We found out last week that Heidi had a mast cell tumor on her chest. It's a common tumor in dogs, malignant but not always catastrophic. The vet - our new one here in Maryland - suggested "as soon as possible whenever you can as long as it's really really really soon" surgery. At the same appointment, I also asked the vet the fact that Heidi couldn't go 10 feet without deciding to christen some grass. She gave us a prescription for antibiotics for a probably urinary infection, and a surgery date for yesterday to remove the tumor.
By the time yesterday morning rolled around, Heidi's christening habit had added an interested a new feature: she was now peeing blood. We had also noticed a tooth was about to fall out. And her leg, which was operated on four years ago, was bothering her again. The poor dog, age 5, was falling apart.
When I went to pick her up today, she had undergone: x-rays on three parts of her body (bladder, knees, teeth) one tooth removal, dental cleaning, a tumor removal and had about a cup of stones removed from her bladder. And, as the encore, she's going to need more knee surgery.
The worry was amazing, the bill astounding (how do you feel about trade school, Christopher?) but it didn't matter when she bounded out of the vet's office and tried to climb on my lap, despite the stitches that go from her chest to her pelvic bone.
The pictures show the stones (kindly returned to us by the vet), her medications (all four, plus her new special food!) and, of course, Heidi. The extent of the bodywork isn't visible - I'll try to get a picture of that the next time I put the warm, wet washcloth on her wound. (I feel guilty - it's a nice 15-minute break while I sit with her to keep her still.)
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