Hi. My name is Ollie. I'm a dog. More specifically I'm a yellow lab, born April 10, 2002. That makes me a little over nine years old in human years, and approximately 64, going on 65 in dog years. "Wow," you might be thinking. "How is it that a dog is writing a blog?" Well, let's be real. I may be Ollie the Wonder Puppy, but opposable thumbs have not evolved to my kind, so I must settle for my human mommy to get my thoughts out for me. Okay, really, they are her thoughts. My thoughts are fairly limited to the important things in life, like my next meal, my family, my next meal, which bed I will chose to sleep on, my next meal, going out for some fresh air, the food I may snatch before my next meal, the bell that rings right before the door opens, chasing my tail, my next meal, seeing dogs on TV, my next meal....you know, complicated things.
So really, why do I need a blog when I've just shared with you all the innermost thoughts of my mind? Because about a week and a half ago, on July 15, 2011, our lives changed forever. Things started out great. The bell rang, the door opened, friends came inside. The bell rang again, and more friends came inside. I love friends. When friends come in I chase my tail. Once I catch it, I pause, then chase it the other direction. It keeps me balanced, you know? I like the think my equal tail-chasing helps keep the universe spinning just so. Which brings me back to July 15. The bell rang twice and I didn't chase my tail either time. The universe became unbalanced. So did I. I was trying to be a good host. I had all these friends to entertain. But my body was failing me. I tried to stand up, and I collapsed. Twice. My mommy started crying. She called the people at the place where they give me lots of treats after they poke me with needles, and they said I needed to come in right away. So Mommy and Daddy got my stuff together and we went to the place with the treats after they poke me with needles. My human brother and sister were really upset seeing me hurt. They went home with friends so they didn't get more scared. Anyways, I was feeling really miserable. I couldn't even climb into the car. My body felt like it was failing me. Daddy lifted me into the car. Thanks, Daddy.
We got into the place with the treats and needles and the nice man said I could spend the night. Normally sleepovers make me really happy. I wasn't happy. I just curled up in a ball. Mommy couldn't stop crying. The nice man told my Mommy and Daddy to say "bye" to me for the night, and that he'd call them in the morning. I couldn't even muster up the energy to say goodbye.
In the early morning, I got worse. The nice man helped me get stabilized. He had to poke me with lots of things. Then he called my Mommy and Daddy and told them he had to cut me because he thought I might have a tumor. Now, I wasn't on the phone, because I a) was in the middle of flatlining and b) don't have opposable thumbs and c) am usually a pretty soft-spoken fellow, but I'm fairly certain I could hear the sobs of my Mommy coming from the phone, and I could feel the heartache coming from both my Mommy and Daddy. So I knew I was going to have to get better. And that became my goal. And then I was asleep.
Wake up! I woke up a few hours later. My belly hurt a LOT. I had a big cut on it, but everyone at the place with needles and treats was being very good to me. The nice man called my Mommy and Daddy and told them about the surgery. I had a softball sized tumor on my spleen. The nice man took out the tumor, and my spleen. I was doing okay, but I was in critical condition. No, he couldn't tell whether it was benign or malignant. He didn't think it had spread, but wasn't sure. He knew how upset my Mommy and Daddy were. He called them lots that day. He always had good things to say. Like that I was a tough puppy and that I was stable. And that I was trying to get up when I was supposed to be laying down. That I was trying to eat and drink. All those things were very good signs, but still nothing was certain. By late Saturday night when the nice man called he said I was quite a dog. I seemed so good that I could probably go home the next day! Yay! Home! I love home!
Mommy and Daddy and my sister and brother came to pick me up early Sunday afternoon. Nice man asked them if they wanted to see my spleen. They kind of didn't answer, so nice man took that as a "yes." They saw my tumor the size of a softball. Yuck. Poor me- having to carry around a softball on my spleen. But I don't feel bad for myself. In fact, I was so intrigued by my own spleen, I felt that it was worth a sniff. My Mommy said "Ewww gross!" So nice man told my Mommy and Daddy that he'd send my spleen off for someone to look more closely at it. I don't know why he needed to send it off to someone else to do that. I would have been perfectly content staring at it myself, sniffing, whatever. But no, nice man sent it off. He said the results would be back later in the week. Mommy kept pressing the nice man for answers, like did he think the tumor was benign? He said he couldn't say for sure, but that even if it was malignant, it didn't look like it had spread all over my insides.
I got home and layed pretty low. My tummy was badly bruised from the surgery, and it was filled with blood from my spleen having ruptured. We all just snuggled that day. The next day I seemed a little more alert. I was ravenous. I just wanted to eat and eat and eat. Mommy and Daddy took me to see the nice man at the place with the treats and the needles. He said I was doing great. He told Mommy that I had one of two conditions. If the tumor was benign, I had what was called a hemangioma. Basically that means it's just a tumor, but it isn't cancerous, and removing it would pretty much cure me. If the tumor, however, was malignant, then I had what was called hemangiosarcoma. Basically that means bad things. But we had to wait. Mommy was making herself crazy reading things on the computer. Daddy was the eternal optimist. Mommy and Daddy and sister and brother were all loving on me all the time.
Friday morning the phone rang bright and early. I don't get excited about the phone ringing like I do about the doorbell ringing. But when Mommy answered the phone, I really didn't get excited. Remember the two types of tumors? Well, my tumor, after some person looked at it lots, was found to be hemangiosarcoma. That's bad. Mommy was crying while she talked on the phone to the nice man at the place with the treats and the needles. I heard things like "chemotherapy" and "chances of survival" and things like that. But I also heard mommy tell the nice man that I was doing really good. That my tummy looked almost completely back to normal. That I was energetic and happy and like my old self...or maybe like my younger self? Anyway, the vet said those are all things that show that I'm a fighter. So my Mommy and Daddy determined that I a Wonder Puppy. I am going to defy the odds. I have already done so, just by coming through my surgery so well. And now I am going to fight this cancer with all I have, and Mommy and Daddy are going to help me fight it with all they have, and we are going to win.
I started chemo today. The nice man called my Mommy after my chemo was done. He said I had done GREAT during my session. And he said my white blood cell count was back to NORMAL! Do you hear that? It's normal! That is a great sign. He says he's never seen a tummy heal up from spleen surgery as fast as mine has, and that I am the most pleasant patient. That's because I am Ollie the Wonder Puppy and I am a fighter!
This blog is going to document my life, starting from my early (and slightly less "behaved") years. It's going to chronicle the love that I have for my family and the love they have for me. It's going to serve as a place for my happiness, my sadness, my pain and all the array of emotions that my Mommy and Daddy and brother and sister and I go through on this journey. And with a lot of love and prayers and throw in some luck, we are going to have a lot of time remaining to document my life.
Love,
Ollie the Wonder Puppy.
Please pass the kleenex. I'll be tuning in to read all about Ollie's adventures.
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