear from an oncologist soon who will test for cancer, but the vet informed me that chemo and radiation aren’t likely an option as they do not “play well” with the steroid she takes for the IBD.

I tried to go to my office desk on campus to get work done, but quickly found myself to be a blubbering, unprofessional mess, so I slinked out before anyone saw me, and came home to a seemingly perfectly comfortable pupper looking at my tears with the typical What’s your problem? and Since you’re home, will you scratch my butt?

I had a big zoom meeting to attend though, so I pulled myself together and got to work. It was distracting enough that I could be sort of functional. With the UPAA conference coming and my role at treasurer, there is much to do. When those were done I called my parents to fill them in. Texted a few friends. Dumping this info on people with no real answers feels dramatic and attention-seeking somehow, but then, I forget sometimes that sharing is a call out for support. Even though I don’t know what that would look like or what could make me feel better about my girl’s likely shortened life.

Benign, cancerous, growing, not growing, spreading, already spread. I have no idea. I’m not sure knowing matters, but more info is needed to understand what’s going on and know what to look for moving forward. What life could look like for her.

My main goal is her comfort, and thankfully, she seems OK.

When I texted a few friends, Christina responded “The nice thing about pets is that they really live in the moment so they don’t have that feeling of future danger. Just keep loving her the way she loves having you love her. She’s happy now and that’s all that matters”

So last night after giving Harlow a much-needed hose bath (stinky-winky!), I hosed down our pollen-coated porch, brought her tether out, and sat on my swing watching her be a thankfully clueless dog. The light was beautiful, the temperature almost perfect, and she was content to be on the lookout for threatening walkers minding their own damn business.