After being diagnosed with chondrosarcoma on Monday, I was admitted to the animal hospital early the following Wednesday. Surgery was done to remove the rib portions during the afternoon. I slept from the medication all day Wednesday.

Thursday I could hardly move. I was so sore. The doggie nurses (they prefer the term "canine attendants") took me for a s-l-o-w walk. It hurt to breathe. I couldn't even sit down without mucho discomfort. During the walk I couldn't take the pain so I laid down. The doggie nurses had to carry me back to the mother ship. It took three of them just to lift me. They put me on oxygen --- to revive me --- and as soon as I woke up the pain returned. They gave me pain medication and I gladly accepted. More sleep.

By Friday I was spending more time awake than asleep. The pain medication had run its course and although I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, I was ready to go home. When Tom and Jeanne came to get me I grabbed them by the hands and whined to convince them to let me go home. I then started butting the exit door with my head, just in case they couldn't take a hint. They took me home.

When I got home, Kaia spent over an hour gently petting my head. Then Kristi spent several hours getting me to sleep on the living room floor. She spent the majority of the night petting me as I slept fitfully.

Here I am bandaged up the day I came home from the doggie hospital. Notice the purple bandage wrapped around the incision. Also notice the disdain I hold for the camera. Ordinary events are a bit less interesting when your ribs hurt.

Notice the cunning look? It is an attempt to convey both my physical pain as well as the need for ice cream cones (I love the cone part). Can you see my desires pouring from the recesses of my eye sockets? I command you, give me the "cones!" My eyes will burn through you unless I get the "cones." Aw, it didn't work that well on the Vilberg's either. They gave me more cones than normal but far less than I wanted.

I'm trying to rub my snout while walking. That and the fact that my tail is starting to curl upward indicate that I'm becoming a bit happier --- though I continued to require massive numbers of "cones" to stem the tide of the rib pain.

I feel like some kind of circus dog --- half shaved. It's like getting half of a really short haircut. The haircut alone must qualify as mistreatment of a pet, doesn't it?

By the time this photo was taken (4 days post-op), I was starting to take an interest in the finer things of life --- like the odors around telephone poles! Just look at that sly grin. I'm wondering how I can convince the Vilberg's that the pain has returned and can only be stemmed by "cones."

I should mention that the Vilberg's have begun to treat me with more respect. They feed me pieces of bread which contain little pills (antibiotics). I put the pills under my tongue and spit them out at the first opportunity. Won't they be surprised when they look under the couch. The next picture is a close-up of my incision.

I'll have to speak to Tom about the finer points of focusing a camera. Anyway, as they say in the movies,this picture is not my best side --- ha ha! You can see the long incision and all of the stitches. Dr. Mehta said the stitches were intended to be strong as opposed to pretty. The stitches running up my side make me feel like a baseball.

The ribs that had sections removed ran diagonally across the incision. If you look carefully you can begin to see where the rib sections are missing and the Marlex mesh causes a slight indentation. I know. Most of you don't care. But you can bet that Lyndon Johnson didn't have bigger scars than this from his appendix operation. Tom says Dr. Mehta should have just put in a zipper since the entire operation, including exploratory surgery, required 3 separate openings.

Above and just to the right of the incision is a small "X" that locates the spot where I had a tube implanted to remove fluid from my chest cavity immediately after the surgery. The tube was to make sure I had enough space in my chest to breath.

When Dr. Mehta removed the tube he put two metal staples across the hole. I asked that they be removed and promised that, if provided with unlimited "cones," I would not bite or scratch the "X." So far both sides have kept their respective parts of the agreement

On Friday, May 2nd, I returned to the animal hospital to have my stitches removed. First, I had to wait for Dr. Mehta, who was operating on another dog. The photo to the right is Kristi, waiting with me. Can you tell from our smiles who is going to have stitches removed?

Dr. Mehta says my prognosis is excellent. He thinks they got the sarcoma and that I should be able to live a normal life. I am recovering nicely from the surgery and waiting for the day I can start to swim again. Then I'll know the recovery is complete.

Oh yes, one other thing. Yesterday Tom went to Big Lots and bought 200 cones for me. He says they are cheaper than doggie treats, but I think the cancer scare did the Vilberg's some good. I'll try to get them to videotape me eating a cone.

Today, July 28, 1998, at 2:45 PM, Mike was euthanized.

His recovery from the bone cancer surgery, some 15 months earlier, was unremarkable with a single exception --- the stitching along his side repeatedly healed then erupted into open sores. On each of three occassions Mike was reopened, the wound cleaned, and he was restitched. Dr. Mehta believed that the infections were either a slow rejection of the Marlex mesh, a reaction to the stiches themselves, or a bacterial opportunistic infection. In any event, Mike's recovery from the initial bone cancer surgery included repeated surgical interventions that made the process more difficult for him. In spite of his alternating open wounds and stitches, Mike remained enthusiastic about life. He never displayed any symptoms of pain or suffering.

About a month ago, Mike collapsed on his morning walk. After a short rest he walked home without difficulty. When this happened again about a week later, we took Mike back to Dr. Mehta for a complete physical. That examination, the blood tests really, revealed an abnormally low blood glucose level. Further testing pinpointed the problem as insulinoma - cancer of the Beta cells of the pancrease. Unfortunately, in dogs, virtually all insulonomas have metastisized before detection.

Given the long series of surgical procedings Mike had endured across the past 15 months and the near certainty that the insulinoma was untreatable, we opted to maintain Mike as best we could in the absense of surgical intervention. Across the two weeks we fed Mike small meals of a high-fat diet. While he loved the increased attention, his condition worsened faster than any of us imagined possible. In the end, he could not stand or walk except briefly. This morning, Mike tried to dig a hole in our yard, but fell over repeatedly during the effort.

In between periods of physical distress, Mike would lay around and happily greet family members trying to ease his burden. To the end Mike was gentle, kind, and an important member of our family. But his increasing periods of distress and confusion compelled us to make the hardest decision of our lives, a decision made more difficult by his intervening periods of lucidity. In the end, the decision was made because we thought it best for Mike. He went peacefully, surrounded by loving family. We already miss him terribly.