Slack Tide

There’s a nautical term I’m thinking about tonight from my days of sailing.  It’s the time between high and low tides, the ebb and the flow.  When the seas don’t pull or push yet sit quiet for a second or two.   

It’s the flux between the coming and going of gravitational forces that’s almost entirely theoretic and a scientific impossibility since nature knows no true homeostasis and if it did, only fleetingly so.  

But It’s the question we wake up to every morning but don’t know how to go to sleep with every night. 

We all search for the Slack Tides of our existence.

Day 8: The Last of the Couch Potato Kidz

Buddy, Murphy both lost to cancer.  Hudson is the last remaining of that sacred cabal we formed back in 2011.  

I suppose that’s why I’m taking this so hard.  Or one of the reasons.  As Fiorello LaGuardia, the famous chubby bad hair mayor of New York City (way before the dictatorship of Uncle Mike) once said that if a sparrow dies in Central Park he felt responsible. 

I do, too.  

Day 9: Name That Tumor

Though initial path results were favorable, we’re going to do some additional analysis just to be sure, thanks to the advice of our good friends.  
Since the tumor is traveling about now trying to find out who and what it is, it seems a decent thing to give it a name other than, ‘Haired skin and subcutis’.  
BTW – Toomey and Poly are taken.  

Day 6: Pathology Report

We got the pathology report back today: Mast Cell Grade II. Dr. B’s a bad ass diagnostician so it was as we expected.  Now I have to determine how to proceed.  

As I previously wrote, with wide surgical margins Hudsito’s prognosis is favorable. Here’s a pretty good article about grading MC tumors, treatment options, etc. from Washington State.

Had Hudson’s tumor been grade I, my decision would’ve wait and see for recurrence.  I’m not so sure now so I’ll be conferring with a handful of experts before I determine what, if any, the treatment plan is.  

Day 5: The Mighty Mississippi

I forced myself to return here today.  
This blog will break your heart. Not because of Hudson – we didn’t get the lab report in today and although that does cause some consternation, we suspected as much.  
It’ll break your heart because of what the Mississippi River represents to this cause of ours for two reasons.  
1. Back in August 2008, we stopped at the juncture of I-40 and I-55 because, well, there’s nowhere else to go.  Or to get across the river.  There are no pedestrian bridges and since Hudson and Murphy are hydrophobic, no chance of swimming across either.  
About and around this time, we met Ginger who was the Executive Director of the Humane Society and when I shared our plight with her, she suggested we cross via her boyfriend’s boat moored in Harbortown:  pina coladas, pink umbrellas, and perhaps a seersucker suit for myself.  
Problem was, that’s not my style. I didn’t walk 600 miles to Memphis to play fancy.  50% of all watershed in the US flows down the river to the gulf and there was no way I wouldn’t meet her mighty maw.  
I asked Ginger to find another way and she contacted the mayor, police chief, and a congressman and all said ‘No.’  There was no way to cross the river they said. Maybe upstream somewhere.  
Well for those of you who know me, the phrase ‘It can’t be done’ doesn’t really translate or process in my brain.  
Clearly I-40 was impassable unless the whole city, county, and state shut down the bridge and they weren’t doing that for dogs.   But after scouting out I-55 I felt there was something, possibly a utility bridge.  Turns out, my instincts were spot on & against all odds, Hudson, Murphy & me walked across the mighty Mississippi.  
2. The second time I was on the banks of the Mississippi when I was saying goodbye to Murphy in 2011.  He and I were there late at night all alone, listening to the passing barges signalling for safe passage.   
That night, I, too, sought the same.  
But because I couldn’t save him, I wanted to walk him down to the rocky shore to the swift and certain currents that would drown the two of us together and ultimately spit us out in the the Gulf Coast.     
‘Oh No, H2O’ was why I didn’t.  Murphy never liked water and that’s why I couldn’t.  Or at least I told myself that at the time.

I don’t know how to give up.  And the four forces of the universe don’t permit me to either.  Malcolm, Murphy, Hudson, Indiana.

Day 4: What Song Dog?

We hope to get the biopsy report today and while I’ve been gnashing at the bit, I’m wondering what song personifies Hudson.   I’ve bandied a few ideas with a dear friend of mine but I remain uncertain and as my ear buds abound with possibilities, I ask you:

What song is your dog?

Day 3: Wish You Were Here

I’ve made it through the worst of my existential crisis in large part due to the outpouring of support.  For that I am thankful.   
Hudson is convalescing well though he’s still hopped up on Tramadol and feeling no pain.  Hopefully we’ll get the results back from the lab Friday so we can know what we’re up against. Everything is on hold til then.  As most of you know, the waiting is excruciating especially for my personality type.  

Dr. Blackburn feels like he got clean margins which is good news and from my preliminary research even if it’s a grade 2, the prognosis is pretty promising. There’s a lot of hope to hold on here.  
I reintroduced Indiana to Hudson for the first time today and he played the dutiful little brother role perfectly.  Except when he tried to pull Hudson’s cone off which was cute.  

Where’s Your God Now?

Ricky Gervais must be laughing his ass off.  

As a humorist, friend to animals, and self proclaimed atheist, I’ve poked and prodded and kidney punched him here a few times about the apparent dichotomy: how can one love animals and not see God?  

Well, the second of the 2 dogs that walked cross country just got diagnosed with cancer like the first.  As a man of faith it must be fitting in some cruel Biblical irony.  

But I don’t and won’t believe it is.  My mission was God given.  After all, a stripper from San Antonio started it all.  

*Disclaimer – not all animal loving atheists post Sharpie outlined moob Selfies on Twitter.  Not Safe for Work.  Not Safe Ever.  Sorry.  


Day 1: Do Over

So many nights on the road I woke up not knowing where we were or when we were.  That same dazed disorientation has descended upon me since Hudson’s diagnosis yesterday. 
But I’m starting to work my way through this mad, miasmic maze to the stone cold stark reality that Hudson has cancer.  
Shit, didn’t I just give a speech about this the other day?  
‘Oh woe is me’ is the pity party we throw ourselves sometimes but it’s absolutely essential. It means that you care enough to take it on 100%.  200%.  1,000%.  I’m not good with math so I’ll stop here.  
I made many mistakes with Murphy’s cancer and they haunt me still but I own them. There are no ‘do overs’ in life.  
There’s only today and tomorrow.   Tomorrow is Day 2.  

Highway 40

Just as I was driving to Dr. Blackburn’s vet clinic this morning, I was thinking of a funny way to punk everyone about Hudson’s lump on his rump.  I intended to write, ‘Well, it’s bad news for Hudson.  The vet informed us that he’s really a French existentialist with a penchant for Clove cigarettes, berets, beatnik poetry, and menage-a-trois. 

After aspirating the tumor and examining it under the microscope, Dr. ‘B’, as he’s affectionately known, returned to the room and said, ‘I’m 100% sure…’ and I was about to do a ‘Whew’ until he continued…’It’s a mast cell tumor’. 

Hudson has cancer and is under the knife as I write, to remove it.  Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers as there is a chance, ever so slight, that when the tumor is excised, the massive release of histamines from the agitated B cells can be fatal it seems though I’m still trying to process the unprocessable.   

But what we do know is that we won’t know until it’s biopsied what exactly we’re up against nor what the plan is for four or five days.  

I will not be on FB or reachable here at the earliest until the results or back.  Ginger will keep you updated probably here and the 2milliondogs fan page.  However, my blog will chronicle every aspect of Hudson’s cancer.  

I have to go now and learn everything there is to know about mastocytoma.   
I wondered why I’ve had nightmares recently about Highway 40. 

I am inconsolable
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