Isn't Cancer Enough? Skunks too?!?

This story dates back three weeks now ... but the odor of skunk still lingers at Casa Cooke ... and the pictures are too funny not to share.

We've had a dog for 8 years now. We live in the woods. In all that time, K-9 and skunk have never tussled ... until now. Molly (the Terrorist) Maguire Cooke and Pepe Le Pew had it out - big time!







 



   VS.













It didn't take long for us to figure out we'd been hit. And I mean WE - this might have "happened" to Molly, but we've all been suffering for it! It was 8:30 at night and we hear Miss Molly barrelling up the stairs. The dogs have a doggie door downstairs where they come and go as they please. Well, this night, Molly wanted inside in a bad way. On the way up the stairs, she's stumbling and making a racket. Plus, she's sneezing like crazy. Skunk in the nose. She was sneezing skunk spray out of her nostrils, all over my walls. Molly quickly reached the top of the stairs and Chris and I still didn't understand what her malfunction was.

That's when Molly ran into the den and promptly wiped her face on the Oriental rug, back and forth on either side of her snout, as if she had an itch she couldn't scratch. Instead, she was trying to abate the skunk spray all over her face. Then she ran to the second Oriental rug and did the same thing. Rub, rub, rub. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, Chris is in his chair. We're watching this whole spectacle with wide eyes. Then we look at each other, ready to laugh at Molly's bizarre behavior when it hits us - the smell. More than hit my nostrils, it hit my eyes. Burned my eyes and my lungs. But I was surprised at how much my eyes hurt (my eyeballs!!). Instantly we knew we were hit. Chris reacted with lightening speed, turning on his heel, opening the sliding glass door and ushering Molly outside onto the porch. Thank God. The 13 seconds she spent in the house would cost us $500 in carpet cleaning fees. I can't imagine what would have happened if she lingered inside any longer.

 

(Side note: I understand it's not politically correct to call Asian people Oriental. I did it once and some concerned adult scolded me and explained, "Only rugs are Oriental. People are Asian." She said I wouldn't want to anger any Asians by misnaming them. I've been sure not to make that mistake since. But this incident got me thinking, it is the same with rugs? What if I called Certified Carpet and said I had two Asian Rugs that I needed to be cleaned? Do you think the carpets would be offended? Would they roll-up in protest of being called Asian, rather than Oriental? I don't know. But I like these rugs and with the skunk incident, they've been through a lot already. So I don't think I'll test my theory. These are the thought I have while I'm in the shower. Weird.)

 

Anyway ... We'd been skunked. Of course, Barlie wasn't skunked directly, but her fur was definitely guilty by association. Only the girls will know what happened out there in the woods of Cooke Corner. All the people knew was that they stunk to high heavens.

 

I said we should bring them to the Dog Wash place. Chris looked at his watch, noted it was 8:30 pm and that the Dog Wash placed probably closed in a half hour. He also may or may not have mentioned that he had 3 beers and was too tipsy to drive ... or care that much at that moment. His solution: lock the dogs outside for the night.

 

I played along with that plan until about midnight. We had been in bed for about an hour. The dogs had been outside for about 4 hours. These are not Outside Dogs. They are Inside, Sleep in Your Bed Dogs. They sometimes camp out over night in an indoor/outdoor kennel when we travel to Blooming Grove. But that's also at the height of summer. Say 70 degree nights. While Chris gently snored, sleeping fine after locking his daughters outside, I quietly hit the Weather Channel App on my I-pad and tried to shield the light of the computer from Chris' eyes. It was 29 degrees. I crept out of bed, tip toed to the back door and let the girls inside. I could tell it was cold because my bare feet were freezing on the flagstone, my ball head was catching a chill and the water bowl I set outside for the dogs had just the thinnest layer of ice on it. I backed into the house, carrying the ice-cold water bowl, closed the laundry room door and cordoned off the dogs in the only space acceptable for them to stay while still "skunked." They weren't thrilled about not having the run of the house, but the laundry room was better than outside or the garage. I slipped back into bed, laid my cold head on the pillow and look over at my husband: still sound asleep. I set my alarm for 5:00am. I would wake up before Chris and let the dogs back outside, making it look like they spent the whole night out there. I took a deep breath and thought, "Geez God. They say You never give anyone more than they can handle. But cancer AND skunks. I really think we're pushing it!"

 

Promptly at 5, I woke up and sent the girls outside. Chris woke up at 6 and noticed the girls on the front porch and remarked that they had survived the night. Sure, as far as he knows. The best part about this post is Chris will never read it. He doesn't read the blog. He has no idea what I write here. So it's our little secret, okay? ;-)

 

The next day, AJ graciously drops off a dog cleaning solution. I scrub the girls down with his recipe. I leave them drying outside. They are shivering. When Chris gets home, we take them to the Dog Wash for Bath #2. This is in Kendig Square. There's a new pet shop. Ironically, Chris and I had visited the shop the week before, just to see what they had. At that visit, I had noted the large baths in the back of the store. The clerk said, "It's the Dog Wash. It's only $10." I was like, wow - that's great! Picking up on my enthusiasm, he let me know it was self-serve. Oh, I said, I get it, no wonder it's only $10, you're doing all the scrubbing yourself.

 

Well that what we did two weeks later. Scrubbed the dogs ourselves. We were a sight for sore eyes. Chris and I in our rubber aprons. The dogs miserable being washed twice in the same day. Customers came through and commented on our plight. We must have looked pathetic. Me, bald, with my apron on, sleeved rolled up, yellow kitchen gloves on, shampooing a miserable creature. Onlookers offered their condolences on our being skunked. Everyone said you should use Tomato Juice. This is also what I had been saying since they got sprayed. But instead we opted for the Nature's Miracle Skunk Deodorizer that the store sold. The only miracle was that I didn't flip out when we got to register and found out the solution was like $22. Tomato juice is like $1.49.

 

I took these pictures to mark the occasion:

 

Chris seems kinda into it. Molly's is cursing the skunk.

 

Most of the stink was concentrated around the ear and head region. Gotta really get in those ears.

 

Not at all Molly's idea of a fun Friday night.

 

Barlie put on a good show. Didn't mind the shampoo but really hated the blow dry.

 

It's been three weeks. We now refer to Molly as Stinkus Face. If you kiss her on the head like this you will still get a whiff.

 

It's amazing what you do for creatures when you love them. I guess that's why Chris still puts up with me!

 

All Clear

Every single test was negative. Thank you God.
I felt stressed and anxious last week. However, all the emotions were worth it in the end to hear that there is no cancer in my brain. Plus, the imaging showed no cancer at all - which is simply because the little bit I have left is too small to see. I think that's a good thing - better than finding a big old tumor somewhere we weren't expecting. And it just confirms that we are dealing with microscopic cells. We just have to get rid of them.

Mommy was so helpful and reassuring. She laughed when I made jokes, cried with me when I cried. She drove me all over Lancaster even though she didn't know exactly where she was going. She did the laundry, cooked all the meals and (as only mom's can do) kept demanding that I lay down. So I did.

The Spinal Tap itself was fine. I was so worked up I was crying in the procedure room. The young, beautiful girl who was the radiologist's tech was like, "Are you ok?" I said I was nervous and that I hate pain and didn't want it to hurt too much. She reassured me saying she sees so many of these, they barely hurt and I would be fine. I thought - of course that's what you say. What were her other options while I was sobbing on the procedure table? "This test sucks, hurts like a bitch and the guy might fuck it up and paralyze you." That answer wasn't likely.

Still, she was right. It was totally fine. I had to lay on my belly. He numbed my lower back up. They say, "A little pinch then a burn." And it burns alright. But I get stuck by needles so often now, and most injections burn as they push the meds in, that "pinch and burn" is nothing. The funniest part to me was the use of good old gravity to deliver as much spinal fluid as necessary. The table I was laying on actually tips up and has a foot plate on the bottom. So once the needle was in they tipped the table so I was practically standing up. That helps the spinal fluid drain out. Fancy that.

When it was done, I felt stupid for crying. The pretty girl even said to me "That wasn't so bad, right?" I had to agree with her. Bitch. Just kidding. They wheeled me back upstairs and the first thing I said to my Mom was "Piece of cake." She was so relieved.

Now there's this thing called the Spinal Headache. I heard about it from other people. It was supposed to be excruciating. Someone said to me, if you drink a lot of fluids it helps the body replenish the spinal fluid they took out and you can avoid this dreaded headache. So I'm sucking down water, soda, whatever - as much as I can. They also make you lay perfectly flat for two hours after the procedure so your body can heal the hole in your back and keep the spinal fluid from leaking out. I do as the doctor orders.

Thursday night, find. I lay flat the whole rest of the night. Friday, a little achy. Trying to lay mostly flat. Friday night, not good. Bad upper back pain - like shooting pain and a little head throbbing. My mom is feeding me ibuprofen like it's candy. Saturday, I feel like death. Sitting up eating breakfast, I think being stabbed would probably feel better than I felt then. Head is throbbing, my back is still causing shooting pains. This is not right, not norma. Now, my mom is leaving Saturday morning. My husband is seeing all the classic signs of a Spinal Headache. Mom's wheeling her suitcase out to the driver to take her to the airport. Chris is loading me in the car to take me to the hospital.

I needed a Blood Patch. You cannot make this shit up. I live with a physician and stealing Katie's line, "I'm only like 5 or 6 years away from my medical degree at this point," and I have never heard of a Blood Patch. Basically, it's ANOTHER Spinal Tap, then they take your own blood, inject it in your back and it plugs the hole where spinal fluid is leaking out. The first thing I say is, "But my back is not wet. I don't think there's spinal fluid leaking out." Ok, so I'm still a medical school freshman for sure, because they laugh at me and say no - it doesn't actually leak out of your body, is just leaks out of the derma into the other tissue nearby. So I don't know if my gallbladder got some extra spinal fluid this weekend, all I know is it hurt.

The anesthesiologist runs through the risks and glazes over possible loss of the use of your legs as if it was just another side effect they mention during a Cialis commercial (if you have an erection lasting more than 4 hours you should see your doctor - no shit!) So my ears perked up at "loss of the use of your legs" and I stopped her there. She said, yes, one of the risks is a small chance of paralysis with a Blood Patch. But without it, it could take up to two weeks for the Spinal Headache to go away. I was like - ok, my running days are over - paralysis would suck - but this headache will be the death of me anyway - so let's do this. Nothing like weighing the risk/reward ratio while your skull feels like it might split open.

This time I sit up and lean over, curving my back. The doctor performs a spinal tap for the second time in three days, Chris draws blood from my arm, she then shoots it in my back (which hurt like a bitch - like a lot a lot.) And then it was done. Thirty minutes later I felt like a new woman - and I could still feel my legs. I'd say that was a win/win. Plus with all negative test results, what's an extra Spinal Tap or two? I'll do anything to be cancer free.