Rita ~ Hurley: Hurley's Story

"WRITE WHAT SHOULD BE NOT FORGOTTEN.” Isabel Allende

We lost our beloved boy 2 weeks ago yesterday and I sure do have a lot to write…

Little did I know when we decided to get a dog over 6 years ago how magical his impact on my life would be…even his cancer diagnosis and our long journey down that road together…

On April 30, 2013 Hurley was sitting to my left on the couch (where he was NOT supposed to be) and when I looked over, it appeared as though he had golf balls under his neck. There were lumps everywhere. I immediately called Tufts and had him there in 20 minutes. They did a fine needle aspiration and we waited. Around the same time the next day I was sitting in the chair at my hairdresser’s when Tufts called…the vet on the other end muttered, “it’s lymphoma.” Everything turned to a fog and I broke down. Chris was working not far away and he came to get me. We went home, picked up Hurley, and went straight to Tufts. He was diagnosed on May 1, 2013 with Multicentric B-Cell Lymphoma, Stage 5…less than 2 months after his 5^th birthday. Without treatment we could have lost him within weeks; with treatment the averages we were given were 6-8 months IF he responded. There is no cure; it is terminal, just a matter of buying time. There was no sign of illness in our boy…AT ALL. We were told that although lymphoma is very aggressive, that is why it typically responds well to chemo. We decided to proceed with a 15-week course of injectable chemo – the protocol CHOP. It would be a combination of different injectable chemo medications on a weekly basis, prednisone, as well as exams and CBCs (blood counts). And so it began…

The spring and summer of 2013 were filled with weekly visits to Tufts. Hurley made friends with all of his caretakers and brought a wonderful friend into my life, his chemo tech, Jenn. She put me at ease immediately – I had NEVER been home alone without my boy there, so Thursdays/chemo days were BRUTAL having to drop him off – she sent me photos of him in her office, begging for her lunch, she made bow tie’s for him out of colored medical gauze, and he even climbed onto one of the doggie carts for a ride while a post-surgery dog rested on top. He quickly went into remission, although there was a ‘blip’ in the radar when one of the meds (Doxy) - which was potentially damaging to the heart - did just that…he suffered some minor heart damage so that particular drug was removed from his protocol and we pressed on. We continued on through all 15 weeks, finishing in August, 2013 IN REMISSION.

Less than two months later, he came out of remission. There was still NOT A SINGLE SIGN that our boy was not feeling well…so we started another 15-week course of CHOP in October, 2013. He responded well again and went back into remission. Shortly before Christmas, however, his cancer began to progress again – his oncologists believed he had stopped responding to one of the chemo meds, so they changed up his protocol. He continued not responding as well, however, and sure enough we received the news that he had “failed” CHOP. It is NOT a good sign for him to have failed a protocol DURING the course of treatment. I remember sitting on the couch talking to his oncologist…at this point they offer “rescue” protocols. He still looked and felt great. We opted for a protocol called “MOPP” which had the highest chance of success…but that rate wasn’t GREAT. Still, it was worth a shot. MOPP is a 4-week cycle of at-home chemo pills and exams. Initially, his cancer didn’t progress BUT he was not considered in remission…then at about week 4 it was determined that he had in fact failed MOPP. With no clinical trials available, there was one option left…CCNU. He was still doing really well…he has always been a little ox. Compared to the treatments we had been doing – injectable chemo, at-home meds, weekly visits to Tufts since that previous May (although I have to say he was a champion patient and LOVED LOVED LOVED his time with Jenn and all of his “Auntie’s” at Tufts)…this was EASY. It was a simple chemo injection with follow up CBCs and then he had a break before we resumed the next “round.” WELL, once we hit mid April, he had FAILED AGAIN. The cancer was winning.

There was one option left…which wasn’t really a viable option for us. He would receive 4-hour chemo infusions for which he would probably have to be knocked out. The side effects were likely significant, which the most substantial being GI upset…and he already had a sensitive tummy. I do have to say that for the last 10 months or so of previous treatments he had very minimal side effects – some vomiting here and there…but that’s it, and it was really only a handful of times. Chris and I had always agreed that we would do everything we possibly could for him but no matter how hard it would be, we would NOT EVER EVER do anything to ‘intentionally’ make him sick or feel any crummier than the cancer could make him feel on its own. There was no way we were going to do this to him. So we went on to our last resort…prednisone. This is used as the final course of treatment – although not really ‘treatment’ at this point (it is often combined with other chemo protocols and Hurl had been on it before sporadically) as it is just a way to try and keep nodes down, keep appetite up, keep him comfortable. “Pred” (as many of us veteran doggie cancer parents called it) is was. I had developed a great network of ‘pet cancer’ friends with knowledge of supplements, vitamins, etc. so after some additional research (who am I kidding…I’d been researching canine lymphoma online since the day he was diagnosed, talked to countless other dog parents about their treatments, purchased the Dog Cancer Survival Guide, and even took him to a 4-hour appt with a total LOON to discuss alternative treatment options). With everything I had learned, I added a regimen of 3x/day supplements on top of his pred. When he got sick a few days in a row, a couple of times per day, however, I stopped everything except his pred and his nausea meds. At that point, there was not enough benefit – for me, but it could work for others – to cause him to be sick from all the pills.

We thankfully hit that 1-year mark on May 1, 2014. We took photos in his purple cancer bowtie to mark the occasion.

A few weeks ago we had some tough nights. I went to our buddy Griffin’s Roll & Remember in Maine and when I came back I knew he didn’t feel well. He had started hacking more at night, and gagging. He was lying in odd places around the house where he had NEVER laid down in his 6 years. Most days he followed me everywhere. He did pretty well for probably the first 20 days or so on pred, then started having some ups and downs. He would have a few tough nights, then bounce back; his best buddy Jax came and he played like a puppy for hours, but crashed for days afterwards.

On Monday, the 19^th he hadn’t eaten all day – by about 9PM he hadn’t touched his food and his peanut butter covered prednisone still sat in his bowl. Before bed he did make his way downstairs with me and had a few bites plus a nausea pill. That night he stayed in bed with us ALL NIGHT LONG, he didn’t move. Tuesday he was grazing on his food on and off, totally crashed with us all night again.

Wednesday morning, May 21^st he did not get off the bed when I got up. His head was hanging off the end of the bed with his paws under his chin, just looking at me. He had a look and I knew he didn't feel good. It was a very drastic change compared to the day before even. He went into the closet which was one of his favorite places and I asked if he wanted a ride…he barley lifted his head and didn't perk up which is not like him. It was his eyes, most of all, that told me. He always had the most beautiful sparkle in his big brown eyes, and I didn’t see it that morning. I BEGGED him that I needed him to tell me when he was tired, and he DID, just with a look. The sparkle was gone. I got him up and had to help support him down the stairs because he had a hard time, one step at a time. It was either that he was very weak, he was delirious, or both. He was drooling nonstop with shoestrings and bubbles - assuming from the massive nodes in his neck that he could barely swallow. He was trying to swallow and swallowing frequently, and I could tell it was hard for him. He stood on the wood floor and his back legs were sliding out from under him as I called Chris. He stumbled down the back stairs to the yard...I wasn’t going to leave him home alone so whatever I had to do to get him in the car with me, and I had to lift him into the front seat. He was clearly weak and maybe even disoriented. I stopped to get him a plain munchkin donut and he wouldn't touch it. I broke off a teeny piece and he barely gummed it from my hand, and wouldn't touch the rest. I feel like he just did that to try and be strong for me, that he really didn’t want the donut. I called Tufts and we got him there ASAP. I knew going in that it wasn’t good…I had begged my big man to tell me when he was tired, and he DID that morning by the look in his eyes when I asked him to go for a ride. He had bruises & red all down his lower belly and groin, which happened when he was first diagnosed last year. At one point I was underneath him and saw through the white fur on his chin that his skin looked red. We got to Tufts and carried him in, usually he loves going there and he just plopped down on the floor. He wanted to say Hi to a neighboring dog but couldn’t get up. The oncologist asked what was going on and I told her…as he was just sprawled on a blanket on the floor. He wiggled his bum a bit for his ladies, which was his usual greeting or what he did when he was excited…but it was really hard for him. I feel like he was still trying to put on a front for me. He was tired. I felt like I needed them to reassure me that it wasn't an infection or something that we could treat…even though I knew in my heart it was the cancer. He also has something called 'head bobbing' which is common in bulldogs - the wires cross in his neck and his head literally shakes back and forth like he's saying "no." (originally the first few times years ago we thought it was seizures and took him to Tufts where they showed us a YouTube video of 'head bobbing' after I showed them a video I took; he is fine when it happens and totally with it but his head just shakes, sometimes 2 minutes, sometimes 15.) Anyways, he started bobbing – I think his body was just giving up.

We looked at each other and that was it. No matter how bad it was going to hurt us, we would not let him be in pain. He has given us too much in his 6 short years to let him suffer. To see a guy so strong in this condition was gut wrenching. As his Mama, I would rather be in the kind of pain I am in now than to let my boy, who has given me so much, be uncomfortable, in pain, suffering. Chris had to carry him out back to get his cath. We went out to the front bereavement garden and two of his favorite chemo techs (Jenn, AKA Auntie Chemo and Auntie Tiff, who had lost her Daisy that same morning and then was still there with us) had to wheel him out on a cart. We talked to him, laid with him, and that was it, he is gone. We had been at Tufts nearly every week for a year. We got just about 13 months than what could have been expected when he was diagnosed…and they were beautiful days, every last second…38 days on solely prednisone. It was 6 years of unconditional, crazy, insane love. A forever love. A love that makes my heart want to burst open even as it is broken. It was a year of lasts, so we made everything extra special – his last Halloween with his bulldog-carved pumpkin from Gampy; his last Christmas so we filled it with stuffed guys that he could chew apart all over the house; his last birthday ride with me to our special doggie boutique for his birthday cookie…but this year we went BIG and got him the bone-shaped cake; my last birthday and Mother’s Day with him. BUT we made sure to bring him on more than one occasion to the new house so that we could have some comfort in knowing that he HAD in fact been there with us physically and “marked” it for us.