XXIII: PETs and pets
Let’s start with good news. My PET scan this month showed no evidence of recurrent or residual disease. Eight months out from treatment I’m in remission and feeling way stronger than I had ever hoped. I’m beginning the process of searching for jobs and moving on with my life. By every measure I’m doing great.
That’s the good news.
The not so good news is we had to say goodbye to our sweet cat Roxanne today. She developed rapidly progressive kidney failure in the last couple weeks, and despite initially improving following several days of hospitalization and IV fluids, she started deteriorating again over the weekend after coming home on Thursday. A trip to veterinarian today confirmed what we expected — it was time. Brooke was able to get off work and Roxy was put to sleep with us by her side this afternoon.
I’ve always been a dog person. I grew up with an adorable Golden Retriever named Luke who was relentlessly happy and playful in the way Goldens uniquely are. Conversely every cat I had met in my first 28 years of life was somewhere between skittish and downright hostile towards me.
So when Brooke and I first started dating, I wasn’t sure what to think of her having a pet cat. My first impulse was “I hope it doesn’t bite or scratch me”. My second was “At least she only has ONE cat.” The first few nights I spent at her place weren’t very restful — I constantly worried about accidentally rolling into a fury of claws and teeth.
Alas, my worries were unfounded. In four years of knowing Roxanne she never bit nor intentionally scratched me. She was skittish early on, but gradually we became accustomed to each other. She eventually let me pet her, then progressed to hopping in my lap while I drank coffee in Brooke’s recliner on Saturday mornings.
However, while we grew increasingly fond of each other, it wasn’t until Brooke and I moved out to Virginia that Roxanne transitioned from being Brooke’s cat to our cat.
We drove from Indianapolis to Charlottesville roughly 36 hours after I was diagnosed with recurrent Hodgkin Lymphoma. Thanks to the residual chest discomfort I was experiencing and the small dose of pain medication I was taking to alleviate it, I was in no condition to drive. So I spent half the 10 hour drive riding with my dad (who was driving my car) and the other half riding with Brooke.
While I was riding with Brooke, we let Roxanne out of her carrier and she spent several hours sitting in my lap as we drove across Ohio. Roxanne had grown increasingly comfortable with me over the prior three years but such overt displays of affection were still somewhat few and far between. It was a bright spot in the midst of an incredibly stressful two days.
We moved into our new place and Roxanne settled in remarkably quickly for an 11 year old cat. She roamed the two bedroom apartment curiously and frequently meowed to be let out onto our second floor balcony, where she would sprawl out and soak in the sun. However, the specter of my treatment and what to do with Roxanne loomed.
Pets and stem cell transplant can be a tricky combination. Certain pets — lizards, birds, etx — are expressly recommended against during the critical few months of recovery when you are profoundly immunocompromised. Dogs are difficult because in their playfulness they can lick or scratch you inadvertently, thus exposing you to pathogens.
Cats are somewhat more of a gray zone. Kittens are discouraged — comparatively poor control of their retractable claws increases the risk of spreading infection via scratch. Outdoor cats are also discouraged as they can easily contract and carry diseases from birds and other small animals they hunt and kill.
Roxanne, on the other hand, was about the safest possible cat to have. She was an exclusively indoor cat here in Charlottesville and was 12 years old without any predilection to biting or scratching. Since she had occasionally gone outside in Indianapolis we had her tested for toxoplasmosis among other infections — all of which came back clear.
Nonetheless keeping Roxanne around still represented a slight risk, however minimal. But ultimately the upside of having her around far outweighed any potential hazard she posed. To be sure we took every step possible to further minimize danger — we kept her out of the bed and I meticulously washed my hands after petting her while I was immunocompromised. Brooke also exclusively handled litter duties, though in the name of full disclosure that was no change from before.
Ultimately that minimal risk never manifest and Roxanne’s continued presence in our life proved hugely beneficial. She was an enormous comfort to Brooke when I was in the hospital for transplant. Later on she proved to be a wonderful companion while I was alone working from home this spring — first because of my immunocompromised state in the first 100 days then subsequently because of COVID.
A month or two after I passed the 100 day mark we let her back into bed and I stopped worrying when she hopped into my lap. Eventually I grew to happily anticipate her interrupting a remote readout by jumping into my lap and meowing — prompting multiple attendings to stop and ask “Is that a cat?”
Pets and stem cell transplant are a tricky combination. It certainly is of the utmost importance to eliminate or minimize any potential risk. But Roxanne’s love and companionship undoubtedly helped me through this immensely challenging last 12 months.
I’m not really one for ascribing things to fate or divine intention, but the fact Roxanne deteriorated so soon after my PET came back clear makes it hard to shake the feeling that she had fulfilled some greater purpose and was ready to move on. Roxanne lived a full life (12 years) full of love and affection but without her both Brooke and I would have had a lot harder time navigating the past year.
Rest in peace sweet Rox.
