"The Reports Of My Death Are Greatly Exaggerated"

Although in serious need of a bath and a decent hair cut, Roscoe continues to defy the odds.

I've thought a lot about that this week. Roscoe clearly has no idea about the sentence that the doctors in Auburn gave him. He came home and life went on. Heck, for him, life got better.

He gets cheese twice a day. He could care less that there is medicine inside it. He gets peanut butter just because. (Note the peanut butter face.) He gets cuddled and coddled and not fussed at for behavior that used to get him in major trouble. How could life get better?

So here we are a month past diagnosis and Roscoe lives.  As a matter of fact, he lives quite well, thank you very much

He eats like he never has before. The dog is ALWAYS hungry.

When the bowl is empty he goes to lie next to it, just in case I haven't noticed.

He drives me crazy going to the back door and ringing the bell to go outside ... and then walking away when I get up to go open the door. (Who said dogs don't have a sense of humor ... he clearly thinks this is hilarious.)

He barks to get Sam to look away from the bone and grabs it.

Only two teeth left to chew with? Who cares?

He romps and postures and tumbles with Sam until they both poop out.

Don't get me wrong. I have the greatest admiration for doctors, but this got me thinking. How many times do we get a diagnosis and just accept it? How many times do we allow it to dictate how we then spend our lives and what we expect to happen? How often do we bring about the result, just by believing there is no alternative?

I don't know. I just know that Roscoe clearly is not interested in their estimates. He has his own plan ... and it includes more peanut butter.

He's Still Standing

Maybe not better than he ever did, but he's still on all four feet ... and sometimes on two. (Yes, I gave him a bad hair cut.)

We are now on week three after Roscoe's diagnosis. He's a little more subdued and quiet (unless there is a definite reason not to be). He has settled into his medicine routine, and let's me know when it is time for a pill stuffed in cheese. The prednisone is making him very hungry and he would gladly eat me out of house and home. So we have our peanut butter breaks (thanks for starting that Katie, he goes to the pantry every day begging for it), and he is getting more food than his chunky brother. Even with that he feels ... bony, too thin, fragile. But maybe that is me just being paranoid.

I find myself watching for issues, and I'm not sure what is real and what is my fear. In the last few days I have seen the legs on his right side struggle again to maintain balance. Definitely not as dramatically as before the meds, but there. His eyes look a little dull and it seems like sometimes he just zones out. I don't think I'm imagining that. He sleeps a lot. I know all dogs sleep a lot, but this is different.

But yesterday he decided to play with Sam. It didn't last long but for a minute or two they bounced and barked and postured and were adorable. Joy for them. Joy for me.

So that's the update. Three weeks and we are still standing.

A Tough Nut - Roscoe Update

As you can imagine, it has been an emotional roller coaster here at the Bailey house.

Roscoe got his crappy diagnosis June 27. On June 29 I pulled myself back on my feet enough to pick up a couple of his new medications from the vet and get him started. The last med came a few days later from a compounding pharmacy (a liquid designed to taste like peanut butter). During this couple of days, his control of his legs got less and less. I didn't have a lot of hope. The doctors all said that these meds might, maybe, could possibly slow down the progress of the disease. It hadn't been proven, but it couldn't hurt.

But so begins the new routine. Twice a day I grind up half a pill and funnel it into a straw to pour into his mouth. I split pills and break one down to teeny tiny quarters. (Lots of these meds are just not made for little dogs.) I put the liquid in a syringe and wake up an hour early in the morning to give it to him an hour before food and water.  Roscoe is a trouper. Whatever you give him he takes without complaint. It is really pretty amazing.

Thank heavens for the friends and family I have who gave me the right amount of loving support and space to break down. Some even spent the night.

The change after the meds was almost immediate. He's still a little lethargic and not quite as bossy as he used to be, but his control of his little body is dramatically improved. Some of it may be that he has slowed down so he keeps better control, but no more legs sliding out from under him while he is trying to eat. He can do stairs (although I still get nervous when he does) and he hasn't fallen down in days.

I'm sure it is the steroid that has him starving to death and drinking like crazy, but I love watching him eat and enjoy his food and treats. The steroid and the diuretic have him struggling a little sometimes to get outside, but ... I have wood floors, we can handle it. I worry a little about the cyclosporine, which is what they give transplant patients to suppress the immune system, but I have to remember ... this isn't really a long term situation.

Sometimes that is the hard part now. Don't get me wrong, my joy at the fact that he is doing so well is beyond measure. It makes me happy to watch him do everything. When he stands on his back legs to greet me when I come through the door (a definite no no before this) it makes me grin from ear to ear. But I have to not con myself that this is forever. And I know it isn't forever. But those folks who said that we needed to prepare for two weeks to a month .... they don't know my dog. He is one seriously tough nut.

So that's my update. Roscoe is eating me out of house and home... drinking the bowl dry as fast as I can fill it.... peeing and pooping and figuring out I don't fuss if accidents happen.... loving and cuddling and giving kisses .... letting company know in his loudest voice that he can see them... sitting for food and begging for treats... snuggling and sleeping the day away. In other words, Roscoe is doing all of the things that Roscoe does best. And I am enjoying every minute of them. That's what I'm learning from him right now. Today is the only day I have. Take pleasure from the little things that it brings.