Tragedy in Carbondale

Tammy Faye, one of our two little dogs, the reddish-brown one we suspect of cocker spaniel and poodle parentage, has developed a funny cough.  She has been having episodes, mostly at night, when she makes a series of harsh, almost musical sounds; then she's fine.  She's not overly active, but then she never has been.  She eats, walks, and sleeps as usual, and the cough is not exacerbated by exercise, food, or anything else we've been able to identify.

But we decided to have her evaluated by a veterinarian.  Nancy had been unable to get her in at the vet school in Fort Collins, but once we were staying at a campground in the relative sticks of Carbondale, the local vet's office had an opening.

Dr. Ben was a very nice young man who sat on the floor as he examined Tammy Faye.  He found nothing much on physical exam but took a chest X-ray.  He showed us the film and pointed out that the heart appeared to be slightly enlarged and possibly pressing on the trachea.  But he also noticed an ominous finding - a possible abdominal mass, rather large, in the area of the spleen.  At first he suggested going to an ultrasound specialist in Denver or Salt Lake City, but Nancy said that she would be unable to stand waiting, so he arranged to have an ultrasound study done at 11:00 the following morning at a clinic near our next campground stop in Grand Junction.  Needless to say, we were distraught.

We arose early the next morning and drove our motorhome to Grand Junction.  Because that clinic provides medical care for horses as well as dogs and cats, there was a parking lane for horse trailers that we were able to park our motorhome in while we completed the paperwork.  We left Tammy Faye with the clinic, checked in at the RV park, and anxiously waited there for our 3:45 appointment that afternoon to discuss the ultrasound findings.

Dr. Boyd, a gentle, sympathetic lady vet, explained that the study showed what was almost certainly a splenic hemangiosarcoma, a malignant tumor that appeared to have already spread to the liver.  She told us that an oncologist could offer several treatment options, but that they were ordinarily only effective short-term at best, and she didn't recommend going that route.  (I'm sure that she offered that option because some pet owners will try everything to save their beloved animals, but Nancy and I are determined not to put our little family members through a treatment process that might be miserable for them, with little chance of success.)

Dr. Boyd informed us that life expectancy after this diagnosis was in most cases measured in a few months, and the most likely scenario was that this tumor would partially rupture at some point, spill blood into the abdomen, and cause significant pain.  In most cases this initial rupture would not be fatal and the symptoms would gradually improve, but would be followed by further ruptures.  I asked her if this were her dog, at what point would she consider euthanasia, and she said that she would do so after the first rupture episode, in order to spare Tammy Faye further misery.

The cough, she said, was most likely unrelated to the tumor and might be cardiac in origin, so she prescribed Enalapril, an ACE inhibitor.  I can't help thinking that perhaps it would have been better if the X-ray hadn't been taken and we wouldn't have learned of the cancer, but at least this way we will be able to give Tammy Faye extra love and extra treats for as long as she's with us, and we'll be better prepared to handle things when she gets worse.

The humans in the Wilson household are devastated.  Luckily, Tammy Faye is unaware of her fate and remains the sweet, happy dog she has always been.  I know that she has enjoyed this motorhome trip enormously and that with all the attention and walks she and Sophia have received this has been one of the happiest times of her life.  That is comforting to us, but only a little.  We've become reluctantly accepting of our own mortality, but it's hard to deal with that of our dear little dogs.