October 27th, 2012
surgery day
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surgery day had arrived. wednesday, october 3. before putting sullivan in the car, we took a minute to take a few photos – remembering the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one.
this car ride to angell was different than ones in times past. my mind was tossing and turning a mile a minute and my stomach was doing it’s own dance of anxiety and fear of the unknown. i knew this was the necessary move and in sullivan’s best interest, but how am i going to emotionally cope knowing that i am dropping my pal off with four legs and he will return home on three?
a liaison brought us into an exam room and we signed the obligatory paperwork and went over timetables, communication with the doctor and other such nuts and bolts. recollection of that conversation is incredibly fuzzy as it was then tears flooded my face and the dance beat in my stomach reemerged. after taking off sullivan’s collar and giving him a final hug and kiss on the head with all the love i could muster, it was time to say goodbye. weeping, i left my special friend – bidding him adieu for an experience that only he had the strength and courage to survive.
i broke out my “feeling lucky” t-shirt for the occasion. my regular attire for medical appointments or anxiety provoking days! served us well today.
sullivan’s surgery began at 5pm and dr. casale phoned around 7 saying all went well, and the little guy was comfortably resting in recovery. she gave a very encouraging account of the story, but no answers could be given until the pathology report was finalized. dr. casale said sullivan would be up walking early in the morning and would be very closely monitored by the hospital team throughout the evening/early am hours. she outfitted him with a wound soaker used to regulate pain and promote comfort. he would be ready to come home on friday!
on thursday morning we received the pathology report: while sullivan had thickening and mild atrophy of the tricep area, he was diagnosed with a nerve sheath tumor and soft tissue sarcoma. sarcomas are locally invasive, slow to spread masses. dr. casale was able to get 1 cm margins and reached normal nerve area. a lymphnode was extracted during surgery and upon testing it was non-cancerous. per dr. casale, sullivan got “a great report. couldn’t be better. looks like we got it all. this is everything we could have hoped for.”
throughout this journey, we have had to hurdle emotional benchmarks. how will we be able to face the surgeon and have her tell us that amputation is the only option to ensure sullivan a good quality of life? how will we be able to drop sully off for surgery in the morning knowing what he is going to endure? the most difficult benchmark was to come: how will we react to seeing our best pal three-legged for the first time? will he be in pain? will he be able to walk out of the hospital on his own? will he fall into depression? will he wag his tail and show happiness?
we arrived at the hospital to pick up our buddy and were given a brown paper bag filled with tramadol/rimadyl for pain, cephalexin to prevent infection and a discharge pamphlet with various instructions and details. we asked if dr. casale was available for a quick second so we could properly thank her for her good work and loving care of sullivan during his hospital stay. out she came in full surgical regalia. she reiterated what she had told us over the phone the previous day about the surgery and pathology report and then gave us the greatest gift we could have asked for.
even though her pager was lighting up like a christmas display, she sat with us until sully came out of the hospital wing. words cannot begin to describe how much her support meant. we heard the clickity-clack of a three-legged pup and looked over to see our boy. instead of coming towards us immediately, he stopped to offer a quick hello and sniff to a husky waiting near the pharmacy area. sully’s tail was wagging, his tongue was hanging out of his mouth and when we exclaimed: sully!!!!, he pranced over with reckless abandon.
dr. casale touched my hand and said, “there’s your boy!”. i started to cry, though this time they weren’t tears of sadness or fear. they were tears of joy. my sully was back. he was pain free. he was happy and ready to inspire the world through his bravery and courage.
sully left the hospital with many stares and “woah’s”. there were a couple “oh – look at that poor dog’s” but i assured them there is nothing poor about our hero, sully.
sullivan was lifted into the car, his place of great happiness, by a kind angell liaison. our three-legged sully spent the majority of the trip standing up, looking at fellow motorists, and keeping his eye out for cement trucks and motorcycles.
