27 February Razzle's Big Secret

Okay, I think I’ve figured it out. Razzle’s Big Secret. The thing that made him whiny and needy, now is making him anorexic and picky. It’s gotten so bad even Gordon Ramsey would say he’d gone over the top with his food demands. But you see, it’s all clear when you think about it. There’s a simple explanation for everything. As soon as you grasp this single fact, everything falls into place.

Razzle’s pregnant. Now, before your go running off to hide under facts like “he’s a boy” and other such nonsense, I can prove it. Of course, I haven’t slept in a few days and it’s possible my judgment’s a little shaky, but all that aside, I can back this up.

Coming back from Chemo on Tuesday last, I expected his appetite to be down. We were given an anti-nausea medication and an antibiotic (his white count is still about a third what it should be). I was told that they agreed his tummy was upset as he’d been eating grass, so I was to switch from Pepcid to Prilosec. What the heck, I’m of the “if Benadryl can’t cure you, you’re dead” school of medicine so, what do I know from antacids?

Anyway, I figured he’d be like he was the first few days last time (and he’d had surgery then, remember?). He didn’t want to eat much more than a few spoonfuls of peanut butter and lap at coconut water (an electrolyte Godsend by the way, it’s sweet and when we won’t touch anything else, he’ll lap down the coconut water). He worked his way up slowly and there was always peanut butter to stop gap us.

Well, the rules have changed. Even with anti-nausea medication AND Prilosec AND Pepcid AND feeding him in bed, the anorexia came out for a full blown brass and drum parade. Now, he wouldn’t touch anything and by Wednesday, peanut butter was off the menu. (What am I going to do with a CASE of organic peanut butter?)

His newest trick, when he doesn’t want to eat something, is to spit it out, then go to stand by the door as if to say, “if you make me eat this, I’m leaving”. Usually, in the past, if I could get a little taste of a food onto his tongue, he would then eat; it’s clear his sense of smell has been knocked into another ball park. But that's not working anymore.

So, I dithered, and went through FOUR kinds of dry dog food, peanut butter, cottage cheese, an omelet, a poached egg, toast, rice, poached chicken … well, the cupboard. Wouldn’t touch a thing and by Thursday he was living at the front door and most of his nutrition was by taking one bite of about twenty things. To top it all off, he’d stand in front of the kitchen entry, acting hungry, sitting down, waiting, as if to say, “I’ve ordered from the menu, and I have to keep sending the plate back because it’s not right – ‘you have to get real!’” So, I’m racking my brains and the cupboard feeling like I’m caught in some bizarre Canine Kitchen Nightmare.

Then, in the back of the cupboard on Friday I saw it. “Canned Pumpkin”. Now, we’d tried pumpkin in the past, before the Osteo and he wasn’t a fan; I mean, he ate it, but he’d eat anything and he’d leave bits of it in the bowl and look up at me with that “you can do better, Mom”, look.

But he ate the pumpkin. Spoon after spoon of it. It was very fragrant and that made me think. I went back to the cupboard and had a good long stare-and-think. I’d been giving him things for an upset tummy, but if what is wrong is his ability to recognize food by scent, I needed a food with a scent so powerful it would overwhelm his newly oh-so-picky nose (Mo has NOTHING on Razzle these days) and not be rejected as inedible, or tasting like metal.

And right there, on the stuff-I-never-use part of the shelf, were sardines.

Yep, sardines. Well, I used to love them, but since going Vegan, haven’t touched them. So out with the King Oscar and –

This is when I figured it out. He’s pregnant. Because only irrational hormonal cravings could possibly make you want to eat (or even look at) canned pumpkin and sardines. Or sardines, cottage cheese and pumpkin. They all have to be separate in the bowl, but while I’m feeding him (all right, while I’m hand feeding him) there has to be a variety and that’s the one that works. For now. For this minute. For this weekend.

Since I’m reliably informed he’s not pregnant, I have the dog with the strangest eating habits and shiniest coat in four counties.

I can’t wait until he’s past the lowered neutrophil phase and we can go back to Darwin’s – that at least I know he’ll eat, even when he’s not feeling well.

So, we do this at least two more times and if his system can manage it, four. They had decided to move his chemo from every three weeks to every four, hoping his white count would bounce back so they can continue the treatment.

But I’m running to the loo with a lurching stomach after every meal (which he has one about five times a day since he’ll only eat a little at a time). Something has to give here, and I’m fairly sure it’s going to be my stomach!

As long as he’s eating something, anything, pregnant or not, we win! And as you can see, our other victory this week was a full-blown, all by ourself, roach.

Ah, relaxed at last.

HURRAH!!