We are driving to Orange County for Na'ilah's first of three megadoses of radiation.
The back seat of the car is folded down, affording her plenty of space. She mostly wants to stand and look out the window, but she does lie down for 20 minutes here and there.
We arrive at the Veterinary Cancer Group, which turns out to be on Edinger Avenue across the street from the Marine Corps Air Station, built in 1942 with two huge hangar to house blimps. Wide open space is all around us.
I take Na'ilah in, and she is taken away for the radiation treatment.
As I wait for an hour and a half, I study all the vitamins and fancy dog foods and photos and advertisements in the lobby.
There are even offers for in-home euthanasia, elegant pet cemeteries, and hand-blown glass urns for your pet's ashes. They probably get a lot of business from here.
I brought a book, but the other owners in the waiting room are eager to strike up a conversation. I find myself with a well-dressed married couple in their '70s from San Clemente and a woman in her fifties from Oceanside. They both have golden retrievers named Haley, one doing 22 treatments and one doing 15, five days per week.
I've got it easy with just three trips to Orange County.
Na'ilah returns with a plastic cone around her head to keep her from licking the radiated area.
"The skin covering a tumor treated with radiation therapy can become dry and flaky or moist and red, somewhat like a severe sunburn," advises the post-treatment handout.
"We don't want her to irritate it any more," explains the medical assistant.
At the front desk, I ask if I need to pay anything today. I'm thinking maybe $500, a third of the total amount.
"A deposit of $1621," says the clerk.
Wow--the whole amount. And that's just a deposit.
In comparison, the drive home is uneventful.
For more photos, see:
https://picasaweb.google.com/102150538747404124091/2013NaIlahSFirstRadiation
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| Afterward, Na'ilah on the drive home |
The back seat of the car is folded down, affording her plenty of space. She mostly wants to stand and look out the window, but she does lie down for 20 minutes here and there.
We arrive at the Veterinary Cancer Group, which turns out to be on Edinger Avenue across the street from the Marine Corps Air Station, built in 1942 with two huge hangar to house blimps. Wide open space is all around us.
I take Na'ilah in, and she is taken away for the radiation treatment.
As I wait for an hour and a half, I study all the vitamins and fancy dog foods and photos and advertisements in the lobby.
There are even offers for in-home euthanasia, elegant pet cemeteries, and hand-blown glass urns for your pet's ashes. They probably get a lot of business from here.
I brought a book, but the other owners in the waiting room are eager to strike up a conversation. I find myself with a well-dressed married couple in their '70s from San Clemente and a woman in her fifties from Oceanside. They both have golden retrievers named Haley, one doing 22 treatments and one doing 15, five days per week.
I've got it easy with just three trips to Orange County.
Na'ilah returns with a plastic cone around her head to keep her from licking the radiated area.
"The skin covering a tumor treated with radiation therapy can become dry and flaky or moist and red, somewhat like a severe sunburn," advises the post-treatment handout.
"We don't want her to irritate it any more," explains the medical assistant.
At the front desk, I ask if I need to pay anything today. I'm thinking maybe $500, a third of the total amount.
"A deposit of $1621," says the clerk.
Wow--the whole amount. And that's just a deposit.
In comparison, the drive home is uneventful.
For more photos, see:
https://picasaweb.google.com/102150538747404124091/2013NaIlahSFirstRadiation
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