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Digit continues her journey to beat lymphoma...

Now that I have caught up on my extra hour of sleep (funny how that works with us kitties), I continue…

Off to Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University we went.
I  hadn’t been in Worcester since October and I thought I had seen the last of it. I’m really liking the farm life and there was no looking back as far as I was concerned. Hw little did I  know!

We left on a Wednesday and spent the night in the old house. Journey was already there as she had gone out with dad Tuesday morning. We left whisper at the farm. Mom figured we were only going to be gone 36 hours so she gave whisper extra food (she was in heaven) and water and left her in charge of the place.

On Thursday I had to fast. That’s getting old.  What is it with this withholding of food?  We arrived at Tufts and checked in and waited for Meagan, a fourth year student, to escort us into an exam room where she asked Mom why we were there. Personally,  I wasn’t sure yet why I had to be there. They were talking about me like I wasn’t there.  They never asked me a thing. But then I  got dragged out of my carrier, poked, prodded, my temperature taken and my face examined. Meagan left and we were peacefully alone for a while. then Dr. Kelly O'Neill came in, asked a few more questions, gave me a once over and then discussed the options.

Surgery: while maybe a fabulous way to rid me of the lymphoma was not a viable option because of the location of my lesion. As noted previously, surgery would remove about a 1 inch square from my face - a sizable chunk for a wee one like me. While I am not particularly vain, I do think I look better with my whole face.
Chemo: while possibly curative, would treat the whole body and this thing seems to be isolated to my lip. We were told lymphomas respond well to chemo.
Radiation: recommended because of the location and size of the lesion and kind of lymphoma (believed to be single site small t-cell - not systemic). Very likely to be curative.
And Do nothing: the lesion would become larger, erosive, potentially infected and it would eventually become painful. the visual wasn’t pretty.
we were told the cost of the radiation 15-16 doses once a day, Monday through Friday for three weeks would be $5000.

Then the doctor left and were left alone to "discuss it." Except no asked me. Mom had her mind made up and Dad said nothing. It was a lively discussion.  What was behind door number two, we will never know.

Dr. O'Neill came back with Dr Mc'Neil, the radiation oncologist. Dr. Mc'Neil explained more about the procedure and asked if we had any more questions and what our decision was. My vote was for calling it a day, getting something to eat and taking a nap on the way back home to the farm, but no one seemed interested in my opinion. Instead, they signed me up for radiation and decided we were going to be moving back to Worcester for the next three weeks.

the *Neil Doctors took me away for a tour around the place, some more poking, prodding, sticking a needle in my lymph node again, a quick consult with the other radiation oncologist and then brought me back to Mom and Dad.

The one major concern was my "mental state." For some reason Mom has it in her head that I don’t adjust well or tolerate being manhandled. It was decided that if I didn’t tolerate the treatments (started withdrawing, hiding from mom and dad, beating up on whisper) we would put an end to them and switch to chemo.  The chemo would be oral and I am like a raving insane maniacal lunatic banshee cray-cray cat when anyone tries to pill me. Do you need another picture?  I had to promise myself I would be a "good little girl" for the duration of the radiation treatments. I am going to miss beating up Whisper.

How it Began

Well, The Dij, as Digit is affectionately sometimes called, has made it through the first week of radiation treatment.  That little cat has proven tough, handling not only all the vet needles, prodding and other indignities, but being crammed into a pet taxi twice a day and then enduring a four hour car ride back to the farm with her two sisters who by the sound of things thought they were being tortured.

Digit has a little community pulling for her now that she has her own facebook account and the website administration and up coming auction being managed by Hemi the CH Kitty’s mom at Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/HemiTheChKitty.

Here’s Digit in her own words.

I will share my story…

Basically, I started out with periodic weepy eye/runny nose sometime in November after that glorious wood stove got running in earnest. I love the thing. It’s awesome and sometimes I can’t get close enough. Anyway, no worries. The weepy eye/runny nose came, went, came, went, off, on, no rhyme or reason.

As my sister, Journey, (a cardiac patient) was to have her yearly echo, Mom made an appointment for all of us (thanks Journey!) to see our new vet here in New York (we moved last year). Blood work for Journey along with physicals and shots for the rest of us. About a week before the appointment, Mom noticed I had a little lesion on my right upper lip. No biggie. During my check up the vet (Dr Mary Mernard Borador Animal Hospital, PC) mentioned I had a bit of tarter build up on that side and maybe I was rubbing my face. I have to admit I am a bit of a clean freak. Anyway, pre-surgery blood work revealed high calcium, high WBC. Specifically, lymphocytes, monocytes and eosinophils, not neutrophils. (did you just fall asleep?) Well, Mom has had experience with cancer with an older brother, Dino (named after Dino Ciccarelli), who I never met, may he rest in peace. Red flags went up everywhere, and Mom said I didn’t need to have my teeth cleaned if I had cancer. So, the investigation began.

The Investigation...

 
After the first screwy blood work, mom wanted to biopsy my lip, or should I say she wanted Dr Mary to do it. I was suppose to have it done on a Wednesday, but we had a snowstorm and Mom couldn’t get the truck started. I had to wait until that Friday and go through the fasting again. Along with the biopsy, I had some x-rays of my head (yep, my brain cell is there despite what Mom says), and a nasal lavage to send for cytology. No boney changes in my head - yay and cytology of mucus came back negative. The biopsy, however, showed what we were dealing with- small cell lymphoma. So mom hit the Internet to see what had changed in the nine years since Dino was diagnosed. Then as now, the research that’s out there about us kitties is woefully and (in Mom’ss opinion) inexcusably insufficient.

As she researched, she posted on her Facebook page and a friend of hers, Chenoa - an "old" vet friend, came to our rescue!  Chenoa wondered if I might have a rare form of single site cutaneous t-cell lymphoma that was not systemic. If so, she said Mom would have to forget everything she had learned about lymphoma. She advised checking some more places for icky cells . If her suspicions were correct she thought surgery, radiation, and chemo would give the best results...and not to worry.

To try and determine definitively what we were dealing with, Mom took me to Upstate Veterinary specialties for an ultrasound to check for any bad stuff in my abdomen. They also did some needle biopsies of my lymph nodes. Did I mention I had started to have fun at this point?

The test results: 

Ultrasound - "boring" to quote Dr Bay. Never been so happy to be boring.
Needle biopsy - negative - woohoo!
Dr Bay consulted with a surgeon and was told he basically would  have to take half my face off in order to try and get clear margins. Then I would still need chemo and/or radiation.

The nearest radiation centers are in Newburg, NY  (2+ hours away), Tufts (3.5 hours away) or Cornell (4+ hours away).  I was hopeful.  Maybe I would be excused by virtue of having moved to the middle of no where last year. No such luck. If radiation was the way to go, I overheard Mom telling Dad, we might be moving back to Worcester in order for me to go to Tufts. 

snoozing in Worcester, MA

 

Mom wanted more info and that made me the guinea pig. She asked for immunohistochemistry staining of lesion cells and wanted flow cytometry done on my blood. She pretends to be some kind of scientist and I am some kind of lab rat!  With the investigation over we were almost certain I had a single site, small t-cell lymphoma. No cancer cells have been detected in blood, lymph nodes, or nasal passages. My internal organs all look fine.  Mom scheduled an oncology consult at Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University.

Mom has been encouraged through all this. She sometimes calls it delusional optimism because I was never sick. I was eating like I was suppose to. Drinking as I was suppose to. Acting like I was suppose to. Playing like i was suppose to. No one would have ever suspected a thing. I don’t know how long she would have let me have this silly lesion without hauling me off to the vet.  Timing was everything, I guess. Remember, this all came about because Journey had to have her blood work before her cardio appointment.

The Decision...

We moved back to Worcester for March and I get 15 radiation session treatment at Tufts.

I’ll tell you how that first week went next. 

Diablo: hope that didn't get too technical for you. I told you the Little Sister, Digit's mom,  was a scientist. It rubbed off on Digit. 

Serious Stuff

Back home after Sochi. Raised hell. Broke a lot of house rules. Basically, acted like a rock star.

Digit at Thanksgiving table with Little Sister's pottery

Now, I have to be serious. Serious matters ahead.  You’ll probably hate me when it is over, but I feel I owe this plug for my cousin, Digit. She’s The Little Sister’s cat who lives on a farm in Upstate New York, not too far away from where I live with the Old Man. I mentioned on Twitter a couple of weeks ago that she’s got lymphoma. Because she lives with a couple big-hearted peeps she will get loving and compassionate care and treatment as long as no quality of life issues interfered.

Let me give you a little background about my cousin. You know this is going somewhere.  Digit was adopted along with her sister Whisper about the same time Goddess took off to join the Peace Corps. So that makes them about ten years old. Kittens compared to me. At the time the family lived in Worcester. That’s in Massachusetts. Is there any other Worcesters in the world? And you better be pronouncing that like a native. (Wha’str)

At the time these peeps, The Little Sister and the Bro-InLaw, both worked in genetic engineering. When it comes to bugs and genes they know their fields and if they don’t know it, they know how to research it. But the Goddess’ little sister had a dream to live on a huge farm and after years of saving and toil last year she made it happen. So she quit her lab rat job and moved to the farm where she bakes bread and makes home made butter… from real cows, Oh My Cow! The farm has the perfect place to set up a pottery studio a love The Little Sister has had for years. And she is pretty darn good at it too.  But quitting a job and moving to a farm to pursue a passion can only be done step by step so the studio is not yet set up.

Digit's oral lesions. Gross

Now Digit is sick. I can get all technical on you because like I said the two peeps The Little Sister and The Bro-inLaw, both are scientist. But when they talk this stuff, my eyes roll and I tend to fall asleep.  However it is serious. She's got lymphoma, but test showed there is no cancer in  lymph nodes. So that was a yippie, give me TUNA moment. So the peeps took Digit to Foster Hospital for Small Animals at Tufts

for treatment options.  Lymphoma responds well to both radiation and chemo. The short of it is that Digit will receive 15-16 doses of radiation starting tomorrow, Monday March 3. Chemo may or may not be added towards the end of the regime. Fortunately, she is otherwise healthy so she is expected to respond well, outside of maybe stressing with all the car rides. I know I failed to mention Digit is a mental case of a cat…a bit spazzy.

But this means The Little Sister needs to move back to the house in Worcester during treatment, to avoid carting Digit across The Bay State.  It is perfect timing.  She’ll be done with treatment before the end of March. Spring planting and other farm chores will be ready and waiting when the family returns.

Why the story? ‘Cause The Little Sister has pottery to sell and proceeds will help pay the vet bills.  I don’t know why you got to pay these people for all that poking and prodding, but that is something humans expect.

So even though The Little Sister cuts my claws when Goddess is away and I hate that intrusion I am plugging pottery for my cousin.

The Little Sister’s  website is Luna House. Check it out. There is some awesome looking stuff there.

I’ll Tweet some updates and post a few more blogs on Digit to help out because The Little Sister is a great artist, but not so much a business person.  You won’t find prices on her website! Sigh, I know.  Maybe we can make something happen with that.

But, please take a look. I’m sure you’ll love her work. I do. It falls off the shelf when shoved and makes a thunderous crash when it hits the floor. I’m just saying. I’m a cat.

The Official Portrait

His cooperation was hard to get. He wanted to arm wrestle for the opportunity. I told him I would not charge him three Blue Fin Tunas for his opportunity to sit with me! My peeps and his peeps kept negotiating. We decided to settle the matter over the outcome of the USA verse Russia hockey game.  If Team USA Hockey lost to Team Russia then I'd pay him for the portrait. Otherwise, he would just shut up and take the photo.

Well, we all heard him crying the the two-seater, but he did man up.

 He still wanted to arm wrestle, just for kicks. How can you tell a President, " no"?

On to Sochi

It has been particularly tough to get the Goddess to post this year’s sojourn. She never liked me traveling while she escaped the harsh winter’s of upstate New York for the shark infested waters of Hawaii. She doesn’t swim in the ocean so I have never understood why she must travel 5000 miles to swim in a pool when there is a perfectly fine one five miles down the road at the YMCA. But never mind that. 

She leaves me every winter. Why should I stick around with the OLD MAN and Phoenix?  This year I planned to join the US Bobsled Team in Sochi because I actually know a young man who participated on the US team. Except the US didn’t qualify three sleds in the Olympics so he didn’t qualify to participate. I was bummed. Goddess thought I should pass on the games because of this and because of well….being in Russia and everything about the security of the place. But you know me.

I was to travel with the bobsled team, but with my friend not going, I took @lucky_GSD’s (Ms Lucky) offer to fly on a private jet. I was a bit apprehensive. I’m not a flier, preferring trains, but the logistics of train travel obviously doesn’t work when going from the US to Russia.  

We left right after the Denver Broncos got creamed in the SuperBowl. (And The Donald and I closed a real estate deal in Jersey).  I like cream, but this was awful. You see, the Goddess has followed Peyton Manning since his Tennessee days. As for me…I’m from Tennessee and I bleed orange especially when it comes to Women’s Basketball.  But since there was nothing to celebrate after the SuperBowl we took off from Tetersboro Airport on an over night flight to Iceland.

Yepper, Iceland. I’m not sure why, but I think it was to stock up on crab. Oh yeah, maybe to refuel the jet too.  I spent my day trying to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull.

Ms Lucky insisted on bringing this huge mysterious bag onboard the plane. Hey, it was her jet so how could I oppose the cargo? Little did I know she was preparing to remodel the hotel room. She thought our accommodations would not be up to par. How she knew that electrical boxes were in the shower and the toilets are …um two seaters?  (Not that we cared.) Anyway, the concrete cutter came in real handy.

She was looking for a perfect disguise so she would not be picked up as a stray dog. You know Canadian tags don’t count in Sochi. So for the first couple of days we became undercover construction workers. We milled through the tourist and athletes for a couple of days but once the hotel guests discovered their accommodations were not quite first world standard, we started to catch some heat from the not-so-happy campers.  No matter, by then we are hanging around the Japanese Olympic TUNA bar. Those guys know sushi.

The hotel guests needed to chill their attitudes about the accommodations, so nothing like scoring some vodka and having a few rounds of fun to boot. Before the Opening Ceremony could commence I had a Quasi Bobsled Team formed. Actually, it involved a luggage cart on the fourth floor. Hotel management didn’t like the race through the lobby but all was made right when we let them in on the vodka stash.  Bribes and vodka go far in Russia.

But it might have been a little over the top when I reenacted last year’s Iditarod Race with the laundry carts and the housekeeping staff. It was kind of a salute to my partner in the race @rosieandcheeto’s Woofie Monster. He went over the Rainbow Bridge last fall so we were glad he lived his dream.  Rest in Peace, friend.

Hopefully, I can get Goddess to post more often. I hear she is actually working two jobs in Hawaii. Sucker.

Meanwhile, Let’s see who I can photobomb! And then there is the official Putin portrait.

Elephants

by Sebastian Schnuelle

It was looking so not good on the Yukon River. Warm temperatures and rain made the river a slushy mess.  Deteriorating trail surfaces and overflows made the trail an exhausting pull.  It looked tempting to move off the trail, but any weight punched through and put us into a soup. Poor Woofie Monster.  He worked hard to get us from Grayling to Eagle Island through the night and into early morning. We had to stop in the “heat” of the day, a concept that seems foreign to those creatures who live in the daylight, but remember we’re both carrying fur as thick as Bob Marley’s knots – good for cold raw winds, but not so much in a white reflective bowl of a river basin. Once the low pressure moved through we roasted in sunshine.

Woofie Monster looked worn out. I honestly feared he'd collapse. I was sleep deprived (a horrible situation for a cat use to napping 16 hours a day) but he was running in a trance.  Beyond exhaustion.  I had to stand in front of him, look him in the eye.  Now standing directly in front of any dog is not something any sane cat would do.  The last time I went nose to nose with a dog the pup ended up with a bloody gash.  Goddess’s Mom was not pleased when I swiped her sheltie con claws. 

Anyway, there I stood looking the Woofie Monster right in his dark eyes.  The dog could do little more than stand there with his tongue nearly dragging the frozen ground. His eyes were glazed over.  He totally ignored me.  All his attention was fixed on the far horizon up river.

“Woofie,” I yelled. His panting began to subside, but he kept his eyes locked in the distance.  Again I yelled at him, this time I yanked his leash.  He snapped out of his trance.

I asked, “What are you looking at?”

semi-photo by Sebastian Schnuelle

“Elephants. Gray Elephants. They’re coming this way. See them?”

I didn’t expect to see them, but I looked over my shoulder anyway.  I saw nothing but long dim shadows cast on the river melting in a weak daylight.  I blinked twice just to be sure there were no elephants. Remember I’m sleep and TUNA derived.

“Woofie, I think we need to stop. You’re hallucinating. You’re out of it. Lost. Can you make it to the next checkpoint? We can quit there. Fly out You’ve run into the ground.”

The dog stood still. Panting lightly. Then he sucked up his tongue for a few seconds. “I got my hedgehog. I got a dream to run the Iditarod.  On to Shaktoolik.”

Shaktoolik wouldn’t be any easier. It’s mile 777.  Maybe if we were playing slot machines on an Indian reservation this would be lucky.  In Shaktoolik we would be off the Yukon River, but finally on the Bering Sea Coast.  Nothing but raw winds that spin around low pressure systems faster than a dog circles a bed of hay before he falls asleep. 

“Are you sure?” I thought I might refuse to participate. It wasn’t my dream, but it was his. Could I deny him?   

“Sure as the rain on the Yukon River.  Isn’t this strange?”

"As strange as your elephants, my friend."

Mandatory 24 Hour Rest

Sebastian Schnuelle

We’ve been running since Sunday afternoon, the official re-start of the Iditarod. Woofie Monster and I are taking the mandatory 24 hour rest period in a little hole in the wall called Don’s Cabin.

That's about thirty miles south of the ghost town of Iditarod.  Once gold was discovered in the area surrounding Iditarod, a thriving little gold town bloomed to nearly 30,000 people. Once the gold ran out twenty years later the miners left taking most of the buildings with them. Today, no one lives there. Too bad the government didn’t do bail outs back in the day. Imagine what Iditarod could be now. Grown bearded men wearing Levis and plaid shirts sitting around the river banks collecting monthly checks? That's not what any self-respecting Alaskan could tolerate.

Although Woofie Monster and I have garnished no respect for being out here among the elite mushers of the world, we do play by the rules. Well most of them anyway. So we will rest.

For the Woofie Monster the break is much deserved.  His little paws are tired and sore, but thankfully he has been wearing the booties I got for him. At first, he was a bit taken aback with the idea. But I reminded him that this race is not a romp in a Chicago dog park.  When he saw other teams wearing booties of neon green, shocking pink and a more conservative black, he agreed to wear black. Honestly, he looks no tougher. He’s still a house dog bred for existence in the family packs of humans, not for trotting and loping long endurance miles like the Alaskan Husky.  Nevertheless, the pup is faring well, despite a bit of homesickness. 

Our toughest challenge has not been weather or daylight – or lack there of. Our natural equipment has kept us warm and on trail. The abilities to see in the dark, and sniff out bacon drifting over forty miles of frozen terrain have kept us in contention and ahead of all other cat teams.  (Don’t bore me with the details that there are no other cat teams on the trail.)  

The biggest challenge is getting enough food. Fuel, that is. Always a problem at home in the kitchen, getting enough food is amplified when the dog is running and possibly burning 10,000 calories in a day. He keeps saying he is an elite athlete and he needs the protein.

We’ve had drops from @bicdelou  but bad weather grounded all air craft until just a few hours ago.

Jeff Schultz's amazing photo

We had a little incident crossing a ice bridge over Dalzell Creek. After the leaders had crossed the packed bridge the under-footing was compromised. Woofie Monster  found himself chest deep in the stream.  I scrambled to the tippy top of the sled looking for a quick exit toward a more stable stream bank. At that moment the water sounded like a wild raging flood. But the shock of the icy water did not deter Woofie Monster’s forward momentum. He kept pulling and we popped out the other side. A quick shake off and a few wide-eyed stares at each other and we mutually acknowledged we survived. Woofie Monster asked me to check on the hedgehog’s condition. Finding the spitty dog toy safely dry (sort of) we continued on the trail.

It is a good day to rest.  The winds have been blowing like stink and the trail has been a little deep.  The masses rested in the tiny town of Takotna.  FYI: One of the largest TV satellite dishes I have every seen is located in this town. It’s so big it could draw in alien TUNA.

I don’t understand how or why some dogs run away from their sleds. One dog ran from the Jamacian musher, Newton Marshall. Despite an attempted round up the canine by the trail committee the dog disappeared and the poor chap had to scratch from the race. Among the rookies give credit to a young Norwegian who has boldly moved within the top 12.  Go Joar Leifseth Ulsom. The 26 year old won the Nadezhda Hope Race in Russia, considered the toughest race on the Eurasian continent. Watch him!

The biggest challenge is yet ahead. Blasting winds off the Bering Sea. I might have to put rocks in my pockets to keep from blowing away.  Oh, got no pockets!