Well, the test results came through last night ….

and the vet who performed the amputation rang to tell me.

“Well,” she started, brightly, “it wasn’t cancer.”

For a sickening moment my stomach flipped and I felt bereft.  Had I agreed to have Rowan’s leg taken off for no good reason?

But then she went on to explain that the experts at the pathology lab had said that Rowan had suffered from a very rare congenital bone defect, in which the blood vessels serving that part of his leg were misplaced, and that a large clot had formed.  If that had detached itself then he would almost certainly have suffered a fatal stroke.  And in any case, even ignoring the pain he was in already, the existence of the blood vessel was stopping the bone renewing itself properly, and eventually the weakened bone would have fragmented, resulting in a lot of pain and the need for an emergency amputation, with all its attendant trauma.  So, it seems that we did the right thing, albeit for the wrong reasons.  Which is fine by me.

The condition is rare .. the vet said she’d heard of it but never actually come across it before.  She is reading up on the available literature to help inform next steps … and what to watch for.

So this explains why the biopsy and xrays were all inconclusive … there was certainly something going on, but nobody was sure what.  Because greyhounds are noted for OS, that was a reasonable supposition.  That it turned out to be a bone defect of this sort is, as far as I am concerned, the best possible outcome.  It means no need for chemo, and we can press on with planning a regime for his rehabilitation.

So, how is Rowan now?  Well, the dog I look at as I type is almost back to his old self.  He is becoming very adept at getting up and lying down, and at judging just where he needs to position himself to get comfortable on his beds or the sofa.  He’s going out to toilet as he needs … no hanging on until it becomes an urgency!  He tires quickly, and he’s not up for playing with Willow yet, but he is becoming more assertive with her again … “This is MINE!” and he’s responding to the sounds of dogs barking three fields over as he used to.

On Monday the staples came out, and that night I slept in the next room … Rowan cried for a drink at 01.00 and then unmistakably asked to go out at 03.00.  Whereupon he dashed across the courtyard and up the flight of stone steps to the orchard with me scrambling into slippers and grabbing a torch in his wake.  It was pitch black outside, and there was a heavy mist … think “Hound of the Baskervilles” … we’re on the Exmoor foothills here … and I stood shivering in my cotton nightie, getting soaked to the skin.

Last night my husband slept downstairs.  He heard Rowan moving about, but didn’t get up to him and Ro was fine this morning.  So almost back to normal, although we have taken to piling pouffes and side tables on the sofas to keep him on his bedding on the floor.  It’s the warmest room in the house in the winter, the walls are 3′ deep and there’s a cast iron woodburner in there, so I may need to acquire a fireguard.  We’ll see.  Though he’s no longer doing the mad flailing pony impressions of the first few days post amp.  The dressings and bandages are all off and he’s wearing a T shirt under the Ruff Wear harness, both in a fetching shade of red.

We’re having a late heatwave here in the UK, it’s forecast to continue until the weekend, but today has been impossible sunny with clear Disney blue skies and the garden full of late summer butterflies and dragonflies darting amongst the verbena and Japanese Anenomes.  The apple harvest is the stuff of legend … as are the numbers of drunken dozy wasps lolling amongst the piles of windfalls.

Rowan and I sat out on the orchard lawn with the cats and basked in the sunshine, whilst Willow barked and leaped at those woodpigeons with the temerity to perch in the tallest apple trees and coo at her.  I’ve had a lovely day today.  I know I am so lucky to live in one of the most beautiful parts of England and I give thanks for the day and the companions I find myself with.  I’m counting blessings, not legs!

Thanks for listening.