Finally Home-Lessons on Life from a Free-Spirited Dog (18 page)

I was
apparently
functioning okay, even though I was exhausted, but still
I
could not get the breathing thing down.
I did not fear a
heart attack as I did not possess
any of the symptoms
that
I had read about (other than the elephant on my chest)
,
and my blood pressure was its normal low.
I did, however, fear a life
-
threatening disease and thought for sure that the end was near.

After about a week of suffering through this, I grudgingly decided to stop being stubborn
. With much hesitation, I ga
ve in and
went
to the doctor.
The
technician
took a few x-rays, listened to my breathing
,
and narrowed it down to pneumonia
. Once they had
prescribed some antibiotics
, they
sent me on my way.

I felt
that
this was a bit weird, as I was not coughing at all and aside from wanting to breathe, I did not feel sick.
I really did not feel like pneumonia was the correct diagnosis, but who was I to question it?
I did not have a degree in medicine like they did, so they must
have
know
n what they we
re talking about, right?

Two weeks
passed, and
I still could not breathe right.
The prescribed medicine did absolutely nothing.
I almost felt as if it made things worse than what they
were from when the symptoms had first occurred
.

Once
I went back to the doctor, they solemnly suggested
that
I see a pulmonologist, as they did not know what was showing on my lungs.
They took dozens of blood tests, x-rays, CAT scans, MRI’s, a tuberculosis test, and many breathing tests in which I always
tested okay.

Somehow, my oxygen level was perfect, yet I was still having these mysterious issues. The more frequently I had to visit the doctor, the crazier with panic I had become.
The doctor actually had textbooks
open
on his desk trying to
analyze
what was wrong with me. The CAT scans did show something, but no one knew exactly what it was
.

After six months of visiting doctors, laboratories, and technicians, my doctor mentioned that he thought I had B.O.O.P.
This was the acronym for some
obscure
lung disease that I had never heard of before
:
bronchiolitis obliterans organizing pneumonia.
He explained to me what it was, but
he
needed to put me under for surgery to get a definitive answer.

I had since cleverly nicknamed him Dr. Death.
For some reason, I
don’t think he was too appreciative of that.

I had successfully avoided surgery my entire life, so needless to say, I was extremely unhappy with
his preliminary prognosis and recommendation
.
I went to
visit
another doctor for a second opinion, but they agreed that ex
ploratory surgery was necessary
.

I
even tried to
lie to myself and say
that
I felt better, but when I had to stop to catch my breath just
from
walking down the hall
way
, I realized
that
I had no other choice.

The first surgery
required that a tube
with a camera
attached be inserted down
my throat
. This was
to
try and
see if there were any definitive clues explaining what was wrong with me.

They found nothing.

The doctors claimed that this was “somewh
at good news” because if it were
something bad, it would have easily shown up. I was happy about that, but I still had to endure the second surgery
which was considered to be
“
major exploratory surgery
”
to
achieve a proper diagnosis
.
There
was a biopsy taken from my lung, and
I was
kept
in the hospital for three days spending some time in the Intensive Care Unit.
I was terrified of what they might find.

It turned out that it was not B.O.O.P, but
a
lesser
-
known
and
just as undesirable disease, Sarcoidosis
:
a rare autoimmune lung disease that causes a type of inflammation in one or both lungs.
There are different strains, some worse than others.
No one knows what causes it
,
and no one knows how to cure it.
Sometimes it stays for life
,
and sometimes it disappears by itself.
Some people diagnosed with it live a normal life
,
and some people can die. When I acquired this information, I felt like I was in the middle of some sadistic type of nursery rhyme where the prime focus was to torture the person unlucky enough to read it.

When I
arrived
home from the hospital, I was prescribed a potpourri of medications.
I was to take a few doses of Vicodin to help ease the pain of the surgery, along with some Prednisone to reduce the inflammation.
Prednisone
wa
s like putting out a fire with gasoline; it cure
d
one thing but ha
d
the ability to create other
ailments
that are much worse.
Once home, I was supposed to rest for a week without doing anything strenuous.

To my astonishment, during that week
Buddy
did not jump
on me or scratch or demand to play fight.
He did not bark, cry
,
or complain at all.
He gently crawled on top of the couch
where I was sleeping
, not once coming close to my stitches
,
and still managed to lie on top of me.
Buddy was always a cuddle dog from day one.
He could not just lie next to you; he had to be as much as on top of you as he could.
During this time, he did not wake me up at all for the entire week and was gentle as a lamb.
As soon as I recovered, however, he returned back to his old relentless self.

There
are
certain body communication
s
that can be read by dogs
,
and Buddy
sensed
he had to be on his best behavior during that time.
I found it both sweet and amazing.
How did he know?

Similarly, reading his body language
wa
s just as easy.
One
morning
we were walking on a trail down the block from our new house.
Th
e
trail
went
for miles and miles and we were just coming back from a lengthy walk.
Normally, Buddy and Brandi get to roam free on this path, but this time I had them on the leash as two joggers were passing us and sometimes people g
ot
irritated if the dogs
we
re not properly restrained.
I took notice of the men jogging as they had their heads held high and looked kind of snooty.

Well, Buddy looked at the joggers
,
and as they passed, Buddy looked at me and then at his leash.
I laughed as I knew exactly what he wanted, so I rolled up the leash and handed it to him.
He happily took his leash
in his mouth
, and then in the funniest gait I ha
d
ever seen Buddy carry out, he jogged with his head held high following the same body posture of the joggers.
It
may
sound crazy, but if you knew him you would understand. Buddy was imitating the exact posture of the joggers.
He then turned back to me and gave me his leash. He just wanted to be a clown for a few minutes, the only way Buddy knew how.

Dogs possess such a profound innocence.
I mean this for all dogs.
They are never purposely malicious.
You can argue that dogs have been known to attack or even kill, and that is certainly true, but if you look at the circumstances
surrounding
those instances, there are usually l
egitimate reasons for it. T
ypically
, it is
because they are obeying their master and their master’s sick way of training
or
they are physically
sick. It could also be due to them being in the
wild
on their own for too long
and it is instinct to protect what is theirs
. They just
have not been taught otherwise.
Either way
,
it is never out of cold blood that a dog will attack, which is more than I can say for some people
.

Buddy ha
d
always been
on the
mischievous
side
, but
was
a
genuine
sweetheart with the best of intentions.
There
wa
s something about him which I have
never
figured out that ma
de
other dogs at ease with him.
It just ma
de
me
love him even more.
I have
read that if a dog is docile
, trainers will put more excitable dogs to be trained amongst the calm dog so the nervous
ones
feel at ease.
Well, Buddy
wa
s not a
mellow
dog
by any means
, yet other dogs love
d
to be around him.

An interesting situation presented itself b
ack in New York
. W
e were taking Buddy for a walk and we noticed this pit bull (which at the time, I thought were vicious) squirm under a broken picket fence
. He then ran at
top speed
toward
Buddy.
My heart was racing
,
and I was frantic for words.
I tried to advise Michael what to do, as I was the one holding Buddy, but I just
could not think fast enough
.
Part of me wanted Michael to try to get the owner; the other part of me wanted Michael to stay
to
fight off this crazed pit bull.
I was
frozen with panic
and thought for sure
due to
all of the pit bull hype that I
had
heard, that Buddy was as good as dead.

I looked at Buddy and
then
at this dog racing toward us and noticed one
simple
thing.
Buddy was
as
calm as ever.
His tail wagged, but he wasn’t jumping or barking.
He was just standing there nonchalantly smelling th
e grass. The two dogs’ meeting was so uneventful,
I was in disbelief.
The vicious pit bull came over and
smelled Buddy.
Buddy smelled the pit bull
and demonstrated the proper dog greeting. He
then went back to smelling the grass like they were old friends
enjoying a
summer walk.
Soon after, the pit bull
ran home and tumbled back under his broken fence.
That was my first real encounter with a pit
,
and I have loved them ever since.
Sure they can be vicious, but
as with all
dog
s
, bad training
is
the main reason for that.
Generally I have known them to be big mushes.
With any dog, you have to be careful as you do not know their temperament or how they were brought up
—
but isn’t that the same with people?

A few short months later, we had
another frightening
episode, this time featuring an Akita.
Again we had
taken
Buddy for a walk and saw this giant dog coming at us.