The "C" Word

In case you haven't heard by now, my test results came back from the vet last week, and just like my Dad in his first semester of freshman physics at NJIT, I got a "C". The BIG "C", actually.
The tumor on my tongue turned out to be a malignant melanoma. We were hoping for something benign, or at the very least, a somewhat less aggressive form of cancer, but alas, what was made painfully clear by that "C" in freshman physics (and by the conspicuous absence of a Jaguar convertible in Dad's Christmas stocking), is that you don't always get what you wish for.


My vet, Dr. Bacon, recommended that we consult with another practice, the Red Bank Veterinary Hospital, in Lincroft. He said that they are the most advanced facility in the state and feature, in addition to many other specialties, an oncology department. He prepared my records and my films (doctor lingo for my chest x-rays) and wrote a letter about my case for the new doc. Mom was reading the letter and I thought the worst when, right at the end, I caught her wiping a tear from her eye. It wasn't so bad, really. Well, yeah, the diagnosis was bad, and the prognosis wasn't good, but I felt a lot better when I found out that what made her cry was that Dr. Bacon ended his letter with... "Roxanne is a nice dog and deserves your best care."

He said I was a nice dog. Now I think I'm gonna cry.


We trekked down to this mecca of pet medicine the following Saturday morning. The place is amazing! It's freakin' ginormous! Automatic doors, flat screen TV's, separate exam rooms for Dentristy, Opthamology, Oncology, Allergies and Skin Disorders, Emergency, Surgery... you name it. Granite everywhere! They even have their own Pharmacy. We checked in, watched a little Animal Planet on the TV and waited to be called.


We met with the Oncologist, the tall, cute Dr. Clifford. He had a diploma on the wall from Penn, which, I'm told, is one of the foremost Veterinary Schools in the country. I liked him a lot. He didn't come across like one of those Med School dropouts who went into pet medicine because it would just be way too embarrassing to become a chiropractor. He really seemed to like animals. Well, he liked me, anyway.


My bloodwork looked good and my lungs sounded OK, though I may have a bit of a heart murmur. He recommended radiation therapy for my tongue and said that I was a good candidate for the new vaccine (yea!). Mom and Dad asked about any side effects and Dr. Clifford said I shouldn't have any problems, that I was "a tank." A tank! He then must've remembered what Dr. Bacon wrote about me because he added, smiling, "a very nice tank..."



Mom looked to set up the appointments for the treatments and Dad went to the cashier to, as he put it, "pay for some of this fine granite..."

Next entry: Under The Gun: My Drugged Up Rendezvous With Dr. McDreamy