Murphy, My Angel, Part 1

The weekend before we were scheduled to leave for a week-long beach vacation, I noticed that Murphy was showing symptoms of her cancer growing or spreading. The mast cell tumor on her right side had been previously flat and flush with the rest of her skin, just a different color. It was now beginning to look raised and becoming a little darker and irritated. I had carefully been observing every time she urinated outside, since any change in frequency, width of the stream, or inability to produce a steady stream could signal pressure on her bladder from the lymph node near her spine, the very same lymph node that was removed, regrew, and radiated a month or so later. Since she began radiation in May, she had been taking Palladia, the first FDA-approved chemotherapy specifically for dogs, three days a week. I noticed over the previous two weekends, that the tumor on her side grew a little bit over the weekend breaks from the chemo. I also noticed her stream was getting narrower. Which is why I scheduled her ultrasound for the Thursday before we left for vacation. She wasn’t due for another 10 days, but she was showing just the slightest signs of the cancer affecting her again. We’d been through this before; Mike and I were now aware of the tiniest signs that, when ignored, led to disastrous results. The ultrasound showed that the lymph node was larger than we had hoped it would be, though not as big as it was prior to radiation. The doctor and I agreed that we should increase her Palladia dosage. She may experience side effects, but this was our best shot to get this thing under control. The increased dose had to be shipped from another animal hospital, so she’d receive two more pills at her current dose, and hopefully be able to take the new dose starting the following Wednesday while we were on vacation. This was our best chance of getting ahead of this thing before it took over her body again. We both realized that if this cancer did take over again, we would be in a tight spot. We were running out of both time and options that she could physically handle.

About a month before we left for vacation, I told MIke that I had a bad feeling. Our vacation was exactly two months post-radiation. The oncologist gave us a prognosis of two months of quality-living for Murphy with radiation, maybe more. We were foolishly optimistic, and believed there would be many many more. When I told Mike about my bad feeling, he told me not to say that, or not to think that way. But I couldn’t shake it. This is why I was so observant, this is why I scheduled the ultrasound ten days early. I was trying to be proactive and detect changes before they became unmanageable.

Murphy’s medicine didn’t arrive on Wednesday like it was supposed to, meaning another day at the lower dose. I was stressed because my cell phone had poor reception, so I couldn’t call the vet and was relying on text messages from my mom to get info on the drug shipment. My whole family was leaving for a cruise the next day, unreachable by cell phone until Monday. Our pups were staying with my in-laws, but they aren’t exactly dog people. They love our pups as much as they can, and they respect the way we love our pups, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking them to deal with the vet. When we checked in with Murf, she was doing Ok. She was taking a long time to go potty, but she was still making. She wasn’t bloated. She had a lot of energy, and was eating and drinking normally.

Thursday night, my father-in-law called Mike. Within a day, she had gone from ok, to miserable. She was tinkling all over the garage, but she couldn’t make when she wanted to, meaning that her bladder was likely so full, she was urinating by accident. She couldn’t control what came out and when. She was also refusing food. That had never happened before. Murphy was always hungry. She never refused food. This was bad news. In exactly a week from the ultrasound, the lymph node had grown from larger than desirable, but not intrusive, to out of control, affecting her in a very negative way. It was compressing her bladder, just like it had back in February and again in April. We knew what this meant, but we were in Florida. We needed to get home to her before we could make any logical decisions. After a pretty intense conversation with the night-shift emergency vet, and a ton of tears, we agreed that we would cut vacation short by one night. Mike’s dad would bring Murf in first thing Friday morning so they could place a urinary catheter and make her comfortable. She would stay overnight, and then we would drive out Friday night, when there was less traffic, allowing us to be with her Saturday morning.

Meanwhile, her higher-does chemo arrived on Friday, and she was given the pill that afternoon. I was furious that the shipment arrived two days late, essentially losing time to effectively treat this growing cancer. I was furious that we did everything we could to be proactive about her treatment, and yet nothing could be done. We knew how quickly this cancer grew and wreaked havoc on her body, so we did our best to convey the urgency of the situation to any and everyone we spoke with at the vet clinic. At the time, I felt like they weren’t taking me seriously. With a little distance from the situation, perhaps they were taking me seriously, but also, in their vast experience, knew what we were dealing with, and how little we could truly do to stop it. I’ll never know.

After an emotional Thursday night and a low-key rainy day Friday, we left Florida around 9PM, and arrived home around 2AM. Malcolm and I woke up around 7AM, and went to visit Murphy at the animal hospital around 8:30. She looked tired. For the first time ever, throughout this entire disease, she looked tired. I don’t mean sleepy. I mean tired of fighting. She wasn’t nervous, never tried to bark or growl, wasn’t shaking from nerves or excitement, none of her old habits of her past hospital stays were present. She just looked simply tired. She was passing a lot of blood through her urinary catheter, which probably made her even more tired.

The vet, Dr Brown, was so kind. She explained everything to me and allowed me to visit with Murf as long as I wanted to, even with Malcolm banging toys and opening cabinets and generally making a ruckus. She didn’t mind. Our plan was to get to Monday. We knew that Murphy was at a very grave and critical point, but our normal vet, Dr. Crawford, had been out since Wednesday. We did not feel comfortable taking any drastic steps in Murphy’s treatment without Dr. Crawford’s advice. She knew what Murf had been through and what she could handle. So that was our plan. We could come and visit as often as we’d like, but Murf needed to stay in for monitoring until at least Monday.

When the three of us visited Murf on Saturday night, she was eating a little bit, finally. They gave her some rotisserie chicken, plus she was taking treats from our hands. She looked a little more tired than she had that morning. Perhaps it was the stress of being in the hospital. Perhaps not. She did seem to perk up just being with us. Or was that my imagination? She ate treats from our hands and allowed us to cuddle and kiss her as much as that stupid e-collar would allow. The e-collar was to prevent her from pulling out her catheter. It was an emotional visit, but we stuck with the plan. Get to Monday. Dr. Sarah answered all of our questions about Murphy’s progress, what our options were, and whether these options were good options. She was patient and gentle with us. We were beginning to have some difficult conversations, and she was so careful with her words, so kind in her delivery. We were disappointed with how little Murphy was progressing, but still, unless absolutely necessary, no decisions would be made before Monday.

Sunday morning was the baptism of Mike’s new godchild, and it was an absolutely beautiful day. A celebration of life, love, and family, both physical and spiritual. Murphy stayed in the back of my mind, and I prayed for strength and courage for both Mike and me, and for Murphy. When we visited her that night, she looked weaker, still. Even more tired than the previous evening. She was losing strength and muscle tone in her legs. They had connected her to an IV for fluids, because she wasn’t drinking water, but was having diarrhea. This was so unlike her. At home, she drank so much water, she could drink the whole bowl and still want more. We knew things were not going in our favor, but still, “Get to Monday” was the plan. We also noticed some pretty severe bruising on her abdomen. The doctors hadn’t even noticed it. It seemed pretty new. We didn’t see it on Saturday. Dr. Brown believed it was a platelet issue. The way to solve it was a blood transfusion. She’d already had two before, so they’d have to cross-match, whatever that means, I guess making it more complex. We were nervous about a transfusion. Could she handle it? Was it truly necessary? Blood work showed that she didn’t yet need a transfusion, so again, back with the plan – get to Monday. Continue to monitor her blood, urine, hydration, appetite, and now bruising. We couldn’t wait to get Dr. Crawford involved and get some answers from the oncologist too.

More Prayers

Tonight, I’m praying for strength to do the right thing for my baby girl. She’s home with us tonight. She’s very weak. She has fought so hard for so long. She’s the strongest pup I know. She’s my angel on earth. I know God placed her in my life for a reason. She taught me how to love. She taught me how to care about someone more than myself. She showed me how to love unconditionally because that’s how she loved me. Please pray that she is comfortable tonight. We are soaking up every ounce of love and snuggles, and sweetness we can from her. I can write all night and never adequately explain our love. I’ll just say that she’s simply amazing. She has made my life beautiful.

Prayers

We’re in a really tough spot with Murf right now. Her cancer is back in a bad way. I’m praying to God for Murphy’s healing and strength, and our strength and wisdom to make loving decisions about her care. Please take a moment to pray for us. I never in a million years though we would be in this situation. Yet, here we are. Only God’s grace can get me through this. He has blessed me in so many ways, and Murphy has made my life so full. Above all, we want to do what’s best for her. Sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing. I love you Murphy girl.

My First Mother’s Day

My first official Mother’s Day (because Mike swears last year doesn’t count since Malcolm wasn’t born yet) is almost done, and I have to say it was a wonderful day! I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want it to end! Last year, Mother’s Day was filled with nerves and anxiety. It was the day we met Malcolm’s birthfamily for the first time. Would they like us? Would we live up to their expectations? Would this baby boy, to be born on Tuesday, be coming home with us? Is this real life?? And in stark contrast, today was just peaceful and easy. I snuggled with my puppies, and got a wake up call and a card from Malcolm.

The three of us went to church together, and Malcolm behaved more than usual. Lunch with Mike’s family, afternoon with mine, and supper back with Mike’s family. It was relaxed and lazy. We played outside, danced to Cajun music, and played with other people’s puppies. Malcolm played with all his cousins, ate pickles and ice cream, and passed out on the table. And people wished me a happy Mother’s Day. And it didn’t feel weird. They did that last year too, but I just kept asking them not to, so as not to jinx the plans. As if that made all the difference. But this year, I just smiled (beamed, really) and thanked them.

Go home Malcolm. You’re drunk. #justkidding #justnapping

Gosh, I love that face. All these faces. I thank God every day for putting them in my life.
Another beautiful face I thank God for is my godchild, Reecie. Apparently she told her mom, “I no like Malcolm.” When asked why, “because he stole my nanny.” Does that not just melt your heart!? Talk about a guilt trip. No one told her that, she just decided that. She’s fricken adorable.

A year ago to the date, we shared the details of our match with our friends. We hosted the annual crawfish boil, and told most people that day. When i think back to that day, I don’t remember much, except the general feelings of nervousness and overwhelming love and support. What great friends we have. God put them in my life for a reason.

I spoke to Malcolm’s birthmom’s grandmother today to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. She has been so instrumental in Malcolm’s entire adoption. It was she who connected her granddaughter with our agency, and she occasionally sends Malcolm photos, letters, and gifts. I believe she memorized the details of our profile book, knows our parents names and our wedding date and our birthdays. And while I don’t know for sure, I believe she had a huge part in us being chosen as Malcolm’s family. There were a lot of factors in that match, but I know she was extremely involved. We speak on the phone about once every month or so. She seems both happy and sad with the way thing have worked out. I know she wishes Malcolm was in her life more, but I know for a fact that she is grateful that we can raise him and love him and give him everything he needs. And we are grateful for that too. I hope she knows how special she is.

I hope that Malcolm’s birth mother had a happy Mother’s Day with her first son, Malcolm’s biological brother. I hope she wasn’t sad. I hope she’s looking forward to our next gathering in June when we will celebrate Malcolm’s birthday together. And I hope she knows how special she is, how brave she is. She made a loving sacrifice, and there aren’t enough words to explain just how awesome and selfless that is.

One Year Ago

Get ready for mush-fest 2k13. Because it’s about to get allllllllll sentimental up in this biotch.

A year ago today, we got “the call.” A baby boy is to be born in a week, and we were chosen, by his birth parents, to be his parents. I’mma let that sink in for a minute. We are chosen to be his parents. Wow. The miracle of adoption never ceases to astound me. Blows my effin mind, if we’re being honest. A year ago, we were care-free. I was totally relaxed, eating my subway salads, just livin life… And BAM! Life changer!

What a year it has been. Get ready, because the next week is very special to me, and unlike my husband, I like to get sentimental and mushy and dramatic and generally cray when the time is right. The time is right, my friends. If this isn’t a reason to act cray, then I don’t know what is.

I love you Malcolm James!

**Full disclosure: I do not approve, in any way, of my dumb-ass sister putting her strong-ass prescription glasses on my baby’s developing eyes, and I’ll deny it to her face till the day I die, lest i encourage her stupidity, and ruin my baby’s eyes forever, BUT….. He looks damn cute wearing her glasses!

St Joseph

I saw my St Joseph medal Sunday in my closet. This is the same medal that I wore almost daily for the months leading up to Malcolm’s adoption, and sporadically afterwards. It was probably in my closet where i took it off after the last time i wore it to church. I decided to wear it today as a reminder that God is in control and to bring some peace to my mind and heart.

St Joseph is the patron saint of families. I prayed to him during our adoption wait, to help us grow our family. And now I’m praying to him again to keep our family whole. Help us make the right choices, and to do what is best for Murphy and our family. I feel less anxious, more calm, since I’ve been wearing it. I know it is in God’s hands, and we have to use the tools and resources he gives us to do the right thing, whatever that may be.

We are going to a consultation with an oncologist at LSU on Thursday. Please pray we get answers and comfort from whatever he tells us. Murf’s a little tired, likely from the double dose of chemo, but otherwise, she is doing well this morning. Love her so much!

Murf News

Murf’s home right now. When we got to the vet this morning, they inserted a catheter, sutured it to her and capped it off so that it can stay in for a few days. We just unscrew the cap when she has to go make. Dr Crawford was gave us a couple of options, and we are down to just a few. The initial plan was to schedule a surgery to place the tube in her bladder, like they planned to do last time. She doesn’t think removing the tumor and lymph node is an option given that it was so hard on Murf last time and how quickly it grew back. We need to shrink it medically to relieve pressure off her bladder and colon. If we can’t do that, her kidneys will soon fail. She has to be able to relieve herself. Funny thing is, that’s the only thing wrong with her right now. They say that if the cancer is in the lymph mode and is recurring this soon and aggressively, then it’s certainly in other places in her body. Yet, nothing else has bee affected by the cancer so far. Not her heart, lungs, kidneys, appetite, etc.

So our main objective is to shrink the tumor and use the catheter temporarily to allow her to pee. We’re also giving her meds to help her colon. This temporary cath can only stay in for a few days. It’s risky because it can lead to infection. After dr Crawford made some calls, the oncologist did not recommend the surgery to insert the tube in her bladder. He didn’t think it would help for very long. He recommends radiation to give her the best chance of shrinking the tumor. For many many reasons that are hard (and long) to explain, radiation is not the easiest option for us or Murf. I’m not ready to talk about that yet. So we are doubling up the chemo, using a known-to-be-effective drug that her body seems to have gotten accustomed to, and maybe a little resistant to, and a new drug, with less stats to back up it’s effectiveness. Hoping that this double-whammy can give her enough relief in the next few days to allow her urinate on her own.

Beyond that, I have no clue. We went in today knowing that our options are getting limited. We asked dr Crawford if this was it – is it over? What would she do if it were her dog? It’s literally day by day, hour by hour that things seem to change. Shes getting some physical relief thanks to the cath and it looks like the tumor on her skin is beginning to respond to the chemo – or is that wishful thinking? I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not ready to process my feelings yet. I just know that we’re very sad with where we are now. We don’t feel like its over yet, and we are praying for the strength and wisdom to make the right decisions for Murf. We do believe in miracles. We do believe in God and His power and wisdom and His plan. So I still believe that anything can happen if God is in control.

So that’s it. We pray. And we love. And we pray some more. And we love her and kiss her more, and continue to repeat this as long as we can.

Beautiful Day

Today was simply beautiful. There is no better word. The weather was beautiful, the setting was beautiful, and the mood was beautiful. Everything was…. Beautiful.

Our adoption agency held their annual Easter brunch at the local country club. It was a celebration of the adoptive families created through the agency’s work. As Ms Carolyn, one of the many lovely agency people involved in Malcolm’s adoption, put it, they do so many serious things, and today is truly about fun.

It was fricken adorable to see all the toddlers running around in their smocked dresses and John-John’s. The boys with the knee-high white dress socks and oxfords and peter-pan collars especially melted my heart. I can’t bring myself to dress Malcolm this way, but still, it’s freaking adorable on them!

Probably the simple most awesome thing about today was seeing couples we had connected with back when we were all still waiting for The Call. Now we all have sweet children in our arms and life just doesn’t seem to get any better. Three couples with three very different stories particularly stood out in my mind. Two of them, we had met at the parenting/adoption classes at the director’s house. One couple had just begun the process when we first met. They were in the midst of completing the 30-page application, and we were the seasoned pros (ha!) offering advice about how to make it through the wait period. He’s an engineer, just like Mike. They were so kind and soft-spoken. Four months ago, they were paired with their sweet baby girl with literally two hours notice. The baby was born the previous day, and The Call went something like “how fast can you get here?” Wow. And I thought we had to think fast with a week to pull it together.

The other couple we met through the classes had been waiting for longer than average (for our agency) when we met them last May – going on two years. No telling why. I believe it’s because God was preparing their hearts and hand-picking the perfect addition to their family, just like he did with us. Well, when I saw them pushing a stroller into the brunch, I almost burst with excitement. I was so happy they had been matched! Their little baby boy was only seven weeks old and oh-so-tiny! They got The Call the day after his birth also, but had the benefit (?) of him needing to stay in the NICU for a few more days, giving them a little more time to get everything together. He’s now healthy and growing beautifully!

The third couple, we met only three months ago. We shared a court date for finalization. Their little girl is younger than Malcolm by a couple weeks, but oh my, she’s tall! And bright blue eyes! We actually know some of the same people, and I always love making connections. So that’s pretty cool.

Is it weird that I can name all the kids of the couples I met today, but can’t, for the life of me, remember most of the parents names? Oh well. It’s about the kids anyway, right?

And that’s why we went. It’s about the kids. It’s about Malcolm. How awesome is it that he has this big group of friends who are just like him. Who know what it means to be adopted and to have an open relationship with their birthfamily. How awesome is it for these children to know that they are loved by so many people. No family is without issues and sadness, if course. One family we spoke with today shared that their birth mother had gotten into trouble and arrested just days before their next scheduled meeting. But that’s the beauty of adoption and this network we’re a part of – we all get it. Life is messy. Things don’t work out perfectly. But we all get it. We all understand just how messy it can be. Our birth family relationship is not without its issues. But we get to see just how beautiful it can be.

We plan to attend this event as long as Malcolm wants to. And for the next five years or so, I don’t think he will have an opinion, so it’s in the plans for the foreseeable future. And who knows, we my be attending this event with two beautiful adopted babies by then. (Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right?). I can’t say enough good things about today. I hope it helps Malcolm grow up knowing he is loved beyond belief. And that adoption is simply beautiful.

Murphy Update

I’m still processing everything that has happened today. Let me start by saying that Murf is stable. The surgery was successful, but not at all what was planned.

Dr Crawford called at 12:15 to let me know they were about to start. At 2:40, she called again. Murphy was out of surgery and she was in recovery. She had lost a lot of blood, and needed two blood transfusions.

Ok, wow. What happened?

While the intent of the surgery was to place the tube in her bladder and decrease the size of the tumor if possible, that’s not at all what happened. Once they opened her up, the surgeon said that the tumor was so much larger than anticipated. If they did not remove it, she may not live more than a month. There were two sections that they removed. In total, the size of a baseball. A baseball. In a 20 pound puppy. That’s like a human having a watermelon in their belly. No wonder she couldn’t pee. The tumor on the lymph node was the size of a lime. It had compressed her urethra so much that it was essentially the size of a pencil point.

They also removed a mass from the vena cava, which is a major vein that carries blood away from the heart. There is a small mass on her aorta, a major artery, carrying blood to the heart. They cannot remove this; it’s too dangerous. If they were to nick the aorta, she would certainly bleed to death. Now, back to the vena cava; when removing the mass there, it was nicked, and she lost a lot of blood. Because veins have less pressure than arteries, they were able to manage it, suture it up nicely, and replace the blood lost via transfusion.

Since a mass the size of a baseball was removed from her abdominal area, there’s no longer pressure on her bladder, urethra, and colon. So once she gets through this recovery, she should have great quality of life. This means that there was no need to place the tube in her bladder. The cancerous mass that remains on her aorta is almost certain to slowly grow and spread. But having removed so much, the doctors feel that it can be managed and slowed down by the chemo. So that will continue as planned.

The next 24 hours are critical. She’s essentially in puppy ICU. All her vitals are stable. She’s being closely monitored and constantly watched by someone. They are keeping her calm and quiet. As she comes out of anesthesia, her blood pressure may rise, and she may require another blood transfusion. We don’t know yet. So she’ll spend at least tonight there, and perhaps Saturday too.

The good news is that Dr. Crawford and the surgeon both think that once she gets past this critical point, she will have great quality of life. That’s such a relief. I love her so much. Please keep praying that she continues to improve. And that Mike doesn’t have a heart attack when he sees the bill! Haha!

Murf’s Surgery

Murf’s having surgery today around noon. She went in for her second chemo treatment on Tuesday. While we were there, we asked them to catheterize her and drain her bladder because she was having a hard time urinating on her own. She came home with Valium and another med to relax her muscles and hopefully make it easier for her to go. But it only seemed to get worse.

By Wednesday night, she was bloated and clearly uncomfortable. It’s like we were back to where we started. I stayed up with her, sleeping off and on, on the couch, letting her outside every hour or so. Around 1:30, we went lay in bed. Less than an hour later, Mike woke up feeling that she had peed in the bed. Not a lot; just that her bladder was so full, it couldn’t contain itself anymore. Thankfully, we have a waterproof mattress pad. We struggled with her for the next hour or so, trying to get some rest, but by 4am, she and I were back in the living room or outside, and Mike in the shower.

Murf spent the rest of the morning in our bathroom with towels on the ground. She at least knows to only make on the towels. When I called the vet, they suggested we bring her in right away. Mike left work, and brought her in. Dr Garon, one of the owners of the clinic, and truly one of the most compassionate and intelligent vets I’ve met, called me to suggest this surgery. We had a very honest discussion, a very tearful discussion. Basically, they are going to surgically implant a tube in her bladder. We will have to remove the cap on the outside of her body five times a day to empty her bladder. While they are doing this, they will also attempt to remove the mass from the lymph node, but they won’t know until they get in there, what they can do.

My fear with this surgery is that we are taking away her independence. She will now rely on us for a basic bodily function. I felt like we were moving in the wrong direction, and I told this to Dr Garon. Are we giving up? Is this tube a permanent thing? Are we making her uncomfortable and miserable just so we can say she’s still living? Dr Garon assured me that none of my fears were true. This is not a give-up. This will increase her quality of life. Until we can shrink the mass on the lymph node that is putting pressure on her bladder, this will be necessary to keep her comfortable. Aside from the cancer, which we are treating with chemo, the only thing wrong with her is that she can’t empty her bladder. Otherwise she is very happy and healthy. Then, once the mass has shrunk enough, we can talk about removing the tube. After our conversation, I felt a lot better about this plan.

I can’t even explain how awesomely Mike handled this whole situation. I hit a breaking point that morning. The babysitter was insisting that Malcolm was getting sicker (double ear infection that turned into a cough) and all but insisting that he go to the doctor. I had meetings all day long at work. Plus the vet tech was suggesting we bring Murf in. All these places that I needed to be at the exact same time were in completely opposite directions from my house. How can I be everywhere right now!? Mike didn’t even hesitate. He just took care of it all. He said he’d leave work, and bring everyone everywhere that they needed to go. I was in tears over the whole situation. I’m scared for Murf, feeling guilty about placing her needs above Malcolm’s, because I honestly didn’t believe that Malcolm was that sick (turns out he’s fine. He’s getting better, the doctor was not concerned), and I’m stressed about how can I do it all. And mike just stepped in like a knight on a white horse and made it happen. I love him. As independent of a woman I know I am, sometimes it is just so nice to be taken care of. To be rescued.

I know what people think about the way we are handling this whole situation. I know because they tell me. They think I’m absolutely crazy. They think I’m in denial. My boss and I were bringing our families to Disney World together for a work trip that we were both attending. Between Murphy’s last hospital stay, the chemo, and now this surgery, we will have spent our Disney budget twice over. So we cancelled the trip. He thinks that’s nuts. But seriously, how can I go to Disney, knowing I neglected Murphy for a few days vacation. That’s blood money. I can’t do that. And my other boss sees that Murphy’s life is nearing its end, and we should be realistic and humane and put her down. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not in denial. I know Murphy’s condition is serious. But as long as I have the means to treat her, to save her life, I’m going to do it. I don’t expect everyone to understand or to even have compassion for our situation, but don’t judge me. I think don’t agree with a lot of things in this world, but as long as no one’s getting hurt, do your thing. I don’t care. You do you, let me do me.

And rant over. If you have a moment, please say a prayer for Murf. And ask Him to guide the surgeons’ hands and minds to do the best that they can for her. I have faith in God’s will. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I trust Him every step of the way.