When Life Takes a Rough Turn

Blog # 19

I had been enjoying the latest chapter of my life—living in a 55+ community in South Florida—for over three years now, and it was going great. I loved the community, Tuscany Bay, and the friends I’d made and activities I’d gotten involved in. I relished the warm winters here. I also had convinced my son Jacob to move down to the area, and he was doing very well. He was really independent now, but he lived close enough that I could keep tabs on him and help if he needed anything. And, best of all, I had found love right within the gates of the community, with Art—which was something I didn’t think would happen for me after my divorce in early 2020.

In June 2023, soon after my 60th birthday, Art and I moved in together, and his house became “our home,” with some of my furniture and furnishings brought in, rearranging the rooms nicely, and making other special touches as we happily shopped for paintings and other domestic items together. Our dogs, Sami and Lex, were the best of friends, and they took great pleasure in barking together out the back windows at all the golfers, dogs, and wildlife they saw and heard. They raced excitedly back and forth between the windows and the sliding glass doors, happy to have another pal in mischief. We also walked them in the neighborhood together regularly, and they’d run in our grassy recreation area, which they loved.

The other thing going well was that with some of the proceeds from the sale of my villa home, late that summer I was able to help Jacob buy a nice two-bedroom condo across town in a well-appointed complex overlooking a small lake. We found him a great ground-floor unit with windows looking out at the lake, where he could easily take his little dog right out the patio door for a waterside walk. Muscovy ducks with their warty red head markings waddled all along the lake, and the property was well landscaped with palm trees, a nice clubhouse, and three outdoor pools. It was the perfect place for him, and I was so happy to get him out of the sketchy apartment complex he had been in, and to help him buy his first home at age 26!

Besides the new living arrangements for Jacob and me, my sister and her family moved to the area that summer, which was fantastic. I hadn't had a sibling in the same city as me since I was a teenager. We all started playing pickleball and doing other activities together. I donated most of the furniture from my villa to Jacob and to my sister’s family, so the timing on all our moves was great.

In addition to those good things going on in 2023, Art and I went on several nice vacations, to Paris (including the French Open for me and my son Lucas) and then different cities in Portugal, and we later did a month in August up north—two weeks in Northern Virginia seeing my family and friends and two weeks in the Philadelphia area seeing his family and friends. Our dogs accompanied us and enjoyed our new family dynamic.

So life was good. I felt very fortunate. But then, the other shoe dropped.

In the fall of 2023, the nice life that Art and I had with our two fur babies, Sami and Lex, took a turn when Lex (a Pomeranian mix) became sick. Suddenly, my full-of-life, 5-year-old little spitfire was not so energetic and peppy anymore, and the playful pup who would race around and bark with his partner in crime all summer was just not the same dog come autumn.

It started with random vomiting, then a lot of coughing, and ragged breathing while he slept. He snored noisily and couldn’t get comfortable at night. He stopped sleeping on the bed next to me and only slept on the cold tile floor beneath the bed. I brought him to our vet, Dr. R, and he didn’t find anything wrong, other than maybe a case of pneumonia. Jacob had discovered bulbous lymph nodes on both sides of Lex’s neck, but Dr. R wrote it off as something not that serious, possibly related to Lex’s dental decay. We were given antibiotics and other meds, but nothing helped. I kept pushing for answers, because I knew that Lex was not the same dog anymore. Something really was wrong.

After around the third visit to Dr. R, on a Friday afternoon, he asked if I wanted to have X-rays taken, and I said yes. He had the nerve to ask if I wanted them that day or wait to Monday! I said I wanted to get them right away. I was so worried about Lex. He was eventually taken back for the imaging, and then I was called in to see the scans. They showed me what looked like small masses in his chest, which Dr. R attributed to the pneumonia he thought was still present. But he said he would send the scans out to a radiologist and get back to me when he received some news.

Bad News Comes Calling

We went home, I finished up some work, and then Art and I went to happy hour in our community clubhouse. I must have left my phone at home, because I didn’t see I had a voicemail message until around 9:00 that night. Dr. R had called and said the radiologist had provided her review of Lex’s radiographs, which showed he had tracheobronchial and cranial mediastinal/sternal masses. The report “strongly indicated lymphoma.”

“Lymphoma?” I said incredulously to Art after listening to the voicemail. “That’s cancer!” What the heck? My veterinarian had brushed off Lex’s ailments for a few weeks, and meanwhile he might have cancer and I had no idea? We could have done something about it sooner. And now it was the beginning of the weekend and Dr. R wouldn’t be in the office until Monday. It was terrible timing and I felt helpless.

As it turned out, Dr. R returned my call the next day, suggested I get Lex in to see a specialist for a fine-needle aspirate of the enlarged peripheral lymph node as soon as possible, and gave me a recommendation of where to go. 

The next week started off a surreal, scary sequence of events. I wouldn’t wake up from the nightmare for a while. First, we took Lex in for the procedure and got his cytology results right away, which showed that he had large-cell lymphoma. It was recommended that we try to get in with an oncologist at the Animal Cancer Care Center (ACCC), which has several locations in South Florida. I was stunned that we were dealing with a cancer diagnosis for my fluffy dog who was only 5 years old and so full of energy just a month before. I would be reeling from this for a long time.

Unfortunately for me, that week happened to be the same time that I had my own health thing scheduled: a routine colonoscopy, my second one after 10 years, but still not great timing while I was freshly sorting through Lex’s health crisis. So as I was shopping for groceries for my clear liquid diet and enduring the prep day for my colonoscopy, I was also calling and trying to make a consult appointment for Lex at ACCC. I also had to get him started on prednisone right away, which I picked up from his regular vet. It was all a blur of worry and missed connections, until I finally had the oncologist appointment scheduled after a good conversation with an empathetic person at ACCC.

But I had a few days to wait for Lex’s first cancer care appointment, and more time to worry that the cancer was spreading while I silently cursed his vet for letting this go longer than it should have. It was a rough few days of waiting, and my worries were only about to get worse (though my own health report turned out well—no problems with the colonoscopy, thankfully).

We finally got Lex in with Dr. Maria Camps at ACCC, on September 28, 2023, and we had to drive all the way down to their Fort Lauderdale headquarters for that first available opening. Dr. Camps and her staff were very warm, welcoming, and efficient, and we were told we could start with chemo right away. They took Lex’s blood and asked if we wanted to do a test to find out what kind of lymphoma he had (which would take a few days as the sample would be sent to an outside lab), which we did.

Unfortunately, the bloodwork that day showed a grave concern. Dr. Camps came back into the examining room where Art and I sat in side-by-side chairs, me holding Lex on my lap. Her face looked very serious. She notified us that his red blood cell count was dangerously low and said something about his bone marrow production being suppressed. She told us he was severely anemic and should get a blood transfusion as soon as possible. They couldn’t do it there, but she recommended the emergency vet hospital in Boynton Beach, which was back in our town. She said he should be given an injection of iron and another shot that would help him make new red blood cells, in addition to one dose of Lomustine, which sounded like a single-agent starter chemotherapy. They took him back for those treatments immediately, so we could be on our way.

We walked out of there carrying Lex, totally stunned. I couldn’t believe how the bad news kept turning into worse news. We rushed to drive to the Veterinary Emergency Group (VEG), where the news was about to get even worse.

It took us a while to find the VEG facility, hidden within a maze of strip-mall shops behind the busy intersection of Congress and Gateway roads in Boynton Beach. Once we finally found it, we parked and I hurried in, carrying Lex in my arms, whom I figured must be very weak if he was severely anemic. One VEG staffer held the front door for us, and we were ushered back to the large emergency room, which was pretty empty because it was a Thursday afternoon and didn’t get busy until the evenings when the regular vet practices closed.

We got great personalized treatment there. Several staff members gathered around the elevated exam table and took Lex’s vitals. They instantly provided him oxygen and started doing other treatments and tests. We were invited to stay right there the whole time, in the large room with a close-up view of all the treatment tables and various-sized kennels and cages, and it was like we were in an episode of “ER,” animal version. A vet tech brought over fold-up chairs and bottled water for us, and we spent the afternoon in that room. We saw a cat with congestive heart failure rushed in, and a vet instantly went over to her. We knew that Lex was in good hands here.

"This Is a Nightmare"

Unfortunately, despite the wonderful and transparent medical care we were receiving at VEG Boynton Beach, the nightmarish sequence of events was to continue. While Lex was put in a glass cage and we could sit right by him in our folding chairs and pet him through a porthole, a tech was in a back room doing a cross-match procedure between his blood and a batch of donor blood (canine DEA 1 NEG). It wasn’t a good match. His body would fight the blood transfusion if they were to do it, we were told, and that would make his condition worse. He also had very low blood oxygenation level.

We had to admit him into their hospital while they waited to receive other units of blood to try testing with Lex. They told us that other blood-type donations would be Ubered over (which I didn’t even know was a thing they do!) to that facility from another ER. We could go home and wait to hear. It had been several hours since we’d left home that day, and Art needed to take Sami out. We would have to leave Lex there for now.

That evening, I got a call from the doctor at VEG, who told me that they had tried six different blood samples, and Lex wasn’t a match for any of them. His blood showed a bad reaction to each one. He would most likely reject them all! They couldn’t do the blood transfusion. My heart dropped.

My little guy was stable though, so I brought him home the next morning, hoping for the best. He continued on his twice-daily prednisone, and we waited to see if the injections he’d received at the cancer care center would help build up his red blood cell count and make him stronger. I stopped taking him on walks, and sadly he wouldn’t be able to run around our rec area anymore with Sami. I just kept a close eye on him at home. We hoped to keep him calm and healthy until our next appointment with Dr. Camps, where the plan still was to start the chemo protocol that we’d discussed in her office.

A couple sleepless nights went by. Lex was coughing and hacking a lot during the night. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable enough to sleep. He would move from the cold tile floor under our bed to sleeping practically sitting up on a mound of pillows, with his head lunging forward with each hacking sound. He was panting and breathing heavier than normal, and his coughing fits were breaking my heart. It was so sad to see and hear him like this. Neither he nor I got much sleep.

After a particularly bad night, I brought Lex back to the VEG ER early in the morning. I carried him in and placed him on that first exam table where he’d spent time before. Staff gathered around; they did a pulse oximetry test and said his blood oxygenation level was dangerously low. He would need to go into an ICU cage for oxygen—basically a Plexiglass box with oxygen vents and two round windows you can reach into. But first, they took radiographs to see what was going on internally. It turned out that his chest cavity was filled with fluid; official name—pleural effusion. That explained the coughing and hacking and difficulty breathing. They said they could do a “tap” to remove the fluid. He would be sedated and they’d go in through his side with a needle to remove the fluid causing his distress. My poor baby.

We admitted him into their hospital again, where they were going to prepare him for the procedure, called thoracocentesis, to resolve his respiratory distress. But before that, the ER doctor called Dr. Camps and filled her in on Lex’s prognosis. She agreed with the plan, and also gave direction on giving Lex his first dose of the CHOP chemo protocol. He wouldn’t be able to travel to her office as planned for his chemo, but fortunately they had the drug there.

Undergoing Thoracocentesis—the First of 3 "Taps"

I left Lex in his oxygen kennel after he got his meds. I asked the staff a few more questions about the thoracocentesis procedure; I was worried about how painful it might be. Once I was reassured about the sedation and pain relief they used, I gave him a little pat of the head through the porthole and left. Once home, it was hard to concentrate on work while I waited for word on how he was doing. My thoughts were all with my little guy struggling to breathe back there alone in that glass enclosure. My nerves felt ragged, I was going on very little sleep, and I had no appetite.

I got a call later that day saying that the procedure went very well, all the fluid was removed successfully from Lex’s chest cavity, and he was breathing normally. Fantastic. Art and I drove to the hospital to pick him up, but Lex was still very groggy. I carried him carefully to the car and held him in my lap, stroking his furry head, while Art drove us home.

I wish I could say that that was it, problem solved. But no, the saga continued for us. That evening, I carried him in the house and put him down on the rug in my walk-in closet, which was his little sanctuary. I laid him on his side and the poor thing just stayed like that, all zonked out for a long time. The next day, he seemed almost back to normal. But it was short-lived.

The coughing and panting soon returned. The same symptoms that he had earlier seemed to be back. I was devastated. So again, I returned to the VEG facility. I could drive there robotically now, without even thinking about it. Luckily, it was less than 15 minutes away.  

As I feared, the pleural effusion was back. The fluid had filled right back up in his chest, and his oxygenation level was very low. He would have to go back into oxygen. And they said they could repeat the thoracocentesis. All of this would cost many more dollars. I had already put out so much for his medical care so far, but I wouldn’t stop there. I said yes, please do everything you need to do to make him better.

For the next five days, Lex stayed in the oxygen kennel. He could come out to sit on my lap for a little while, but we had to hold up an oxygen device to his face if he was out of his chamber and breathing room air. He still wasn’t breathing well on his own. He had two more “taps” to remove the fluid in the chest during his time in the hospital. We’d take turns visiting him—me and Art as well as Jacob, who lived right nearby, so it was easy for him to get over to the hospital to see Lex.

We saw lots of different doctors and other staff there, as they changed every shift and even every day, it seemed. Some doctors and nurses were better and more empathetic than others. A couple of them suggested that we give up the fight, to think about Lex’s “quality of life.” Whenever they used that term, I knew they meant put him down—euthanasia. But I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet.

The hardest part (and it was all hard) was when I was leaving the hospital at the end of a visit; I’d say good-bye to Lex, and his sad eyes watched me through his glass cell and followed me as I made my way out of the big ER room toward the exit. He didn’t understand why I was leaving him there, while he was left alone in that cage. It was heartbreaking.

Looking Back at Life with Lex

Lex is the best dog I’ve ever had (and I’ve had quite a few), and it was more heartbreaking because he was the youngest to ever get sick, at only 5 years old. I had adopted him four years earlier. He got me through my divorce, he was my only companion when I moved to South Florida not knowing anybody in July 2020, and we quarantined through the pandemic together and my bout with Covid in late 2022. He flew with me every time I went back to DC/VA and visited family and friends; he’s been to Key West, to Lake Michigan, to Philadelphia, to Lucas’s graduation from Virginia Tech; and he’s always been the best little traveler ever.

He was a spunky little force of nature up until he got sick. He barked furiously at our printer/scanner whenever it made noise, and he always was doing funny things that cracked everybody up. Whenever he wanted in or out of a room, like at our sliding glass patio doors, he’d stand up on his hind legs and do what my kids and I called “rat-a-tat-tat” on the door with his paws clicking, until he got what he wanted. He also had never met a ball he didn’t want me to throw so he could play fetch. Sometimes 15 times in a row. If it squeaked, even better! And when he came across a ball that was too big for his little mouth, like a tennis ball, he still would run and try to grab it. He was relentless when he wanted something, and I’ll admit, I’d spoiled him. He returned the favor by being sweet to everybody, cuddly, and cute. And he adored me and always followed me around. 

His ball chasing and running days had now been halted. It was sad to see all his squeaky toys and balls sitting quietly in the house whenever I came home. And Sami, his doggy buddy, missed him and didn’t understand why he wasn’t home to run around with her and cause havoc. It was so sad for everybody.

I had spent a lot of money so far on Lex and his medical care. The only good thing about the timing of his cancer diagnosis and its ensuing complications was that it had happened after I sold my villa, which I had made a nice profit on when the market shot up after three years and the value of my home increased substantially. So the money that I was going to put away for retirement, well, some of it would be used to keep Lex alive. I had the funds for it, he was a young dog who had been healthy and energetic before this happened, and I would go to all costs to give him another lease at life. If he had been an older, slower, less lively dog, it would have been a different story. But my vibrant little Lex wasn’t ready to go yet. I just knew it.

Of course, not everybody agreed with me. Some people questioned spending so much money on an ill dog. And the tests and treatments that he was undergoing, possibly painful, were another issue. I think some people believed I should just give up and let him die humanely, without the invasive procedures. A couple friends hinted at that. But I didn’t agree. I knew the VEG staff were making him as comfortable as they could, he was in good hands, and they cared about the animals in their hospital.

I also had been calling and checking in with his oncology practice, and so did the hospital doctors. Dr. Camps advised us that we needed to give the chemo more time to work. It was still early on in the CHOP protocol. It was not hopeless that he wouldn’t rebound and recover. So I knew it wasn’t time to give up.

Getting the Blood Transfusion

On October 4, we were told that Lex may finally be able to receive a blood transfusion, as he had been on the chemo now for a little while. They performed a cross-match that morning with a new dose of donor blood, and it was a good match, no issues. They would start the blood transfusion that afternoon; it was expected to take about four hours if no complications. I was given new hope!

I came back later that day and was surprised to see Lex in his oxygen kennel as usual, but with a long skinny tube filled with red fluid, roping from a machine on one end of his cage and ending in an IV in his leg. He was acting all calm and nonchalant, like there wasn’t something connected to him. I was so proud of him and tried not to excite him as I reached in to pet him. He didn’t wiggle or disconnect his tubing. I was relieved to see him doing well. That day he received 65 mL of packed red blood cells, with no complications.

Later that evening, the veterinary nurse on staff said they were thinking that Lex might be able to be taken out of the oxygen kennel for a couple hours that night to see if he’d do better breathing room air, which they were more optimistic about now. They were going to try to taper down his oxygen treatments. I left the hospital hoping for positive change. But unfortunately, the rollercoaster I’d been on kept racing up and down.

Art and I returned the next morning and Lex was lying in his kennel. We pulled up chairs next to his porthole and I opened it up and petted his head. Then a doctor who I hadn’t met yet came over with a serious look on his face and placed a chair across from mine. Oh, no—I braced myself for incoming bad news as he took a seat.

He introduced himself and told us that he knew all about Lex’s situation and that, despite all the treatments and therapies that were done, including the blood transfusion, our dog still was not able to breathe regular air for very long. After they had him out of oxygen the night before, his oxidation levels went dangerously down again. He also told us that the fluid in the chest will probably keep coming back. He gave us a whole long medical explanation with hand motions about how the chest is like a barrel and when the fluid continues to fill it up, the pressure on the lungs is really difficult, and so on. I was so sad I could barely take it in. Then he said that maybe there is something more than lymphoma going on, like cancer in the lungs. Because Lex should have gotten better otherwise.

The doctor opened up his tablet and glanced at Lex’s case file. He mentioned how much money I had spent so far for these stays at this hospital; I think it was over $11,000 at that point. He said they would understood if I didn’t want to throw any more money at this. Lex was oxygen-dependent at this point. So he said we have a few options. I could keep him in the oxygen kennel for another 24 hours, which would be more money spent to keep my dog breathing in a glass box. Or we could consider the “quality of life” decision, with an injection to put Lex humanely to sleep if we wanted to stop all treatments that day. And then he said that there was one other thing we could try—some heart medications, because there may be some issue with the heart causing Lex’s breathing problems. This would be a last-ditch effort, to rule out that there wasn’t a cardiac complication at play.

Now, they had done an echocardiogram earlier in the week—to see if there could be causes other than the lymphoma contributing to his problems—and an outside cardiologist then reviewed his case and sent over a report saying there was “no concern for concurrent heart disease contributing to the patient’s pleural effusion.” But because he wasn’t improving, Dr. Camps had recently suggested to the ER doctors the possibility of trying some cardiac drugs, one being Sildenafil TID for pulmonary hypertension.

I took a deep breath after the doctor gave me those three options, taking it all in. This was so difficult. I said that I wasn’t ready to give up on him just yet. I wanted to try the heart medications as well as give Lex more time to respond to his blood transfusion and chemo treatment, and then if he didn’t improve after 24 hours, we’d have to throw in the towel and do the euthanasia. I was trying to hold back my tears.

Trying One Last Thing

The doctor soon gave him Sildenafil as well as something called Lasix. Then Art and I left, planning to come back in the afternoon to see if there was any improvement. We went to Panera for lunch and I couldn’t eat anything. I felt so despondent. After everything we’d tried, including the blood transfusion, the chemo injection, and three procedures to drain the chest fluid, Lex still couldn’t breathe regular room air for very long. It seemed so damned unfair. I just couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. And it looked like I’d have to make a very tough decision soon, one of the hardest I’d ever had to make. Leaving my husband five years earlier was easier than this decision.

When Art and I got home, I alternated between crying and feeling like a zombie, numb from the gravity of this. I contacted my two kids in Virginia and told them that it looked like we didn’t have much hope for Lex. I said that if he didn’t improve soon, we were going to put him down the next day. I asked if they’d like to FaceTime with me when I went back to visit that afternoon, or, if we had to do the euthanasia injection the next morning, during that time. Lucas said he’d like to FaceTime that afternoon; Rachel said she’d do it for the final injection, as devastating as that would be. She texted, “When will we ever find a little white Pomeranian mix again who likes to do rat-a-tat-tat and bark at the printer?” Never. There wouldn’t be a dog as unique as Lex for us.

I also contacted Jacob and suggested he go and visit Lex after work, that it might be time to say good-bye to our beloved dog. Then I returned around 3:00, thinking it would be one of my last visits.

When I got there, Lex was standing up in his unit and started jumping up when he saw me, tapping at the glass and acting super rowdy. The staff told me that he had a good day, which surprised me. I sat down on a chair and a nurse took him out and put him on my lap, where he seemed to be breathing just fine. Lucas FaceTimed me and I set my phone screen on Lex so he could see and talk to him. We sat like that for a while and chatted, and Lucas noticed that Lex seemed fine and healthy. After a while, Lex was climbing all over me and trying to jump down to the floor. I was flabbergasted, because I thought he would be too weak to do that. After he almost dived off of my lap, I told Lucas I was going to put him back in the cage before he hurt himself, and we could continue our call with Lex behind the glass.

Well, Lex had some newfound energy and had other ideas; he started to stick his head out of his porthole, and then his front paws and then his entire front legs. He was trying to break out of the unit, and his body was halfway out the window with his front legs flailing in the air because he wanted to get back out with me! He was connected to a urination catheter and an IV, but boy, did he want out of there. I put my phone in my pocket and tried to push him back through the hole into his cage, worried that he would literally dive out of his high cage. I called for the nurse to help me get him back in. She did, and noted that he seemed to be feeling better. He definitely was much stronger than I’d seen him in at least a week—he was so determined to get out of his cage. His old perseverance was back!

Once I got my phone back out, I told Lucas that Lex sure had a lot of energy for a dog that was supposed to be at the end of his life. I told the nurse I was going to go home and come back after dinner and hopefully he’d be able to sit on my lap again. I left there with a little more hope than I’d had that morning. I told Jacob the good news, and he was going to head over soon to visit Lex.

When Art and I returned later, I looked for Lex at his same kennel, but he wasn’t in it. The nurse from before was still there, and she walked over to us with a big smile on her face. Lex was in a regular cage! She told us that he started breathing room air with no problems two hours earlier, and they moved him to the standard kennel. His oxidation levels were normal now. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed unreal. This rollercoaster continued rolling along, and now it was going up.

We talked to the doctor from the morning, just as he was about ready to leave for the night. He told us that they weren’t sure exactly what brought about Lex’s sudden improvement, but he joked that he’d like to take credit for giving him the hypertension drugs. Whatever it was, we were ecstatic.

Art always had more hope and optimism about Lex’s prognosis than I did, and I told him that night that, thankfully, it looked like he might be right.

The Prisoner Breaks Out!

The next morning, I called Dr. Camps to discuss Lex’s condition. She had received an update from the hospital and was very happy to hear how much better he was doing. She said it could have taken some time for the chemo to kick in, plus the blood transfusion boosted up his red cell count, and then maybe the heart meds were helping too. It was probably a combination of things. I told her that Lex now seemed to have more energy than any animal in that hospital, and she loved that.

Art and I went back in to find a healthy dog waiting for us, and the doctor on duty told us that Lex was ready to go home if we felt comfortable with that. And if he seemed in distress, then I could bring him right back. They told me exactly what to look out for, but that Lex should do fine at home as long as he was in a controlled, quiet environment, in just one room at first. They removed his catheter and packed up his pills with all instructions.

It was a Friday, and I really had thought for a while that this was going to be the day we would have to put him down. But now this was the day we were bringing him home! It seemed unbelievable. I had worried he’d never be leaving this place. And the following Monday, I would be able to bring him in for his next appointment with Dr. Camps, where he’d get his chemo in the ACCC office.

I paid the final bill—which ended up a total of $13,500 for his entire three stays at the hospital, but well worth it to me now that he was going home and I would have more time with him. I walked him through the lobby and out the front door to the grass. Now that his catheter was out, he could urinate outside again. How nice that was to see.

When we got home, I was still on edge, watching for signs of panting and discomfort. We kept Lex away from Sami at first, except for letting her sniff him a little before I ushered him away, so that he wouldn’t try to play with her. Jacob came over that weekend to see how well he was doing. We made sure that everything was calm for Lex, and though I had trouble sleeping, often listening for his breathing near me, there were no issues, no relapses. He wasn’t able to jump up and down from the bed like normal, but I took good care of him and made sure he had everything he wanted. I couldn’t believe he was home; it was like a dream come true. (Or I finally woke up from the nightmare.)

On Monday, he got a very good progress report from Dr. Camps, who was thrilled to see him and how well he was doing. She told us that we would be able to continue the CHOP protocol, which gives the dog a different chemo drug each week, alternating among four different ones. If all went well, this treatment cycle would go on for four months, sometimes with a week off, and it would most likely get rid of the cancer (though it always eventually comes back).

I soon took Lex to his private groomer, where he would be safe from catching anything from other dogs. He became gorgeous and sparkling clean again....

And before long, Lex was back to his same old antics—barking out the window at the landscapers and squirrels, chasing balls, running out of the bedroom when he heard the can opener on the canned chicken, and trying to be frisky with Sami. It was amazing how much he had returned to normal. He even started barking at the printer again.

I was so happy that Art and I had never given up on Lex. I had pushed for further testing at his regular vet when I knew something was wrong, and then we tried everything to get him better at the emergency hospital. And we continued taking him for chemo treatments. Art was there supporting me every step of the way on this emotional rollercoaster, and I don't think I—or Lex—would have gotten through it otherwise.

Art and I knew that the little guy had more life to live—he was young and he was a fighter. He deserved better, and now he is proving us right.

Where Lex Is Today

More than four months have gone by since that unbelievable day in early October 2023 when we got to bring Lex back home. He has undergone all his chemotherapy now. Sometimes we have had bad news in Dr. Camps’ office, where we’d find out that his white blood cell count was low, or his anemia might be back, or he had kidney issues. But each of them was resolved every time.

He has taken the usual medications for possible nausea and vomiting, but he never really has had issues with the chemo. He continues on the Sildenafil for pulmonary hypertension, even though we’re not sure if that actually helped save his life or not. I’d like to think it was part of a mix of remedies, and they all helped Lex live another day.

He did so well on the chemo protocol that he miraculously went into clinical remission very early on, as of October 20. But we still had to finish the CHOP schedule, and last week, we did it! He graduated with honors, and the wonderful staff at the Animal Cancer

Care Center celebrated his last chemo session with a ring of the graduation bell and a nice goody bag for the patient.

I know that this happy ending won’t last for a long time. We must continue to bring him back for regular checkups and to see if the cancer comes back. Eventually, that will happen. But I’m glad it did not take Lex in the prime of his life, at a bubbly and rambunctious age 5. We’ve been given more time, and he’s really back to his old self. He races after Sami in our rec area, just like old times. And for that I am so grateful.