Still wondering

In a nutshell, we still don't know what's wrong with George.

The non-nutshell version: I took both dogs, and Melrose, to the vet with me on Thursday to get their annual physicals. I was dumb enough to feed George (on leftover spaghetti meat sauce, which he LOVED) before we headed over to drop off Mr. Magoo at school and then go to the vet from there. After we came out of the school and I was getting Melrose back in her seat, the carsickness hit. I heard that godawful gushing sound as George vomited up his saucy breakfast in the back of the minivan. Lovely. I whipped open the back hatch to get him out before he destroyed any more carpeting, and he stuck his head out and barfed again into the parking lot, just missing my right foot. Meanwhile Gretz, who is probably the smartest of us all, leaped out of the car and tried to escape across the parking lot. One of the teachers helped me catch him, and I then had to try and keep the two dogs contained but not walking in the mess. I grabbed a couple of old towels I luckily had in the car and cleaned up the back as best I could, but it was too late to do much, and the pavement...well, not much I could do with that.

We raced off, and in the midst of being grateful that none of the parents I know witnessed this scene, I realized that it was still peak drop-off time and other parents no doubt would be parking in our spot and having to walk through the mess. So I called the director and apologized profusely that my sick dog had ralphed all over their parking lot, and offered to come back and clean it up as soon as we got done at the vet. She just laughed and said not to worry about it, they'd just get out the hose. Miss J, I owe you big time!

At the vet, I handed over our samples. They weighed George and he had lost 15 pounds, roughly 25% of his regular weight. The poop samples came back negative for worms, but the blood tests showed that both dogs had a strong positive for Lyme disease, which is pretty much a given when you have herds of deer roaming through your woods on a daily basis. So, pricey antibiotics were added to the bill. With physicals and basic tests for both dogs, shots for Gretz, and more in-depth bloodwork for George, we ponied up nearly $500 to continue not knowing the cause of George's problem.

George did have some elevated chemical levels in his kidneys, which resulted in our being referred to the specialty vet center, the place where we've gone for his cancer treatments, the place where everybody knows our name, and you better believe they're always glad we came. Seriously, you can hear that cha-ching! sound every time the doors close. They are sending us for an ultrasound. Yes, I am taking my dog for an ultrasound.

In terms of his trouble walking, the vet thought it probably was not an injury or orthopedic problem. The problem probably is the result of his losing so much muscle mass as part of his overall weight loss. While it was deeply troubling that my dog is starving to the point where his muscle mass is being lost, in another way I was relieved that hopefully he doesn't have some irreversible paralysis or arthritis setting in. If we can get him eating again and gaining weight, hopefully his strength and tone will return.

So Tuesday, I'll be dropping off the kids, working from here during the morning, and schlepping him down to the mega-vet to have his innards probed. Having been through many an ultrasound myself, I was eager to see his insides. I asked if I could watch, but apparently non-human patients are not allowed to have company when they get wanded. So I'll hit the post office nearby, and then chill in the waiting room while he's having his thousand-dollar procedure. Which hopefully isn't going to lead to yet another thousand-dollar procedure.

We thought maybe the Lyme antibiotics were helping him feel a little better - he ate well yesterday, but then we ran out of spaghetti sauce, and he turned up his nose at pretty much every other dog-specific food we've offered since then. He's basically living on our leftovers right now. I'm going to fry him up some discount hamburger and see if he'll deign to try it.

Much as I deplore negligent dog owners, after getting hit with a bill like that, it's really not surprising that many people just don't bother with veterinary care for their animals. How many people can afford $250 for a dog's annual physical and shots? If that's a stretch for you, what happens when the dog gets sick or slices his paw open or eats something not meant to be eaten? Just in the ten years I've had responsibility for a dog, it seems like the costs have skyrocketed. You'd think that things like vaccine and antibiotics would be generic and cheap at this point. Not. The shots seem to get pricier all the time, and the antibiotics are probably fancier than anything my own doctor would give me.

And Frontline! Dang, dawg! All the vets want your dog to be on this miracle anti-tick treatment, it's almost a necessity in this area, but it is SO d*mn expensive. We started using it years ago because one of our dogs had bad reactions to other anti-tick/flea treatments, and now it seems like it's the only thing that works to combat deer ticks. Don't get me wrong, it's great, but it seems to get more expensive every time I buy it. How long does it take for someone to come up with a knockoff, or for a generic version to become available? When you hear about people trying to buy it from a vendor in Australia because it's cheaper overseas, you kind of wonder how much is enough.

While I realize that vets, like any other doctor, have been through years of extensive training and education and deserve to be paid well, you'd also think that to ensure that veterinary care is accessible to most people, the prices wouldn't be so pricey. Would more people care for their dogs proactively and properly if it was cheaper to do so? And you better believe that Frontline would sell like hotcakes (and probably be even more profitable) if it was actually affordable to most people. So many more dogs would be protected from Lyme disease if more people could afford to apply the stuff religiously once a month. At this rate, I may just have to go back to old-fashioned tick and flea collars (at $16 a pop, a real bargain compared to Frontline).

Sadly, you have to wonder many of the same things about health care for humans. The Philadelphia Inquirer has been running this amazing series about people who "fall through the cracks" of our health care system. What's scary is that so many of these stories could happen to any one of us - some combination of a job loss and a catastrophic health crisis could suck you right down into an uninsured morass. When you have a football-sized tumor in your abdomen and people who are supposed to help you keep passing you on like a hot potato because you don't have insurance, and nothing gets done until the newspaper gets involved, that is just tragic and wrong.

Worried sick

I'm not too happy at the moment. I can't get anything done at work. My house is a mess. My son is suddenly in the realm of potty training and I am getting fed up with all the accidents. My babysitter isn't calling me back. I lost one of my favorite earrings yesterday.

These annoyances all pale next to this: My older dog has something very wrong with him, and I am worried sick.

George is a cream standard poodle, age 8.75, literally the happiest, most affectionate dog I've ever had. He never stops wagging his tail, and has an unfailingly merry disposition. He nuzzles and burrows his face on you, loves to shake hands and give gentle kisses, and plays happily with humans and canines alike. He cries almost hysterically if he is separated from us but knows we're within earshot. He is not foofy by any means - we insist on a utilitarian 'do, which is good because he seems to find and walk through any plant on the property with burrs or sticky seeds. He has the softest coat of any poodle I've ever met.

He was my first puppy. We got him as newlyweds to both satisfy my genetic third-generation need for big-poodle-ownership, and provide a buddy for Duncan, DH's yellow Lab who came along with the marriage. He's definitely a big, though high-strung, personality and has kept all of us on our toes. Funny stories about his many adventures are part of family lore.

George has had a number of dramatic and expensive health issues in the last 4 years. He got bloat and needed emergency surgery (which entailed me dragging him and infant Melrose to the emergency vet in the dead of night, since I was home alone when this happened). Then he had this insidious though supposedly benign cancer in his mouth and jawbone, which meant removing part of his lower jaw. And a lot of money from our bank account. Then there were two or three new tumor scares, all on his mouth or ear, involving more biopsies and removals, and a lot more money, although they all ended up being small unrelated growths.

When we went on vacation in August, our dogsitter noted that our other dog (Gretzky, an energetic German shorthaired pointer) was stealing George's food and acting protective of both food bowls. I then started monitoring during feeding time and shooing off Gretz if he started invading George's bowl. George has always been a good, fast, clean-plate eater, but as the fall has gone on, he's seemed somewhat less interested in food but still eating most of it, with some coaxing.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that he had suddenly gotten really thin, so we started monitoring the food more intensively. Instead of demolishing his meal as he has most of his life, he's started getting all finicky with dog food, eating a few bites and turning up his nose. At the same time, he is wildly ravenous to the point of stealing people food right off the table, eating garbage, and scavenging in the trash can. We tried switching kibbles to see if that would regenerate his interest in dog food but then noticed he seemed to be having a hard time chewing it. Maybe his half-jaw was getting worn out, we thought. We switched him to soft food and fed him lots of table scraps as well, trying to get weight back on him.

As this has been going on, with some meals getting inhaled and others being ingested in small steps, he has been the same old happy puppy. No personality changes whatsoever. Meanwhile, I've been hovering anxiously, roiling in guilt because I haven't been a good dog mom lately. I haven't been diligent with the heartworm pills, or the (outrageously expensive) Frontline, and honestly, I should have noticed the weight loss sooner than I did.

This weekend his back legs seemed to stop working right. He doesn't seem to be in pain, no limping or crying or refusing to move, but he's not able to fully control his hind legs and is having trouble balancing on his four. This does not stop him from following me up and down stairs, running around the yard, begging in the kitchen, jumping onto the couch, or even humping Gretz, which is one of his favorite activities ever. He doesn't seem the least bit upset by his skidding legs or frequent stumbles, although he does seem a little confused that things aren't working as usual. And the tail is still going, and the face is still smiling, and the snout is still finding illicit goodies to snarf down.

I wanted to get him right into the vet this week, but DH is traveling and he was concerned that if I brought him in and the news was not good, he didn't want me to be here alone to cope with it. Melrose is off school on Thursday so I'll take her and both dogs to the vet first thing (both dogs need shots anyway).

I'm hoping and praying this is some temporary thing, like a sports injury. Or yet another bout of Lyme disease, which he's had before. Maybe he wrenched his back or broke a bone while wrestling and rolling around in the yard. At the same time, I'm thinking about strokes, or spinal damage, or some invisible cancer invading his lower half. I'm envisioning those people with partially paralyzed dogs who build little carts for the non-functional end of their pet's body.

With all these illnesses, we've had to ask the question of how far we'd go to save him. I've seen people spending thousands to put their dogs through chemo and physical therapy and all kinds of human-like interventions. While I couldn't set a dollar limit on our investment, I know there would be some breaking point where we decide just to let him live out what's left of his time with us, keep him comfortable, and let him go when the time comes. I'm wondering if that's what's going to happen now.

For any of my dogs, I hope that like our beloved Duncan, they and not we will decide when their time is up. But with an irrepressible personality like George's, his twinkling joie de vivre even right now when he is skinny, eating erratically, and falling over himself, we might have to be the ones to make the call, to decide when and how he leaves us. And I don't want to have to make that decision. It was hard enough to admit just in the last few days that something was clearly wrong enough to get him in to the vet. I've been resisting, not only because of being alone, and the sure-to-be hefty bills for tests and procedures, but being afraid of knowing what is happening. Because what is happening may be really bad, and there may be no way out of the bad.

The subject of my worry is now enjoying an illicit grooming session on the sofa next to me, almost intertwined with his "brother." Tomorrow I'll be out stalking both of them as they take care of business, because it seems I need to obtain some "samples," if you catch my drift. If you're still reading, please think of us with fingers crossed at 9AM Thursday morning. The comedy of obtaining samples aside, I'm trying to hold it together until then.

Holding out for a hero

(YES, I like Bonnie Tyler and the Footloose soundtrack. I even have it on my iPod. Is there something wrong with that?!!)

I keep getting into conversations lately with people about the state of world affairs - well, American affairs, really. And while we don't all agree on politics, and I'm not even going to go there (here or anywhere else), a universal sentiment is that this will be a very interesting election day. And that we all want someone to step in there and save us from a plunging economy and subprime mortgage fallout and the disappearance of our 401Ks and stock portfolios and other financial security blankets. We may differ in who we think would best be our savior, but the desire for a savior is universal. Something's gotta give.

I just returned from a girls' night out with my neighbors at a BYOB near here. Let me tell you, I am a convert to the Pennsylvania BYOB cult. Bring your own wine, drink a ton of it, don't spend any money on pricey alcohol (because it's a bottle that's been hanging around the house awhile, which someone probably gave you as a host gift, meaning you never spent a cent on it). I had probably $30 worth of wine, but only paid $30 for my actual food. Which was excellent. The French onion soup was delicious. The chicken Marsala hit the spot. And any dessert named Chocolate Thunder is going to be well worth it.

So much for trying to behave myself this week. Maybe I should start my own BYOB in my office, just for me!

Apropos of nothing...

I can't believe I came across this article and this video in just one day!

Reason #37 that I will never be on reality TV

Let's just say up front that I am already not a fan of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I think their approach is well-intended but way over the top. I think demolishing a functional house and throwing up a new one is stupid and wasteful (why not use that money to either remodel/fix up the place or find a new house more suited to the family's needs?). It bothers me that the makeover recipients often don't have the means and support to handle the downside of the changes to their lives, like higher property taxes due to their ballooning new digs, or unwanted aspects of celebrity status.

And finally, unlike seemingly most women in America, I do not swoon at the sight of Ty Pennington.

My sister had the opportunity to attend one of the reveals, and from all indications, much of the crowd was made up of semi-hysterical women hoping to catch a glimpse of Ty. Yeah, it was cool to see the family get their new house and yell "Move that bus!" and all, but Ty was wayyyy more scream-worthy.

Of course, nerd that I am, I'd be standing there assessing the construction details while screaming women are stampeding around me to see if they can get closer to Ty. But I digress.

Clearly, I don't think like a TV producer; such creatures are not known for practicality or unglamorous solutions. But after reading this article, there is no way on God's green earth I'll ever convert to EM:HE fandom. No way, no how.

I'm not sure which is more disturbing: the show being like a revivalist cult for its employees and devotees, or the revelation that Habitat for Humanity could build 24 new houses for needy people with the outlay required for one of these obscenely excessive makeovers.

The info on how they stage the show was fascinating in the context of all the reality TV out there - moments that look spontaneous are actually rehearsed and interviews with the subjects are the results of multiple takes. It's a little unsettling to get a glimpse of the man behind the curtain, and in some ways this type of information shatters certain illusions.

On the other hand, it helps to explain how these shows work, because certainly you wonder why everyone seems to be in sync and outside people never seem to interfere with the proceedings. How come votes on Survivor usually only split two ways instead of being all over the map? How come you never see people (ticket agents, taxi drivers, etc.) encountered by The Amazing Race contestants acting all star-struck or being shocked by their first encounter with each team and its camera-crew entourage? How come tasks on The Apprentice never get derailed by star-seeking bystanders, and everyone goes straight to their seemingly-random seats in the Boardroom instead of bumbling around like normal people?

I guess now I know that if I ever get on House Hunters, my true remarks will end up rescripted.

Real statement: "Why the hell would you ever put wall-to-wall over these nice floors?"
TV statement: "Well, it's a nice carpet, but it would have to go!"

Real statement: "Are these people f---ing colorblind? Why would you ever paint your living room magenta?"
TV statement: "Whoa, now that's a different color. It's not really me, though."

Real statement: "Mirrored closet doors. Again. Does EVERY damn house on this show have mirrored closet doors? Can we pleeeease go see a house without them?"
TV statement: "This bedroom is a nice size. Wow, those mirrors really brighten things up in here!"

Real statement: "Wow, this tacky 1970s wallpaper is awesome. Awesome! Can we keep it?"
TV statement: "Hey, look at that! Ha ha. Interesting. But we'll need to strip that and repaint."

Real statement: "Check out this closet! It's bigger than all the closets in my current house combined!"
TV statement: "It's a very nice closet, but I actually was looking for something a little bigger. And the master bathroom only has one sink."