Loss of appetite and a cough...

I'm not great at it by any stretch, but I do try not to overreact every time one of our pets has a lump or a scab or an itch or sniffle. Nary you mind that our vet bills may very well rally the gross national product of a small nation.

Simply put, I love my pets. They are my heart and my soul; my raison d'etre. Because we have not been blessed otherwise, they are my children. Funny though, that I'm even writing that, because I doubt that their quiet occupation of the varied terrains of my heart would change under any circumstances. They are what they are to me. God, I love them.

I went to the vet this morning for only the second time this month. That may be a record. Ozzie's appetite has been waning over the past few months. We have treated him twice now with a month's worth of antibiotics for elevated Erlichiosis titers (Tick fever). But his symptoms had not improved the way that we hoped they would with conservative measures. I tried to ignore the little scabby hairless patch on his chest and I tried to ignore the black thing-a-ma-bob on his right forearm because, well, I think that our vet thinks at times that I am a crazy. Our chart at our vet's office weighs more than a sumo wrestler.

But then Ozzie developed a dry cough that I couldn't ignore. I thought that his breathing looked a little labored the other day. I listened intently to his lungs through a radiologist's sorely underused stethoscope, and I thought that his left lower lobe sounded a little strange. Really, I just knew that my little guy wasn't feeling like himself.

He was due for some vaccine titer checks anyway, so I when I took him in this morning to have those values checked, I added on a vet appointment in addition to labs. I left Ozzie there for 2 hours while they did some radiographs and blood tests on him.

I practically skipped in to the office to pick up my fuzzy friend when they called to say they were done. Even just 2 hours on a weekend day seems like a long time not to have one of my pack around the house while I'm doing laundry and cleaning and organizing... the things I do on the weekends. The vet brought me back to see his chest radiographs and grimly asked me what I still wanted to order in terms of labs. I guess that's something that I get to decide since I'm a doctor, although in this case I wish that I wasn't and I wish that I didn't know what I know. My heart stopped. Literally, it skipped a beat. My throat tightened up. Tears welled up in my eyes. Yeah, it's about 10 cm. The size of a grapefruit.

So, I am not sure what exactly will happen next. If he was the 9 year old baby that he is, and human, he would surely be in the pediatric ICU having a million tests ordered. But it is the weekend, and he is a canine being, and so I must sit here tortured until Monday. And then we will get him in to see a specialist as soon as possible for a CT scan, or a biopsy, or whatever needs to be done. And in the meantime I will just try to hold back my tears and hope that this is, best case scenario, lymphoma.

The good news? Only that I know why he didn't feel like eating his dog food. So, tonight he voraciously wolfed down his mush of black beans, rice and low sodium broth like a champ. He was hungry. Poor boy. He's been hating mealtime for 3 months at least. I can take care of his hungry little belly while we wait... I can do that.

"All he asks from me is the food to give him strength,
All he ever needs is love and that he knows he'll get."
~Cat Stevens - I Love My Dog