Max
2006-2019
Max could speak volumes through his eyes.
Here’s the irony, three and a half years ago we flew him
to Versailles, France to have life saving open heart surgery. The reason we
went to France was the success of the surgeon, a Japanese doctor who had
developed a technique where the dog’s immune system didn’t attack the sutures,
thereby letting everything heal successfully.
In the U.S., the success of this surgery is about 40%. We
didn’t like those odds.
Across the ocean, in Clinque Bozon, a small veterinary
clinic, they were performing the same surgery with a 96% success ratio. We
liked those odds.
We arranged for Max to get comfort dog status, which
allowed him to fly in the main cabin with us, and off we went to Versailles for
three weeks.
He had his surgery on July 3, 2016. Two and a half weeks
later, we flew back home, and he was doing great. We were all so happy. Max had
a stronger heart, and we allowed our imaginations to see him with us for many
years to come.
About four months ago I took Max to our local vet,
because I thought he had developed a couple of fatty tumors on his neck. To my
knowledge, fatty tumors are benign and not uncommon in older dogs. Our vet felt
his neck and said, “these are not tumors, these are his lymph nodes and they’re
swollen.”
Gut punch.
After a few tests, the diagnosis came back as positive
for a very aggressive form of lymphoma. After consulting with an oncologist and
our local vet, we decided to give Max chemotherapy. With his heart condition,
he wasn’t a candidate for the most aggressive treatment, a 19-week protocol
where he would have to have a treatment once a week for three weeks, off one
week, and back to treatment.
We opted for the second-best course, which was an oral
chemo treatment once every three weeks over a 15-week span. Within two days of
the treatment, his lymph nodes had decreased dramatically in size. We were
smiling, and hopeful and happy.
Within six days, I noticed his lymph nodes were swollen
again, and now the ones on the other side of his neck were also swollen. Severe
disappointment. Back to the oncologist, who suggested another course with a
different drug. We said, let’s try it. That also failed. We had one option
left, another drug.
Max had no ill side effects from the first two
treatments, so we tried the last option. That also didn’t work. We all agreed
it was time to put him on palliative care. At first, he responded well. Was
running to and twirling around his food bowl, loved going out and rolling in
the grass and slept in bed with us.
Every day was a blessing as we kept a careful eye on how
he was feeling. As time went on, in small increments, we could see he was
failing and finally, this Monday, those eyes that could write a book, looked
into my eyes, and I knew.
I knew it was time; time to be compassionate and help you
to a peaceful end.
I can hardly write this without my face falling to my
chest. Oh Max, I miss you so. And the irony, it wasn’t your heart, after all my
dear, it was a cruel cancer that took you from us.
This primordial hole in my heart, I know will heal, and in
its place will be a legacy of wonderful memories, where you will nest until I
draw my last breath.
Thank you for choosing us. Thank you for giving us almost
13 years of pure joy.
Run, Max, Run
2009
