‘Now, it’s Fifi’s turn. Fifi, who has lost her senses but navigates her surroundings with determination and behaves with unobtrusive gentleness’‘Now, it’s Fifi’s turn. Fifi, who has lost her senses but navigates her surroundings with determination and behaves with unobtrusive gentleness’An unexpected aspect of being an oncologist is being approached for advice about pets with cancer. Bruno, Marco, Maisie, Ziggy, Chloe, Tiger, Muppet, Jessie, Bella, Buddy, Johnny, Wilfred.
Now it’s Fifi’s turn. Fifi, who has lost her senses but navigates her surroundings with determination and behaves with unobtrusive gentleness, never one to bark at guests or nose her way into their laps. Fifi’s liver is heaving with cancer and the bloods are dire. Decisions weigh on her owners. To treat or palliate. How to gauge pain and define suffering. What is the right thing to do by a beloved pet?Entering the room, I feel the gaze of hope and note with dismay the average age of the room.
I don’t know of a similar trial in dogs but, with chemotherapy replaced by abundant love and meticulous care, Fifi survives one week, two weeks and then three. She nibbles at food, responds to voices and seeks sunshine! The family is cautiously thrilled, and I stay humbled by a physician’s limited powers of prognostication in humansFifi lives a full two months after her diagnosis, comfortably and amicably.