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heatray5dRoxanne is chock full of awesome. She is also, apparently, chock full of poo as well. So chock full, in fact, that it recently became a problem. Especially when all that poo became a delivery system for a moderate amount of blood.
I've always associated pooping blood with imminent and painful death. People with Ebola poo blood. When it comes to dogs, however – or at least my dog – pooping blood is just something that happens for no detectable reason. Four days in the hospital saw the end of the Plague of Bloody Poo (which is the one where Pharoah looked up at the sky and said, "hrrrrg! Okay, Hebrew god! nnngf! They can goooooaarrrgh!"), the accumulation of several more thousands in debt, and a slightly skinnier hound.
However, what Angell's very expensive machines did discover was a tumor on her adrenal gland. The tumor is large enough that it is sort of wrapped around her vena cava, which is a bit that sticks off the heart, and through which all of her blood flows.
There's a surgery that can take care of this, but here's the thing: Roxanne is 15 years old – well past her expiration date - and the surgery could potentially turn into a bypass operation rather than a simple mass removal. Plus there's all the CT scans and crap leading up to such a surgery. For the amount something like this would cost me, I could probably by land and a small herd of replacement basset hounds. So no surgery.
Given that, there are four things that could happen. If it's one kind of adrenal tumor, she could produce excess steroids and get Cushing's syndrome. This usually involves weight gain and excess urination. I don't know how I would diagnose excess urination since she's a fountain of piss normally, but she's lost 11 pounds recently (time for some high fat foods!). Also, something about her precious blood tells the vets this is unlikely. So that's probably not it.
The second option is that the adrenal tumor forces the production, in bursts, of excitability hormones. This could explain her intermittent anxiety attacks, but probably not. What happens in this case is she has a sudden adrenaline surge and her brain explodes, hopefully not in any of the carpeted rooms. Very fast, very sudden.
Curtain number three reveals possibly the messiest option, in which the tumor's growth pinches off the vena cava and she bleeds to death internally. Again, pretty fast, and probably about as painful as suffocation. I have every confidence that, despite this being an internal bleed out, Roxanne will find a way to externalize as much of it as possible. It's her way.
The final, and least fun, option is metastasis, in which the tumor has kids who grow up and go to college on other important organs. This is called cancer, and we all know exactly how great it is.
Any or all of these things could occur today, or five years from now. Right now, she is as comfortable and happy as anyone who is basically 105 in dog years. Meaning she's half-blind, can't hear and gets stupider every day, but she wags her tail when she gets bacon and still bites my knees for no reason. Also, she likes to chase the kittens with her mouth open like the T. Rex in Jurassic Park.
I know a number of you have a great deal of affection for Roxanne, despite the fact that she is the Darth Vader of dogs. If, for whatever reason, you wanted to see her before I have her freeze-dried and turned into an end table, sooner rather than later would be best.
I've always associated pooping blood with imminent and painful death. People with Ebola poo blood. When it comes to dogs, however – or at least my dog – pooping blood is just something that happens for no detectable reason. Four days in the hospital saw the end of the Plague of Bloody Poo (which is the one where Pharoah looked up at the sky and said, "hrrrrg! Okay, Hebrew god! nnngf! They can goooooaarrrgh!"), the accumulation of several more thousands in debt, and a slightly skinnier hound.
However, what Angell's very expensive machines did discover was a tumor on her adrenal gland. The tumor is large enough that it is sort of wrapped around her vena cava, which is a bit that sticks off the heart, and through which all of her blood flows.
There's a surgery that can take care of this, but here's the thing: Roxanne is 15 years old – well past her expiration date - and the surgery could potentially turn into a bypass operation rather than a simple mass removal. Plus there's all the CT scans and crap leading up to such a surgery. For the amount something like this would cost me, I could probably by land and a small herd of replacement basset hounds. So no surgery.
Given that, there are four things that could happen. If it's one kind of adrenal tumor, she could produce excess steroids and get Cushing's syndrome. This usually involves weight gain and excess urination. I don't know how I would diagnose excess urination since she's a fountain of piss normally, but she's lost 11 pounds recently (time for some high fat foods!). Also, something about her precious blood tells the vets this is unlikely. So that's probably not it.
The second option is that the adrenal tumor forces the production, in bursts, of excitability hormones. This could explain her intermittent anxiety attacks, but probably not. What happens in this case is she has a sudden adrenaline surge and her brain explodes, hopefully not in any of the carpeted rooms. Very fast, very sudden.
Curtain number three reveals possibly the messiest option, in which the tumor's growth pinches off the vena cava and she bleeds to death internally. Again, pretty fast, and probably about as painful as suffocation. I have every confidence that, despite this being an internal bleed out, Roxanne will find a way to externalize as much of it as possible. It's her way.
The final, and least fun, option is metastasis, in which the tumor has kids who grow up and go to college on other important organs. This is called cancer, and we all know exactly how great it is.
Any or all of these things could occur today, or five years from now. Right now, she is as comfortable and happy as anyone who is basically 105 in dog years. Meaning she's half-blind, can't hear and gets stupider every day, but she wags her tail when she gets bacon and still bites my knees for no reason. Also, she likes to chase the kittens with her mouth open like the T. Rex in Jurassic Park.
I know a number of you have a great deal of affection for Roxanne, despite the fact that she is the Darth Vader of dogs. If, for whatever reason, you wanted to see her before I have her freeze-dried and turned into an end table, sooner rather than later would be best.
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no subject
I know what it's like to have ambiguous feelings about a long-lived, high-poop-volume pet. There are a few things I miss about my iguana, but the sound of a liquid squirt immediately followed by a tidal wave of gaseous nauseating smell is not one of them. Nevertheless, I cried like Susan Lucci when I had him put down.
I hope Roxanne's last days are comfortable and perhaps slightly constipated.
no subject
This last is very rare, but no less disturbing for its rarity.
Chest poop
Ana-Marie
Re: Chest poop