Looking Handsome

Damn. Mom bought another brush for me. I hate to be brushed. Mom wanted a dog that not only was huge but also was not to fussy or fancy. She wanted a disheveled looking dog (somewhat like herself - HELLO MOM! TUCK IN YOUR SHIRT AT WORK! YOU ARE AN ATTORNEY!) and decided Irish Wolfhounds were disheveled enough for her. So I'm psyched! Mom will never ever get me wet for a bath or brush me. I can look like one of those Rastafarian dogs with dreadlocks. Sweet!

Oh no. I am not let of the hook so easily. She doesn't want me wearing Patchouli to cover my body odor and jamming out to Bob Marley. She actually thinks I should have a bath a few times a year AND be brushed. In the summer, she bathes me out back because I do not fit in the bath tub. That's a shocker. I try to get away but she hooks my leash to the fence and washes me like a mad woman. The only fun part is getting dried off with the towel and trying to knock her over as I try to dry myself off on her. Ahhh, sweet sweet revenge. She also brings me to a spa (okay groomer) where I get my private parts trimmed (Brazillian wax?), a bath (with fancy oatmeal shampoo), and they use a scary tool to grind down my nails. HOLY SH*T! I think my parents used the same tool to sand furniture and the floors!!!!! Step back from the Wolfhound and slowly put the tool down. Woof!

Mom tries to brush me every few days because I shed and for some dumb reason, she does not want my hair coating every surface of the house. Yum! Wolfhound hair soup! Tasty! I hate to be brushed. I am el sensitivo and do not like the feeling of being brushed. I like to look like a slob and smell like something funky I rolled around in the back yard. What's wrong with that? Now she bought this little brush for gently getting through mats. Gentle my ass. It is so sharp she cut her thumb on the brush. Whoohahahaha! Serves her right!

My point. Oh yes, the point is that since my chemotherapy, my skin is sooo itchy! I am hoping it will finally go away. It's not the food because it started after the chemotherapy. Or could it be the food? I hope not because it is the only food that does not give me dogbursts (explosive diarrhea). Mom tries to get as much loose hair out so it does not bother me. Also, she puts some spray stuff on to cool off my skin and I end up smelling sweet like hairspray or something. Gag.

Alright. I need to go back to listening to the Grateful Dead and spinning in circles. Right on.

Cancer Ain't Like It Is on TV

...or something like that. As you are aware, my chest x-rays showed no nodules or metastases to my lungs. Hurray! Apparently, I have a "normal abnormality" on my ribs visible on the x-rays. When Mum heard that, her heart nearly dropped to the floor. Fortunately, it is nothing to worry about. Apparently, mammals' bones change as they age (osteoporosis for example) and that is basically what is evident on my most recent chest x-rays. Although I am six and half years old, I am oldish for my distinguished breed. Let's hope that is all that is abnormal about me.

My energy level seems to be back to normal levels. I cannot expect to run a marathon or race up the stairs (as if I ever did that before). The anabolic steroids (RAH) have certainly increased my energy and strength. On Sunday, I raced around the backyard like a crazed puppy. Mum was happy to see that. My back legs are getting stronger as I am exercising more. I am not too swift with the stairs (I never was, try imagining a large pony going up and down your stairs). For now, Mum is bringing me around the house to go up and downstairs. When it snows, she will probably not want to be doing that. After going down the stairs several times, I slid one of the times and tore my dew claw. Thanks to Mum's former veterinary experience, she bandaged it up and all I needed were some antibiotics. It feels fine.

It's not easy going through all of this. As a critter, you must tolerate the pain of the tumor as it weakens your bones. You must tolerate the complete and utter pain of a traumatic surgery. You must tolerate the constipation associated with narcotics. You must be willing to learn how to ambulate a completely new way. You must tolerate the diarrhea (ah, the dogbursts) and the sluggishness. You must tolerate the veterinary visits and the poking and prodding. You must tolerate the itchy skin and the slow growth of your hair. In some cases, fortunately not mine, you must tolerate the vomiting, nausea, anemia, and extreme weakness which can be associated with the chemotherapy treatments.

As a human companion, you must have patience. You must tolerate the monetary and emotional expenses. You must learn that feeling guilty and regretful for doing this to your critter companion is normal and well, human. You must realize that you will cry and be scared for your critter friend. As a human companion, your heart will break when you see your critter friend struggle after surgery. But then, your heart will soar when you see your critter companion take steps on his or her volition.

There are many times my human companion had regrets and doubts. In the end, she did the right thing and will forever be grateful to me for teaching her patience, and learning when life looks horrible at the moment, there can be a happy ending.

All About Chemotherapy

Now that I have finished my chemotherapy treatment, I thought I should explain what type of treatment I was given. As you are probably aware, I had my left front leg all the way up and including my scapula amputated. That.was.awesome. Yeah, right. The amputation is necessary to stop the cancer from spreading. Once I regained some strength from surgery, I began chemotherapy in July. The schedule was as follows:

Cycle 1, Week 1: Cisplatin intravenous (heretofore known referred to as IV) with 600,ooo gallons of fluid (ok, slight exaggeration but not much) infused over approximately six hours. Kidney values checked because Cisplatin can kick your kidneys' ass. Made me pee on the lobby carpet in the veterinary hospital. Hahahahahaha. Serves them right! (note: very expensive treatment)

Cycle 1, Week4: Adriamycin IV without 600,000 gallons of fluid infused in a half hour. A complete blood count (hereinafterandthensome CBC) was checked to make sure the chemotherapy is not kicking my ass too bad. This came back normal. Hell yeah! Made me sleepy, got some wicked bad diarrhea. Hahahaha. Serves you right, MOM!

Cycle 2, Week 7: Cisplatin IV with 600,000 gallons of fluid infused over six hours. Dropped off night before the treatment. Human parents go eat yummy yummy Indian food that they cannot get in the town in which they live. Stupid town in which they live. My kidney values are checked and return...tada! Normal. Get picked up in the evening and stop at friends' house near a nuclear power plant (no kidding) for dinner. Thanks guys! I pee non-stop for the next 48 hours.

Cycle 2, Week 10: Adriamycin IV without 600,000 gallons of fluid infused in a half hour. But wait! There's more! For only $100.00, you too can get your ejection fraction checked on your heart! But why, you ask. Because Adriamycin can affect the pumping ability (or some such nonsense) of your heart and you need to know that stuff. It returned, yet again, normal. This is good for two reasons, maybe more. First, because I am a GIANT BREED DOG, there is a tendency for such giant sized dogs to have heart problems. We need to know the facts ma'am. Second, as stated above, Adriamycin can affect your heart.

Yet again, CHEMOTHERAPY CAN NOT CONQUER THE FINNEGAN. THE FINNEGAN IS MIGHTY.

Because I was in the clear, they gave me my infusion. While I was getting tortured, Human Mom went to Borders to do work and drink Chai Lattes. Yuppy scum. Oh yeah, and they did a CBC that returned normal.

Cycle 3, Week 13: Cisplatin IV with 600,000 gallons of fluid infused over the course of 6 hours. Yet again, mum and dad brought me the night before. No Indian food for them. Suckers. I had my kidneys checked again and...Wait? What's that? Normal. Hellz Yeah! This is the last of the really really long and bladder expanding chemotherapy. Again, we visit the nuclear power plant town and hang out with our pals.

Cycle 3, Week 17: Adriamycin IV without 600,000 gallons of fluid over the course of 30 minutes. CBC checked. All good. Can I get WHOOP WHOOP!? Yeah whatevah. Hold on, no, it's never that simple. Veterinarian Man calls my mom into a room. OH MY GOD THEY ARE GOING TO TELL HER THEY NEED TO AMPUTATE ALL OF MY LEGS AND SHE WILL NEED A WAGON TO PULL ME AROUND!!!!! No. They just need to take a chest x-ray to make sure there are no nodules or metastases in my lungs where osteosarcomas love to metastasize.

Drum roll please...

The unofficial: negative, negativ, negativo, négatif, negativa, отрицательный, nic

The official news recently learned from the Veterinarian Man while typing up this thing: OFFICIALLY REALLY REALLY NEGATIVE!!

Let the diarrhea, wait no...LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN! I will accept gifts in the form of hundred dollar bills. WOOF!!

Eleven Days to Go

I have less than two weeks before I am done my chemotherapy. Although it's been a complete blast getting injected with chemotherapy every three weeks for the last four months, I am looking forward to staying in one place. It's been a strange experience. I haven't had too many bad side effects but I definitely have not had it easy. I have lost weight - although I eat as much as I always have, I have had diarrhea - really really nasty stinky wet poopies all over, I have been lethargic, and I have not had a bath in a longggggggg time for fear of being exposed to a sick dog and in turn, getting sick. Oh yeah, and it is taking FOREVER for my hair to grow back. And I have an enormous scar from the surgery. But here's the best part - I HAVE THREE LEGS NOW. Alas, being the most bestest dog EVER, I have adapted like the trooper I am.

Once the chemo is over, I guess we will have to wait and see how I do. It's scary. It seems that the median survival rate with amputation and chemotherapy is 18 months. As you know, I have done both. Also, the cancer was caught early, thanks to my mom who SHOULD HAVE BEEN A VET NOT AN ATTORNEY. Ahem. Sorry about the dogburst - get it, outburst? So clever. In my case, a dogburst would be the foul watery diarrhea that flew out my butt two weeks ago but that's besides the point.

New term: dogburst: explosive watery, foul, nasty diarrhea from a giant breed dog that seems to cover an excessive amount of area for no apparent reason.

Enough said. I'm doing well and I'm happy. That's good for everyone

RainRainRainRain

When is it going to STOP RAINING!!!!????

When is human mom going to realize I DON'T ENJOY BEING LEFT OUT IN THE RAIN?

Finally she realizes: Oh wait! There is a monsoon outside. I believe Finnegan might not enjoy being drenched in rain.

Stupid human.

One last chemo treatment to go. The last one went fine and as usual, I was tired and had to pee five thousand times. I got some spray stuff to put on my back where I'm all itchy from being shaved for my Duragesic patch. It still seems like it's taking FOREVER for my hair to grow back in normally. Maybe once I have completed the last chemo on November 3 at 10:00 a.m. I will grow back a nice head (back hair sounds too gross/guidoesque) of hair.

If not, maybe I can get a sweet dog toupee and impress the ladies.