PREVENT CANCER FROM KILLING YOUR DOG

I learned that the diseased spleen must be surgically extracted in a "splenectomy," and that although the spleen is important to a dog and actually much larger than it is in people by body weight, they can still live without it after a splenectomy, with some major adaptations and drinking lots of water.

First thing on Monday morning, I called a fine vet who cared for my three bulldogs (Gandhi, Mrs. Einstein, and Eleanor Roosevelt), Dr. Philip Hinko, a fine surgeon and even better diagnostician. He immediately suspected an advanced spleen cancer, confirming my suspicions with his diagnosis. Dr. Hinko no longer does major surgeries, and two days later when we were on the way to another vet, Dr. Robert Gruda, who had agreed to do it immediately for a reasonable sum.

On the scheduled splenectomy day, Dr. Hinko objected, saying the dog wasn't strong enough in terms of blood cell counts to have such a surgery. Perhaps I should have overruled him and given the dog right away a chance while she seemed strong to me to have surgery, which I knew might save her life, if the cancer had not advanced to other organs. I deferred to Dr. Hinko's recommendations that she be built up with Vitamins to improve blood clotting and some daily Prednisone, a cortisone relative, hoping to give her later a first blast of chemotherapy which I know from prior experience can prolong a dog's life and again hold off the Grim Reaper in some cases, for up to a year. Hinko's medicines and regimen helped a lot, for a bit, but she lapsed again into bloody stools and no energy, and a lot of shivering, which I learned comes from the blood's retreat from the tissues, causing a partial death of the epidermis or skin.

Again over a weekend the looming symptoms collided with fading hope and the approaching Grim Reaper, and Monday morning of this week I took her to Dr. Gruda. Why Dr. Gruda?

Because of all of the vets I called, he and two others were the only ones to take the time to explain things clearly. He was even optimistic, encouraging my faith. Many dog-loving friends had told me that he was an outstanding and fairly priced veterinary surgeon.

Her Pak Cell count, the relation between nutrients and blood cells had dropped over the prior ten days from 32 to 16, and the morning of the scheduled splenectomy, it was even lower, at 14. The red blood cell count had dropped from 3 million to 1.6 million.

The surgery was to be now or never, and if not performed, she would have died within two days. Dr. Gruda explained it was a very difficult and risky thing, a splenectomy with an obligatory transfusion of at least 500 ccs of platelets in whole blood, and that she might not make it. After the surgery, I called and was told that she "was doing well," and to call later. I did several times, and eventually Dr. Gruda told me that it was again risky but she could come home with belly rap, and might make it through the night. If trouble came, I could go to the Emergency Clinic. He told me I could pick her up at 5:15 on Monday.

We arrived at 5:05 and were informed she had died at 5 o'clock.

[Death is absolute, immediate, and final. Death answers no questions. Death renders life as both unfair and utterly meaningful. Death never gives you enough time to fight back or to say goodbye....]

Dr. Gruda explained that he had done everything he could do, including administer Heparin the blood thinner often used to prevent or slow down the inevitable effects of what veterinarians dread: D.I.C., or disseminated intervascular coagulation. It has been bluntly described to me as a kind of gigantic clotting process that takes over the entire circulatory process in the last stages of canine cancer, and that it usually means expiration is within 48 hours at the most. This had already begun with Honey, and although she made it through the surgery, the system was just overwhelmed, so she died.

My friend and I immediately took her up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and buried her under a crypt of rocks, not far from where I buried my last dog, Eleanor Roosevelt, in 1998 in a rainstorm after listening to Mozart's Requiem Mass, as I am doing right now. The Requiem has a majestic and mysterious ability and function to allow closure to those who grieve, and although I am not a Catholic and just nominally a Christian, I recommend it to all of those who are grieving.

This Mass has a unique and powerful capacity to absolve your grief. What causes cancer in dogs and people so often in Santa Fe? Even when you buy them the non-carcinogenic brands like Wysong, Millennium, and Newman's Own, there still are carcinogens creeping into their diet and into their lungs from automobile and diesel truck exhaust. People consume and feed their children carcinogens in, for example, the aspartame in Diet Cokes and Sugarless Gum, and fortunately most dogs don't get those carcinogens.

Maybe it is background radiation; maybe it is car and truck exhaust, but there is far less of that in the high mountain air of Santa Fe, New Mexcio. Maybe it comes from carcinogens in the Santa Fe River like restaurant mop water and degreasing compounds, which are routinely dumped every day into drains leading into the Santa Fe River.

Two dogs, Mrs. Einstein and Eleanor Roosevelt, died from lymph cancer back in the late 90's. There are high levels of a deadly carcinogen, trihaloamine, found in our water table and tap water at abnormally high levels, a small molecule that is not removed by any processes like chlorination and fluoridation--themselves very dangerous. Trihaloamine is found here in the Sangres runoff at levels only exceeded by highly industrial cities like Cincinnati. Fluorine accumulates badly in the human pineal gland, and I haven't yet researched its effects on dogs.

My writing this includes smaller reasons: to remember my dog Honey; to teach a few pointers about Veterinary Care, like examining your pet frequently, their skin, their teeth, their eyes, their abdomen, and their stool and urine (and to pay a compliment to the absolving brilliance of Mozart).

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