My cocker spaniel saved my life

When I was recovering from that broken leg, my shrink recommended that I get a service dog. She thought a Cavalier King Charles spaniel would be the right size and have the right amount of energy to keep me mobile but not overwhelm me. So I searched online for a rescue dog and found the perfect animal…

This dog was listed on petfinder.com as part Cavalier, part cocker spaniel. Perhaps 7 years old, he had been abandoned at a Portland, Oregon animal shelter and was a day away from euthanasia when he was rescued. He was named Pumpkin for his sweet nature, was brought back to good health, neutered and micro-shipped and listed on the internet for adoption.

The day Pumpkin came to Seattle, my shrink had arranged to meet him with her special dog, Arturo Tosca-Bow-Wow. Arthur was particularly good at measuring the temperament of other dogs. Dr. Judy knew that if Arthur approved, Pumpkin would be the right dog for me. Well, Arthur and Pumpkin hit it off right away, and as they played together in our living room, Pumpkin came into our lives.

Dr. Judy wrote a prescription which I carry in my wallet:
“Jill Cohen suffers from a serious medical disorder that impairs her quality of life and mobility. I have prescribed a service dog to assist her.”

Over the coming months and years, as I recovered more completely, Pumpkin became my constant companion. Together we walked every day and my leg got stronger. Pumpkin goes with me to the oncologist, to treatment, to my support group. He goes out for lunch and for coffee. We run errands together to the post office and even to the grocery store. We’ve been through radiation treatment twice: once for my hip and once for both arms. We even go to a special yoga class for cancer patients, where Pumpkin excels at the Downward Dog pose. When I have Pumpkin with me, I’m able to go and do.

Dr. Judy says that Pumpkin has an uncanny ability to become like a piece of furniture. When we are out in public, he instinctively goes into a long “down” at my feet. Pumpkin has done basic obedience training with me. By temperament, he is suited to being a service dog. He has passed the American Kennel Club’s Canine Good Citizen test and proudly wears this patch on his vest.

Pumpkin’s vest also has a patch saying ”Ask to pet me, I’m friendly.” Many people come up to say hello when we are out and about. He is always friendly and well mannered. Indeed, my husband and I sometimes wonder if his previous owner was in a wheelchair, because Pumpkin seems particularly sensitive to chair-bound folks we meet.

So how did Pumpkin save my life? Well, having to walk him twice a day meant I had to become more active and regain strength in my legs, despite having multiple sites of bony metastases throughout my skeleton.

My husband and I have been through infertility and heart disease as well as breast cancer treatment. Our five attempts at private adoption failed when the birth mothers decided to not to place their children for adoption after the babies were born. International adoption was out of the question – we were told that no judge in another country would place a child with us given our health history. And even our home state would not place a child with us through the “foster-to-adopt” program. So Pumpkin has also become a substitute for the child we so wanted to raise.

Mostly though, Pumpkin loves me. He gives unconditional love, just because I rescued him from a shelter. He needs me, and I need him. Together we make a fine team!

Survivor's guilt

Today I woke up experiencing what I can only call survivor's guilt. L. may already be dead; dying E. will leave two very young children; P. passed away weeks before her life goal of seeing her son graduate high school; D. wasn't prepared for a poor surgical outcome, never bounced back from anesthetic and didn't have a chance to say goodbye. Why am I still here?

I didn't do anything to deserve cancer, yet I got it. I developed a life-threatening post-surgical infection. I got through chemo and radiation. Then the cancer came back worse than the first time. I broke my leg, was convinced i was dying. Yet here I am, four and a half years later, with limited mobility but truly excellent quality of life, still stable on estrogen blockers.

What's different about me? Or is it all random?

Hers is a good death

We are just back from visiting E. and her family. She was mobile, although using IV pain meds, and has a tube through her nose. E. was more coherent than I expected, with spurts of real energy intermingled with some drifting off. We had a wonderful long talk together; Rik talked with her husband; and then we stayed to have dinner with her family when E. said she would come sit in the living room with us while we all ate.

E. told me that she feels at peace with her impending death, that she knows her family will be well cared for, and that she feels carried on the wave of all the love she is receiving from family and friends.

I guess this IS what a good death looks like.

Two friends dying this week

Last night I heard from E. She was hospitalized with severe pain, which turned out to be an inoperable bowel obstruction. Her cancer has spread so far into her abdomen that it can't be removed. She hoped to be discharged to hospice at home today. E., you may recall, is something like a daughter and something like a sister to me. She is just 30, married with two young children.

I am overwhelmed at how she is handling her imminent death. She is making calls to gather her friends and family. Picture her lying on the hospital bed, her favorite Bluetooth earpiece glued to her ear, talking on her cell phone. People are coming in from all over to say goodbye. Whether she has a week or just a few days left, E. will be surrounded by people who love her and who she loves. And on top of all the visits she is writing special cards to give to her children on future significant moments she will miss (elementary school, high school, graduations, weddings, grandchildren).

Then there's L. from my support group. L. has been coming to group for about a year. She too has metastatic breast cancer and is maybe one year older than I am, has been living with mets one more year than I have. We've commiserated over her forced retirement from her beloved career, how to live on ongoing chemo for many years, planning her own funeral so that her partner won't have to guess what she wants.

L.'s brain mets took a turn for the worse last week and her oncologist sent her home to hospice, saying that he had nothing further in the way of treatment to offer her. Often when people get this news, they decide that it's time to stop struggling and relax to the inevitable. That's what L. has done. Between one week and the next, she grew progressively less and less responsive. When she wasn't at group on Tuesday, we knew something was wrong. Her partner tells me she coudl die any day. He's talking with her sister to make sure that they all follow L.'s wishes.

Theirs are 21st century deaths from cancer.

My dog is a cone head

Pumpkin has recovered nicely from his surgery. He has a 3 inch scar winding up his left front paw. But because the scab isn't fully formed, even a week later, he needs to wear an Elizabethan cone to keep him from licking and worrying at it. I think the cone, plus his truly terrible summer haircut, combine to make him look even goofier than ever! In this photo you can see that he can just barely hold onto his favorite toy, a squeaky soccer ball he stole from my friend Jeanne's Golden Retriever GB.

You can keep up to date with Jeanne and her cancer story here.

Pumpkin has cancer too

When we rescued Pumpkin three years ago, he came with a bow in his hair -- and a lump the size of a golf ball on his left front leg. We had it removed and the vet confirmed it was a malignant sarcoma. Yes, both Pumpkin and I have cancer! However, this kind of sarcoma is not likely to spread, but it does return.

It came back almost exactly a year later; we had it removed again. Now, two years later, it's back yet once more. So yesterday Pumpkin had surgery again.

The vet says he can continue to remove the sarcoma should it recur again (as it most likely will). Some day, we will face the likelihood that there is no longer enough tissue remaining to support his leg, and then the answer will be amputation.

The vet also says dogs are born with thee legs and a spare. On Wednesday I saw a three-legged dog walking his person (literally -- the dog was leading). And when I picked Pumpkin up after yesterday's procedure, I met a dog who just had a leg amputated after being hit by a car.

Pumpkin will wear the bandage for 5-7 days. Can't get it wet, so he wears a "mediboot" when he goes outside.

She's not dead!

Just wanted to let you all know that I heard from my friend E. and she says (quoting Monty Python's Spamalot) "I'm not dead!" While she was in the hospital there was some confusion over what information got sent out to friends. Just goes to show how important it is to be clear when we communicate.

E. has the support of hospice care at home and continues to receive radiation for her tumor. I expect to visit with her late next week.

We will all die someday, and those of us with advanced cancer sooner than we expected, but I'm glad to report E. is still here.

Losing another friend?

It seems that my friend E. is dying of metastatic breast cancer. We have been close friends since we met at a Young Survival Coalition conference three years ago and traveled home together. We talked for 5+ hours on the plane without stopping!

In a way, E. has been something of a daughter (I'm ALMOST old enough to be her mother) and something of a sister. She just turned 30, is married with two very young children.

E. asked me a long time ago, "Will I live to see 30?" I told her of course she would! But now one tumor continues to grow without restraint, causes her pain, and it's probably a matter of weeks, maybe days.

Cancer sucks.

Sponsor me!

I am again raising funds for the Komen Puget Sound Race for the Cure on June 16, 2007.

Click here to visit my personal page and pledge your support.

I've been a recipient of Komen funds in the past, and I believe in their mission -- to fund innovative outreach and awareness programs for medically under-served communities in Western Washington and national breast cancer research. Komen is one of the few cancer organizations that directly supports women living with cancer.

This year I am also coordinating a team. So if you want to walk with me, you can register for the event ($25 fee) and click on Join An Existing Team, then search for the Dancing With Cancer team. I'm doing the 1 mile walk -- the 5K is just a bit too much for my hips! The deadline for team registration is Friday, May 25th at 5 PM.

Whatever you can give will help. I will update this blog with my progress.

A matza recipe for you

In case you didn't eat enough matza this past week during Passover. B'tayavon!

PASSOVER ALMOND ROCA CANDY

1 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
1 bag chocolate chips
1/2 cup sliced or chopped toasted almonds

Completely cover a rimmed cookie sheet with aluminum foil, dull side up.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Place 4 whole matzot on foil. Break as needed to fit on pan.

Toast almonds in a dry skillet for 3-4 minutes or until light brown and fragrant.

Combine butter and brown sugar in a medium saucepan. Boil for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Mixture will foam up the sides of the saucepan.

Pour mixture neatly over matzot. Bake at 350 degrees for 5 minutes.

Remove from oven and sprinkle immediately with chocolate chips. When chips have softened, spread evenly with knife or spatula.

Scatter sliced or chopped almonds.

Chill 1 hour. Break into small pieces and store in refrigerator or freezer. Serves a big seder crowd! (This recipe halves easily to serve fewer people.)