Almost a month since our boy left us.

Even knowing the prognosis for hemangiosarcoma - that no dog diagnosed with this disease ever wins, not in the long run - it's still so hard to believe that our precious, amazing, indomitable Harvey is no longer here with us.

The connection I shared with Harvey was so strong that it still feels like a part of my very soul has been torn from my being. The pain of his absence is sometimes so overwhelming that it feels like the breath has been knocked right out of me. Waves of sadness still wash over me, usually over some small little thing like the names "Murphy" or "Taylor", two of Harvey's best dog friends. He always perked his ears and became very animated when we said those names, no matter how long it had been since he'd seen them. I know those are names I'll never be able to use for any pets we may share our home with in the future.

Not having him at the foot of our bed or being able to feel his fur through my fingers or going through our "nite-nite" ritual of his favorite tricks - the sit, lie down, crawl, high-five, shake paw and others, with no verbal command, only the smallest hand gesture on my part, makes it so hard to actually go to bed at night. So I haven't been. I can't fall asleep until I'm utterly exhausted, usually after 4 in the morning ( the time he passed away on June 26 - I don't think that's a coincidence). And then, I wrap his collar around my wrist, put his small pillow and stuffed mallard near my feet where he used to lay and cuddle with his "mega-duck", a really large stuffed yellow duck he got for Easter this year. He loved that duck and used it for a pillow often, when he wasn't chewing on it.

The night/early morning he passed, he'd had trouble breathing for a few hours. He was panting a lot, trying to relax and catch his breath. He'd had a few spells like that in his last few weeks, but would always settle in and fall asleep after a while, then be fine when he awoke.
That night, it wasn't resolving itself, though he did fall asleep for a few moments around 2am. He was laying on my side of the bed and when I tried to gently ease in beside him, he woke up and started having trouble breathing again. My head tells me that he wouldn't have slept for long, but my heart so wishes I'd just let him remain quietly in my space - just in case the rest would have helped.

After about 1/2 hour more of watching him struggle, I decided to get the Buprenex our vet sent home. It's a sedative, generally quite safe, but she'd sent it home with me to use if Harvey started experiencing pain or distress that didn't resolve itself.
Not wanting to take any risks at all, we administered just 1/4 of the dose, hoping that it would relax him enough to allow him to rest. After 20 minutes, it clearly wasn't having any effect at all, so we administered another 1/4 dose.
I kept watching and praying that it would do the trick and allow him to sleep, but he became very restless - I'm sure it's because he wanted to get up and go potty, but didn't have the strength to get off the bed. We lifted him off the bed and put him on his doggy bed on the floor, but his breathing showed no signs of improvement.

I decided that I had no choice but to give him the remaining amount left of the Buprenex, assuming it would sedate him and allow him to finally get some sleep.

Within moments of receiving the final 1/2 dose, he seemed to feel better for just a few seconds, tried to stand up (again, I'm sure he wanted to go outside and potty) and wagged his tail. Then, and the memory of this will remain with me until the day I die myself, my boy collapsed into my arms, pressed his head into my shoulder and took his last breaths, wrapped in my arms with Frank sitting close by.

The rest of that night, through those long hours until I could call the vet, I was convinced that I'd taken his life with that medication. It all happened so quickly after he had the final injection.
When I was finally able to speak with Dr. Towle, she reassured me that the medication was, indeed, quite safe and she used it for other patients when she doesn't know their history, because it is so safe. The Buprenex hadn't taken his life. As Dr. Towle explained, the Buprenex would have simply helped him sleep, if it wasn't yet his time to leave us, waking a few hours later, as usual.
Instead, it was very likely that he was going to pass that night or early the next day and, while his will fought with every ounce of energy he had to stay with us, the medication allowed his body to ease into his passing, rather than continuing to suffer through what was surely a losing battle to breathe - to live another day.

My life will never be whole again as it was the last 12 years. I know that dogs don't live nearly long enough and, if we're very, very fortunate, we may have them for a decade or more. It's never enough time. But to lose my heart dog, the little being that was as much a part of me as the air I breathe and the beating of my own heart, leaves a void that will never be filled.

We've decided to try to do something to honor his life. The thought that Harvey, center of the universe, will be nothing more than a statistic, another dog taken before his time by this hideous disease called hemangiosarcoma, is so completely unacceptable to us.
I've been in contact with the Morris Animal Foundation about hosting a fundraising dog walk next year, June 26, the day that will mark one year since this remarkable, shining light went out of our lives.
I hope I can make this happen - perhaps even make it an annual event, so that, maybe, the dollars raised in Harvey's name can bring us closer to the day when no dog - no family - has to suffer through HSA. Closer to the day when an HSA diagnosis is no longer an automatic death sentence with an unbearably short life expectancy following diagnosis.

I know, in a way, we were fortunate through our journey with this disease. Far too many families lose their pets before even receiving a diagnosis. Far too many more have a very brief time with their beloved dogs, even if treatment is pursued.
We had seven months. Seven all too short months, but seven months that allowed us to make more memories, to tell him we love him every day, to hear him snore at our feet, share cuddle time while he napped on "Daddy's" pillow , see him perk up when he heard "Murphy" or "Taylor". Seven months to hear him bark at the fence when I came home, howl with the storm sirens every Friday at 11am, wait with eager anticipation on his face for his liver treats and - what I'll probably miss most of all - soak up those times when our eyes would meet, we'd hold each other's gaze for the longest time and know, just KNOW, that the bond we had was stronger than even impending death - and to know that he loved us as much as we love him.

I can't say goodbye to my boy-o, my Mr. Man Dog, my center of the universe, my Harvey....... I'll simply have to say, "We'll see each other again, my love, my heart. And when we do, nothing will ever part us."

Harvey's gone

Still hanging in there!

This little dog is the strongest little being I know. He's still here with us, even though Frank and I were both convinced yesterday that we were saying our goodbyes.

He's still very weak but has eaten a fair portion of food and kept it down, still has color in his gums, though I'd like to see them a little more pink and, while he's sleeping quite a lot, he perks up when I come in the room and is interested in whether I brought any goodies with me.

It's so hard to imagine a single day without my boy. I know that dogs don't live nearly long enough for those of us who love them and it would be hard to say goodbye no matter how old he gets, but having even a moment of his life cut short because of this disease is so hard to accept. He's the most animated, fun-loving, happy little dog I know and to see that taken from him - this little Beagle boy who finds such joy in life - before he's ready to go, it's wrong, just wrong.

Nearing the end, I'm afraid.

It's been quite a while since my last update. It's been difficult to even think about documenting the events of the last several weeks when it's already hard enough to actually go through them. Seems the last thing I feel like doing is reliving our days in a blog when I'm so tired after dealing with the emotions all day long.

We had hoped to celebrate Harvey's 6th month anniversary of his surgery, as well as his 12th birthday, on May 26th. We were certainly grateful that he's made it this far, but unfortunately, he had another bleed on that day, so I spent the day nursing him and keeping him comfortable and warm, rather than the walk and "liver pate cake" I'd hoped to see him enjoy.

A few days later, we had an ultrasound done, which showed a lesion on his liver along with a couple of small cystlike growths on his mesentery. In all likelihood, it was the liver growth that bled, causing our most recent crisis.

Since the neoplasene is no longer working as we'd hoped, we've decided to try using artemisinin to shrink the cancer tumors. It's a promising cancer protocol that Frank's friend, Dr. Dale Guyer has seen some positive results with in his practice. Considering Harvey's current condition, it may be too late to try another treatment protocol, but he's still trying his hardest to get better, so we'll keep fighting with him. As the saying goes, where's there's life, there's hope. We've seen miracles with our boy before, so I don't want to be so negative as to lose the chance for another.

He's not really strong enough for another surgery to remove the tumor on the liver and, not knowing what else may be going on internally, we aren't even considering trying to remove these new growths. If we are going to lose Harvey soon, I want him to be at home, surrounded by love, not on an operating table at the vet's office.

Since the day of the bleed, he's gotten weaker, though he has had some good days. I've been keeping him quiet as much as possible with lots of naps and quiet time in the bedroom.

His hindquarters have gotten weak again, so that we need to carry him out to take care of his potty business. I think that shows the determination he had to walk again after his back surgery almost 3 years ago. He wasn't really expected to recover from that surgery as well as he did, but before long he was climbing into his favorite chair again, running - albeit awkwardly - and refusing any assistance from me or his doggy stairs to get where he wanted to go.
Since this recent bleed, he tries to get up, but it really takes all of his energy to do so and his back legs just aren't cooperating any longer.

I've been syringe feeding him nutritious food, but he's still happy to eat liver treats and cheese cubes and is drinking water well. He's been curious and totally engaged with the household activities, but he is requiring a lot more time to rest up after any activity at all.

We may be down to days, or even hours now, or our miracle boy could rally again - who knows. Whatever happens, the support of love of our friends has been a gift we'll cherish always. I tell Harvey every day that there are so many people who love him, so many who are praying for him and thinking of him. Such a special guy to touch so many - even folks who've never met him.

I'll update again tomorrow.........

5 Months and counting...............

Well, here we are. Two months past the prognosis given to us by the oncologist at Harvey's initial consultation.

As I mentioned in my last post, he has been coughing a bit, but that now seems resolved, so I do believe it was something making the rounds through the Bradford pack. He's still eating well, still wants to play, still enjoying outings and still very annoyed that he has to live with other dogs. :)
From all outward signs, we're holding our own against this ruthless disease.

Of course, now I've developed a cough that won't go away. I finally went to the doctor today (more accurately, Frank dragged me to the doctor today) and found out it's bronchitis and an ugly sinus infection. I wonder if I caught the "kennel cough" from my boys! LOL!

The weather has certainly helped to cheer everyone up! The last few days have been beautiful - warm and sunny. It's been great to spend time outside with the gang. I haven't spent as much time as I should on Spring cleanup yet, but have found the time for quite a few kickball matches with Max.

The youngsters, Rusty and Winston, have been doing their best to "pre-dig" holes for me in preparation of Spring planting. Unfortunately, they didn't check with me first to determine the appropriate locations for these holes, so I'll be doing some filling in before starting the planting. Oh, and some replacement of a few shrubs planted last year that they apparently felt didn't belong in the locations I chose. :)

Beautiful day to spend with dogs!

It's been way too long since my last post, but as they say, no news is good news.

It was a picture perfect day today and, with only 3 pet sits on my schedule, I was able to enjoy some backyard time with my own critters. Max and I played kickball, Rusty and Winston wrestled all over the yard, when they weren't squirrel hunting and Bubby and I (Harvey, for those not familiar with his nicknames), sat on the swing and enjoyed the sun and soft breeze. Fred, as usual, peeked at us through the dog door, venturing out only a few times to see what we were doing.

I took a Reiki I class last Saturday, so I spent some time trying out my new skill while Harv and I sat together. He seemed to relax very quickly and it made for a lovely bonding time for us. As though we could be any more bonded. :)

Harvey had a very good checkup a few days ago. He had a cough last week, which isn't a good sign with hemangiosarcoma, since common areas of metastasis are the heart and lungs. However, Dr. Towle felt that both sound clear and his pulses were strong, so it might be an allergic reaction. He doesn't cough after exertion, so that's another reason to rule out lung or heart involvement for now. And Spring is prime season for Harvey's allergies to strike.

Sure enough, when he had a coughing spell after coming home from his appointment, I gave him a Benedryl as Dr. Towle suggested and the cough stopped. Hurray! Allergies, we're used to with the boy.

Of course, now I have a cough that just won't go away.

4 months!

Although it's only 2 AM, I couldn't wait to post and celebrate that Harvey has reached the 4 month mark!
He had a check up a few days ago - doing well so far. I think we've decided to not do an ultrasound at this point, opting for periodic bloodwork and x-rays instead, unless we see obvious symptoms that would indicate an ultrasound is warranted.
We're at a point where, if we see signs of metastasis, we'd have to make a decision about another surgery and I don't know if we'll choose to put Harvey through that again. He always recovers quickly from the procedure itself, but if additional tumors are found, they would most likely be in areas that would be difficult to remove completely, most often the heart, lungs or liver with HSA. His quality of life is at least as important as buying a few more weeks or months. Considering that recovery time may be prolonged due to his overall condition, who knows if he'd bounce back as well next time and we want him to enjoy every moment of every day from now on.

But we're so grateful for the time we've had so far, and continue to hope and pray that Harvey becomes one of those exceptions we've read about on the HSA and canine cancer boards. This anniversary marks a full month beyond what the oncologist said was typical for HSA without chemo, so we've beaten that limitation.

Now on to our next milestone - we're determined to have our boy with us to celebrate his 12th birthday on 5/26. That's two months from now and will be his sixth month since the splenectomy. We will be spending a lot of time in prayer, asking for continued good days and thanking God for the mercies he's shown us through these past 4 months.