Theoria

It has taken a month for our fur-family to ready ourselves to reveal our recent loss publicly: our beloved dog Minnie is now no longer with us. Totally devastated, we cannot believe an entire month has already gone by. She was always eager to follow Mickey, but this has been a tragedy no one could have imagined.

Minnie died as a result of metastatic breast cancer at approximately 5:24PM on Thursday, July 5th, 2007. It was a long and hard fought battle. Many of her veterinarians and technicians commented that she was “tenacious” and a “trooper.” Unfortunately, neither chemotherapy nor surgery could prevent the tumors’ hostile takeover. We didn’t know that, though, and tried both. Everyone talked about what a brave and courageous girl she was; no dog was more deserving of the purple heart bobble for bravery than Minnie.

We told few people what was going on with Minnie because it all developed so soon after Mickey’s death. It was difficult to deal with, and we weren’t willing to entertain anyone else’s opinion on the financial extremes we would go to for Minnie’s health and well-being. We had no reservations about doing whatever it took to give her one more good day. Should anyone who thinks that wrong dare to type it here, I’ll hunt you down and hurt you. Seriously. Also, as it hasn’t been ‘blogged’ about until now, this is really, really long. If you’re a TL;DR type, just don’t click the cut. Again, seriously. This really isn’t for most of the readership anyway.

Minnie had her first surgery to remove a mammary mass on Monday, January 29th. The pathologist’s report was pretty bad, and indicated that the cancer was not only the kind that spreads, but that the condition of the tumor suggested it had. Chest x-rays would confirm this on February 10th; we were told (with secondary lung cancer) she had, maybe, two months left.

After consulting with Dr. Bravo at AVAH, the situation seemed less dire than that, and, on Wednesday, February 21st, Minnie started the best possible chemotherapy protocol. Being our bad-luck girl, it was poorly tolerated and the lung tumor continued to enlarge. Four cycles of chemotherapy did nothing to halt the growth of that tumor, but a thorough CT scan confirmed no other cancerous spots had sprouted. The only option left was surgery.

Dr. Liptak performed a lung lobectomy on the afternoon of Tuesday, June 12th (two days after Minnie’s two-year adoption anniversary, or, as we celebrate it, her “birthday” [comedic video with poor audio part 1 and 2]). It did and it didn’t go so well. We were able to visit with her Wednesday night and get her to eat a bit, and on Thursday (June 14th) she was withdrawn from her IV pain management drugs and sent home with us. At first, she was happy to be leaving and thrilled to be in the car again. She gave kisses and ate treats and wagged her cute little cudgel of a tail. That was just the first half-hour, though. By the time we got home an hour later, she wasn’t interested in treats, she couldn’t get comfortable, and she appeared to be in some serious pain. We gave her the pain meds as prescribed (and she’d had these for some time, so it was nothing new), but they were no help. Craig tried to reassure me that she was just adjusting to being off the more powerful stuff administered in the hospital and that she’d be fine. They wouldn’t have discharged her if she wasn’t, right? Wrong. We’d already made the decision to bring her back in when she started shaking, her whole rib cage throbbing, seeming to struggle to take in air, but barely breathing.

After saying goodbye to Minnie, the emergency overnight receptionist, seeing the information with all of our pets listed on her computer screen (and, sadly, actually knowing us by appearance as most front desk staff would come to) said smiling, “I love that you have a Mickey and a Minnie!” I stammered, crying, “We don’t have a Mickey anymore, [to which she interrupted, “Oh. I know”] but we better still have a Minnie.” She replied, “You’ll still have a Minnie.” We would end up seeing her over the next week quite a few times when we went to visit with Minnie. I liked her then, but, now, I pretty much need to never see her overly friendly smiling face again. (Honestly, we really don’t want to need to go back to AVAH ever again for anything.)

We were terrified leaving her that night, but Minnie, as always, was a very brave girl. A real trooper. Doogie Howser, D.V.M. didn’t really know what to make of her breathing, but he would figure it out… kinda-sorta. Dr. Elder (that is his actual name) turned out to be a really good guy and an awesome vet and we are incredibly grateful for his herculean diagnostic efforts overnight. He saw something strange on the x-rays and (although without consulting with us or any of her treating specialists) tried to figure out what it was with an ultrasound as well.

At 1AM, Craig called for an update. (Being all socially phobic, I can’t usually do that sort of thing.) We were told that the doctor would call us back after he finished with her. I didn’t like what that meant. He also didn’t call back. Craig tried again a half hour later and was told the same thing. While he was waiting by his phone, in bed reading, basically begging to be given some news so he could get some sleep, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. When the friendly voice answered the phone, I managed to yelp, “Minnie, what is going on with Minnie?” All I got in return was, “Dr. Elder is doing a procedure on her now, but he’ll call you when he is finished.” “What procedure?” “There is fluid building around her lung, so he’s sticking in a needle to relieve some of that.” “Is this normal and routine? Has he done this a lot?” Gah! “He’s very good at it; he does this all the time.” She was talking in a slow sort of patronizing way, like trying to tell a child who won’t stop asking “but why” questions to go play in traffic in so many words. “Stop him now, I don’t know what he’s really doing and we certainly didn’t consent to it.” “I’ll have him call you right away,” she offered as some sort of compromise. “No, right now please. Grab the fucking needle from his hand and put the phone in it instead if you have to. He is getting away from my dog and talking to me right fucking now.” It turns out I can talk on the phone when I really think it matters, but I swear a lot when I’m upset. Truthfully, though, I’d not talked to anyone but Craig on the phone for a long time. (I’m completely, clinically crazy like that.) It was scary and I was shaking. All I cared about was finding out what was happening with my Minnie. I was prepared to return there that night, if necessary, as I was regretting leaving there at all.

He explained that there was something visible on the x-ray and ultrasound, but Dr. Elder admitted he didn’t have any clue what it was. The best he could do (which he wanted to do before calling us) was to try to suck out some of the fluid building up around her lung. It seemed like a good idea (and it would end up happening a few hours later anyway), but we wanted Dr. Bravo or Dr. Liptak, or someone who specializes in this area of veterinary medicine to figure out what was going on first.

Dr. Bravo called Craig at about 9AM. Minnie would have to be reopened that Friday (June 15th) and stapled back up again. This was a surgery to remove something that shouldn’t have been left in her. It was awful, and I screamed at the surgeon — yes, I’m a big bitch when I’m anxious so, bite me. (As another aside, he is truly the best at what he does, we’ve forgiven this mistake, and we would recommend him without reservation). We weren’t even allowed to see Minnie that night, though. That made for a day and two nights we wouldn’t wish on anyone. She was on oxygen and also given plasma; we do believe she got the best critical-care she could have during her weeklong ICU hospitalization. We visited with her everyday after, and she was on the mend.

After a clean x-ray showing no tumors or anything else that shouldn’t be there, and blood work indicating no hidden issues, we got to take Minnie home on Tuesday, June 19th. She wore a t-shirt to cover her staples and she needed a cone, but she was happy and, by all accounts and appearances, healthy (contextually, for a dog with cancer recovering from two rib-spreading surgeries).

There was a big gross cyst on her side, and some problems arose from that, but Minnie had a great week. She didn’t have any symptoms of her lung tumor (of course, you would think, because it was gone). For all of us, even the cats, it was absolutely incredible that Minnie wasn’t coughing or horking, and that she was able to lie down comfortably and not choke during her favourite activity, rollie-pollie. As for the cyst, it burst and bled on Saturday, June 23rd, so we called AVAH to find out if that amount of bleeding was normal. No one told us to expect it to burst and bleed like that! Minnie wasn’t exactly thrilled with going to the emergency clinic, but they said to bring her in. Dr. Thatcher was wonderful with her (and us), and the cyst wasn’t really anything serious to worry about.

Another couple of days went by with Minnie doing well enough, but then her recovery peaked. She was coughing again, she couldn’t eat, she was throwing up, she lost her recently regained spunk and energy, and suddenly she wasn’t herself anymore. Little lumps started sprouting up all over her. Seemingly overnight the first few multiplied, and, as we would find out Wednesday, July 4th tumors had taken root in her lungs and breasts again as well. It was impossible and almost unheard of, and not at all the way it was supposed to be. It wasn’t a matter of months, or weeks, or even days. We went home with her, and gave her as much love and anything else she wanted; we didn’t leave her side at all. It would be an hour-by-hour assessment of her condition, trying to balance out having more time to say goodbye to her without letting her suffer or linger in pain. Thursday morning started off okay, but by early afternoon it was clear she couldn’t last another night in that condition. It was the only thing left for us to do for her. Minnie was kissed and petted; she knew that she was so loved and that nothing would hurt her anymore.

We thank Dr. Hilary Mellor and all the Bayview Animal Hospital staff for their kindness and compassion. We also appreciate all those who cared for Minnie at the Alta Vista Animal Hospital. We especially thank Dr. Lina Bravo, Dr. Julius Liptak, Dr. Chris Elder, and Dr. Graham Thatcher. [However, we want Dr. Tyler Dearden, the cruel and incompetent tool, to burn in eternal hellfires or at least get kneed in the nuts repeatedly. Details available upon request.] We are most grateful to (veterinary technician) Donna Dempsie. Donna’s patience was invaluable, and that’s in addition to the incredible, above-and-beyond level of care and attention she showered upon Minnie. Timid and slow to bond, Minnie really liked Donna – and that’s saying something!

Minnie was adopted on Friday, June 10th, 2005 from the Toronto Humane Society; she was a very skinny black and tan shepherd mutt in the “Special Needs” section and they called her Princess. Being Mickey’s protégé and little sister, and also because she had no idea her name was supposed to be Princess, we called her Minnie. Minnie was brought up in the school of hard knocks; she entered the Toronto Humane Society as a stray, was spayed late in life, and developed a number of enduring problems while at the THS, not limited to ear infections, allergies, and bum irritations, creating hotspots and stench leading me to comment (to Craig’s lasting amusement) “Minnie, you smell like a circus!” Fortunately these problems were mostly minor and could be cured through medication and dietary monitoring.

Minnie had no socialization, but being incarcerated in a cinder block cell surrounded by pitbulls will do that to a girl. Mickey taught her all about being a dog, and she was always eager to follow his lead. On one of her first walks in our Toronto neighbourhood, Mickey introduced her to his fenced in friends at recess. The kids loved dogs, and Mickey loved to say hi to them. One little girl, when told Minnie’s name, exclaimed, “Minnie, but she’s not small!” That was a defining moment in Minnie’s life.

Somehow Minnie was missing most of her tail – frostbite, unspeakable cruelty, the THS didn’t speculate — having a short little pouffy stump, but it still wagged and she was beautiful. She did have the added bonus of two extra back toes that didn’t touch the ground. They were quite cute! The THS mistakenly claimed that she was already a senior in the middle of developing a severe case of hip dysplasia. However, we knew that wasn’t the case when she jumped right up into the back of the car. This hip dysplasia, fortunately, never happened and she was able to enjoy two years of chasing squirrels and rabbits, fetching tennis balls, wrangling cats, and playing vigorous games of “rollie-pollie” on beds, couches, rugs, grass and, indeed, in the snow – what is commonly known as “making dog angels.”

Minnie (also known as Minnow, Minwax, Princess Minaboops, Minnaboo, Minadoodledoo, Minimuffin, Babycakes, Trooper, Friendly Cuts, Minnushka, and the best girl dog in the world!) will always be remembered for being exceptionally devoted to her “Mister,” her beautiful smile even with a chipped tooth, her funny, sometimes smelly ears, her love of chewing and defuzzing tennis balls (but great disdain for other toys), her ability to use pillows to her advantage, her deer-like jumping skills over obstacles like couches or piles of wood, her tipped over cow position, her rollie-pollie routines, and for an appreciation of fine fabrics (especially as ‘dannas made for her by her ladymom) and love of collar bobbles. Most of all, of course, everyone who knew Minnie will remember her amazing courage. She was so brave.

Please consider making a donation to your local Humane Society (or SPCA, animal shelter, rescue organization, etc.) and/or the Ontario Veterinary College Pet Trust Fund in Minnie’s honour.