The Chemo Chronicles, Part III: Getting in Hot Water and Pulling the Pinkie

Los Alamos, N.M.—We celebrated the completion of round four of Henry's five-round, 20-week chemotherapy regimen by partying on a weeknight at San Antonio Hot Springs, a wonderful oasis of geothermal activity located right in our back yard in the Jemez Mountains.

A dog wary of the hot springs

We got the idea while driving back from Henry's chemo appointment a few days earlier. The fourth round of Henry's CHOP protocol—in which one of four extremely nasty drugs that destroy cellular DNA and suppress cell division are administered each week as a way to poison Henry's cancer into submission—is extremely difficult on Henry. The inter-venous toxin can destroy normal tissue or destroy the heart muscle if administered incorrectly, so you can imagine that if it's drubbing the shit out of cancer cells within the poor dog's body, what it must be doing to his normal cells at the same time.

Nevertheless, every time Henry gets out of the car at the VCA Hospital in Albuquerque, he gets a chemo-woody. As we sat in the waiting room before his therapy, a same-sex couple fussing over a Bichon Frise with some type of oozing-eye ailment suddenly went deathly quiet. They were staring, mouths agape, at Henry, who was reclining casually with his hind legs splayed out and his fully erect pink stick poking proudly out of its fur covered scabbard. I looked at the couple and shrugged; there's a reason someone coined the expression "behaving like dogs."

The vet assistant didn't miss a beat as she came into the waiting room and efficiently took the leash from my hand and led an eager Henry off toward the therapy room.

"Looks like someone's excited for his treatment," she chirped!

Detour

Excited dogs get to ride in the cab of the
truck instead of the way back!

A few hours later, Henry came back out into the waiting room, full of poison, bonerless, and a lot more lethargic than he had been just a few hours earlier. He was weak and thirsty, and the Duke City was hotter than a dancer at TD's Show Club on a Friday night after Pay Day. We decided that a drive through the Jemez and into the cooler shadows of the pines might perk the poor boy up a little. The afternoon rains had started in earnest, and a large anvil-shaped cloud was brewing above the mountains. After detouring toward Fenton Lake—only to find the area extremely crowded and trashed out by throngs of filthy city dwellers—we took a dirt road east. After a short rest in the cool green grass of a pine meadow, we all felt better. Instead of heading straight home, however, we thought a drive down toward San Antonio Hot Springs might be in order.

A few minutes down the road, we heard a strange whoosh, as if I had gone through a shallow puddle. But the road was dry. I stopped the car and we walked back up the road to see what we might have run over. We found a few odd-looking squares of a glassy material that looked like obsidian, a black volcanic glass that can be found easily in the Jemez if you know where to look. But there was no other obsidian on the road or nearby.

The scene of the crime.

"That's odd," I muttered to myself.

Suddenly, I was struck with a realization, and a terrifying one at that. I jogged over toward the camper shell and noticed that the rear window had shattered. All of the glass, except for the few morsels we found on the road, had landed in a pile inside the camper shell. Right next to the dogs.

We panicked.

After clearing them out and checking them over for damage, we realized how lucky we had gotten. They were fine. But there sure was a lot of sharp fine glass to pick up. We did our best, but there were enough shards left over that we didn't want to put the dogs back in. We moved our gear to the back of the truck and let the dogs hang out in the access cab. It was an exciting prospect for Henry's little friend, Doodles, who excitedly looked out the window as we drove. Henry settled in for a nap. A little ways down the road, we met a gate. The driving part of our journey was over. We walked a ways down the road past the gate and toward the hot springs, but we realized that the springs were still a ways away. It was late in the day, so we turned around, loaded up and made our way home.

Partying on a school night

You should play with a big, pink rubber
bone every chance you get.

But the thought of soaking in the warm waters of San Antonio hot springs beckoned us for the next few days, haunting our sleep and our daily conversation. I hadn't taken a dip in the those magical waters since my college days. We decided to head up after work mid-week. A steady drizzle and an American culture conditioned not to pursue leisure activities (other than drinking in bars or pubs, which is totally culturally accepted) after work ensured that we'd have the place to ourselves.

Sure enough, we were right. We doffed our clothes, giggled and jumped in the nice hot pool just as the sun disappeared over the ridge. The dogs were intrigued by the spectacle. Henry put his paws in the warm water and quickly retreated. He took a short taste. Disgusted and confused, the dogs stayed at bay while we soaked under the relentless rain.

As we drove home, the excitement in the vehicle was palpable. It had been another big adventure for a dog whose days are numbered. The nearly full moon was waxing into Super Moon status, so the woods were bright enough to navigate without headlights. 

When it's all said and done, a dog can
never get too much love—even if that dog
happens to be a hamburger thief.

 Spoiling the dog

Henry's lymphoma has gone into complete remission, and we've been trying to spoil him in a good way by taking him on adventures, giving him lots of pets and conversation, and surprising him with unexpected culinary delights.

He seems to have gotten used to the latter, because a few days after returning from our hot springs soak and in the company of dinner guests, Henry decided to help himself to an extra homemade cheeseburger that was up on the counter waiting to be claimed. Our dinner party guests spoke too late for a second burger, because before we knew it, Henry had put his paws on the counter—a stunt he's never pulled before—and gobbled down the cheeseburger before we could holler, "No!" (Early on, the vet had warned us that prednisone can give a dog an insatiable appetite that can inspire bad behavior, but Henry has always been a compliant little fellow, so we had been unconcerned about such things during the first 16 weeks of treatment.)

As we looked at him sternly, we could see a little smile creep across his face. He must have thought, "you won't do anything to me because I have cancer." He is a smart dog.

Shortly after the hamburglary, we were out playing tug of war with a ridiculous pink bone. Life is good for Henry right now and I suddenly understand why going to the vet gives him a boner. I guess I'd have one, too, if I felt as good after being on Death's doorstep.

See you on down the road!