And it's cancer, again.
Tanner has an aggressive liposarcoma tumor in his breastplate area. My vet first found the lump in July, when we were just there to get some ointment for a rash on his belly. I thought it would maybe be a $70-$80 vet day.
Since then, I have spent just under $800, to get simply as far as diagnosing the lump as sarcoma.
Today I spent another $200 by taking him in for a surgery consult with a specialist, getting blood work, and hearing more bad news.
The dr is concerned that the tumor is not as operable as we were hoping, because it feels like it is wrapped around his sternum. The dr also believes it is likely entangled in his ribs. If surgery happens, he says it will be extremely invasive, including removing some rib bone, likely nerve damage to surrounding areas. A lot of hospitalization, a lot of recovery time, a lot of pain. It sounds pretty intense.
I am supposed to take him back tomorrow for x-rays, ultrasounds and CT scans, all of which are intended to build a 3D picture of the tumor and determine if we should attempt surgery. It also includes checking his abdomen and surrounding areas to ensure the cancer hasn't spread. This is another $1600.
We didn't talk surgery costs at all, but I could probably ball park it in the $3-$4K range, depending on just how intensive it is.
For those not doing the math, we have now arrived at about $5600-$6,600. In six weeks time. 4 weeks ago, my dog was just fine as far as I knew. 4 weeks later, I am sitting here at the computer, after multiple crying episodes, trying to figure out if spending $6,000 to remove a cancerous tumor in a 12 year old dog is the right thing to do.
(and of course, these figures arent including follow up check ups or potential follow up care like radiation therapy.)
I just don't know. Part of me worries that I'm only doing this simply because insurance will cover it. If I didn't have insurance, none of this would be an option. I'm pretty much out of money as it is, and have been struggling tightly paycheck to paycheck for awhile now. (not saying it isn't my fault, just stating where the situation is.) I thought about what I would do if we didnt have insurance. Most likely, I think I would have no choice but to say "well, we'll just have to watch it, and keep him as comfortable as we can for as long as we can." With diagnostics alone hitting over $2K, going further along for actual treatment would just not be possible.
But I do have insurance, excellent insurance, that covers almost all of these costs at 90%. If I take him in tomorrow for that $1600, I will get back almost all of it and will be left owing $160. So then you're like, well, isn't it worth it, for $160?? I mean, that's nothing.
And even if surgery is $5000, that leaves me with roughly $500 out of pocket. And isn't he worth $500??
I just can't help looking ahead. Even if everything with surgery goes perfectly, he's still a 12 year old dog. We still are unlikely to have more than 2-3 years, if that. I guess I feel like... age catches up with us all. If it's not this tumor now, it will inevitably be something else before much longer. And then what, we're doing this all over again? Spending thousands more dollars, putting him through more procedures?
Then again, I've never been good at seeing things through. I've got this thing where I desperately want to be in control of the situation, and when it's uncontrollable, I want to do things to put it back under my control. So when a boyfriend leaves the country for an extended time, I want to break up. Because that way it's over on my terms, rather than the uncertainty of what happens while he's gone. And so when my dog is diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, a (small!) part of me wants to just euthanize and get it over with, rather than having to suffer through his treatment.
(Euthanasia isn't actually on the list of options at this point at all, so don't worry. I'm just saying that it's a temptation. Running away is always near the top of my temptations list. )
I hate that this is happening. I hate that this tumor grew to be a pretty darn good size in just a few months. I hate that the doctors keep using the words aggressive and invasive.
I hate that my sweet old man is just as beagle-y as ever - jumping at the door to go for a walk, nabbing unattended scraps off the table, racing us on hikes and then cuddling up with us on the couch at the end of the day - and yet he is facing something so serious, that unless we intervene and soon, is going to kill him in probably much less time than we'd hope.
I hate having to make decisions that affect my best friend living or dying.
I hate that I had plenty of time to supposedly prepare for this sort of thing, and yet I don't feel like I am prepared at all. I swear it wasn't that long ago that I fell in love with his picture on petfinder.org? That I was bouncing a tennis ball for him at the Humane Society and signing the paperwork to take him home? That he was running into our house for the first time, into the bedroom and immediately jumping up on the bed, rolling in the comforter and then staring up at us, as if to say "YES, I'm HOME !! But now what should we play?!"
Teaching an oblivious dog that sounds could mean requests for actions, and that when he performed such actions, he might get a delicious reward. Teaching him to "kennel up", to "go to his bed" to "crawl" on his belly were some of the more fun ones. Taking him on longer and longer car rides until he stopped getting car sick. The raw diet experiment. The ever-present light separation anxiety, and a magnified anxiety phase after Daniel died. Taking him to every dog park in the city and staring in disbelief at him racing around like a beagle on amphetamines, and wondering if this creature was half mad. Moving from house to house. Adapting rules to a new location over and over again. Always new yards to sniff.
Taking him to work and teaching him to be an office dog. Taking him camping and seeing his reaction to sleeping in a funny little room the humans called a "tent." Taking him out on climbs as he became a most exuberant crag dog.
And now, to finding the lump you never want to find, to hearing the results you never want to hear, to making the decisions you knew were going to come, but still hoped never would.
To the time to say good-bye. We're not ready to say good-bye yet, TannerBeagle and I, but I guess that time is coming.
I do have some anger and bitterness, and it's directed at the fact that this is now beagle #2, and cancer battle #2. And beagles supposedly don't even have a particular pre-disposition for cancer. I feel like it's not fair. And I feel like it sucks.
I know it is just that cancer is a terrible killer of all, and we all face it. We all lose friends... family members... dog and human to it. Many of us will battle it ourselves. I suppose we would consider ourselves quite lucky, if we could eradict a cancerous tumor with just $6000.
I want to make a bunch more outdoor dog trips before summer ends completely - climbs, hikes, camping, dog parking, etc. Just getting him out. You and your dogs should join us. :]
Since then, I have spent just under $800, to get simply as far as diagnosing the lump as sarcoma.
Today I spent another $200 by taking him in for a surgery consult with a specialist, getting blood work, and hearing more bad news.
The dr is concerned that the tumor is not as operable as we were hoping, because it feels like it is wrapped around his sternum. The dr also believes it is likely entangled in his ribs. If surgery happens, he says it will be extremely invasive, including removing some rib bone, likely nerve damage to surrounding areas. A lot of hospitalization, a lot of recovery time, a lot of pain. It sounds pretty intense.
I am supposed to take him back tomorrow for x-rays, ultrasounds and CT scans, all of which are intended to build a 3D picture of the tumor and determine if we should attempt surgery. It also includes checking his abdomen and surrounding areas to ensure the cancer hasn't spread. This is another $1600.
We didn't talk surgery costs at all, but I could probably ball park it in the $3-$4K range, depending on just how intensive it is.
For those not doing the math, we have now arrived at about $5600-$6,600. In six weeks time. 4 weeks ago, my dog was just fine as far as I knew. 4 weeks later, I am sitting here at the computer, after multiple crying episodes, trying to figure out if spending $6,000 to remove a cancerous tumor in a 12 year old dog is the right thing to do.
(and of course, these figures arent including follow up check ups or potential follow up care like radiation therapy.)
I just don't know. Part of me worries that I'm only doing this simply because insurance will cover it. If I didn't have insurance, none of this would be an option. I'm pretty much out of money as it is, and have been struggling tightly paycheck to paycheck for awhile now. (not saying it isn't my fault, just stating where the situation is.) I thought about what I would do if we didnt have insurance. Most likely, I think I would have no choice but to say "well, we'll just have to watch it, and keep him as comfortable as we can for as long as we can." With diagnostics alone hitting over $2K, going further along for actual treatment would just not be possible.
But I do have insurance, excellent insurance, that covers almost all of these costs at 90%. If I take him in tomorrow for that $1600, I will get back almost all of it and will be left owing $160. So then you're like, well, isn't it worth it, for $160?? I mean, that's nothing.
And even if surgery is $5000, that leaves me with roughly $500 out of pocket. And isn't he worth $500??
I just can't help looking ahead. Even if everything with surgery goes perfectly, he's still a 12 year old dog. We still are unlikely to have more than 2-3 years, if that. I guess I feel like... age catches up with us all. If it's not this tumor now, it will inevitably be something else before much longer. And then what, we're doing this all over again? Spending thousands more dollars, putting him through more procedures?
Then again, I've never been good at seeing things through. I've got this thing where I desperately want to be in control of the situation, and when it's uncontrollable, I want to do things to put it back under my control. So when a boyfriend leaves the country for an extended time, I want to break up. Because that way it's over on my terms, rather than the uncertainty of what happens while he's gone. And so when my dog is diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, a (small!) part of me wants to just euthanize and get it over with, rather than having to suffer through his treatment.
(Euthanasia isn't actually on the list of options at this point at all, so don't worry. I'm just saying that it's a temptation. Running away is always near the top of my temptations list. )
I hate that this is happening. I hate that this tumor grew to be a pretty darn good size in just a few months. I hate that the doctors keep using the words aggressive and invasive.
I hate that my sweet old man is just as beagle-y as ever - jumping at the door to go for a walk, nabbing unattended scraps off the table, racing us on hikes and then cuddling up with us on the couch at the end of the day - and yet he is facing something so serious, that unless we intervene and soon, is going to kill him in probably much less time than we'd hope.
I hate having to make decisions that affect my best friend living or dying.
I hate that I had plenty of time to supposedly prepare for this sort of thing, and yet I don't feel like I am prepared at all. I swear it wasn't that long ago that I fell in love with his picture on petfinder.org? That I was bouncing a tennis ball for him at the Humane Society and signing the paperwork to take him home? That he was running into our house for the first time, into the bedroom and immediately jumping up on the bed, rolling in the comforter and then staring up at us, as if to say "YES, I'm HOME !! But now what should we play?!"
Teaching an oblivious dog that sounds could mean requests for actions, and that when he performed such actions, he might get a delicious reward. Teaching him to "kennel up", to "go to his bed" to "crawl" on his belly were some of the more fun ones. Taking him on longer and longer car rides until he stopped getting car sick. The raw diet experiment. The ever-present light separation anxiety, and a magnified anxiety phase after Daniel died. Taking him to every dog park in the city and staring in disbelief at him racing around like a beagle on amphetamines, and wondering if this creature was half mad. Moving from house to house. Adapting rules to a new location over and over again. Always new yards to sniff.
Taking him to work and teaching him to be an office dog. Taking him camping and seeing his reaction to sleeping in a funny little room the humans called a "tent." Taking him out on climbs as he became a most exuberant crag dog.
And now, to finding the lump you never want to find, to hearing the results you never want to hear, to making the decisions you knew were going to come, but still hoped never would.
To the time to say good-bye. We're not ready to say good-bye yet, TannerBeagle and I, but I guess that time is coming.
I do have some anger and bitterness, and it's directed at the fact that this is now beagle #2, and cancer battle #2. And beagles supposedly don't even have a particular pre-disposition for cancer. I feel like it's not fair. And I feel like it sucks.
I know it is just that cancer is a terrible killer of all, and we all face it. We all lose friends... family members... dog and human to it. Many of us will battle it ourselves. I suppose we would consider ourselves quite lucky, if we could eradict a cancerous tumor with just $6000.
I want to make a bunch more outdoor dog trips before summer ends completely - climbs, hikes, camping, dog parking, etc. Just getting him out. You and your dogs should join us. :]