Fanconi Syndrome, Part 1

One of my favorite movie scenes is from City of Angels with Nicholas Cage. This film alludes to the ancient hierarchy that assigns personal angels [lowest on the list of nine "breeds"] to individual people. The scene I like so much occurs during a liquor store robbery when two angels, invisible to the human participants, approach the clerk and thief and direct the flow of action as if they were moving energy in a T'ai Chi exercise.

I am not necessarily a Christian [too much exposure to too many religions, alas], and I truly believe that God is way too busy to involve himself in the daily affairs of either grasshoppers or humans, but every now and then, I feel the gentle guidance, the slight push, the nudge in a particular direction represented by the angels in the movie. The clerk could have antagonized the robber and gotten pistol whipped; the robber could have panicked for a different reason and fired the gun. Both men had free will, or so the scene suggests, but both had divine promptings that navigated them successfully through the ordeal.

I bring up this scene because I felt nudged the day I received the URGENT email asking for help fostering Java. I felt that ineffable prompting to respond. I didn't know why, but I felt [and I am typically an I-think kind of girl] compelled by something outside myself to answer. It turned out that in one way, it's a good thing I did.

The day that the coordinator dropped Java off, she said that she had observed him drinking and peeing frequently. Off hand, she said, "If you have test strips, you might want to check his urine." A basenji person knows immediately what would prompt this statement: the possibility of Fanconi syndrome, a rare condition that any mammal can get but quite prevalent from a genetic flaw in the basenji breed. Depending on the source, 10 to 15 of every 100 basenjis will develop Fanconi syndrome. The initial symptom is sugar in the urine, detected by dipping test strips for human diabetics into a fresh sample of dog pee. Java was guestimated to be a year old, and Fanconi typically kicks in at 3+ years of age. He was probably drinking as a sign of nerves, but it didn't hurt to test.

Basenji owners are supposed to test their dogs once a month because the earlier the disease is caught, the less damage there is to the kidneys. But like lots of things a person is supposed to do [save for retirement, avoid eating bacon cheese burgers, take the car in for an oil change every 5,000 miles], I didn't test my dogs every month. Checking Java's urine was a good excuse to test Yo-Yo and Bug's as well.

Imagine my shock when Yo-Yo's test strip started changing color.

Luckily, basenji folks are a well organized group. I have known as soon as I started researching the breed on the internet [after Yo-Yo's purchase, not before as basenji people would hope] that Fanconi syndrome was a possibility in her future and that a treatment protocol existed for handling the disease. I had long ago bookmarked the protocol in the "basenji" folder in Favorites; this time I read it with real interest, not just scanning as I had in the past.

I made a list of the recommended tests that Yo-Yo should have and visited my vet's office to make the appointment in person and explain my suspicions. This practice has three doctors: There is the Old Man who believes that a shot of cortisone will cure anything. He is actually Yo-Yo's favorite, but he's really only good for the yearly exam and shots because he long ago lost interest in diagnosis. The Old Woman, the most popular of the three, the only doctor that Bug hasn't tried to bite, has school so far in her past that I worried she would view a Fanconi diagnosis as The End and not be receptive to the protocol. Then there's the Young Snot, dismissed many times by clients, I'll bet, because of her age. But she had attended veterinary college at a time when there was a successful strategy for turning the disease into a manageable, chronic condition. So I made the appointment with Dr. Young Snot and left a copy of the protocol and tests I needed with the tech.

What happened at that visit will be the subject of the next post, for I have decided to chronicle each stage of Yo-Yo's progress with the disease here. Two really good stories about Fanconi syndrome and basenjis already exist on the web. One of them tells of a female dog who made it to 14.5 years of age on the protocol; the other is a story of a male who lives on the protocol still. I think regular updates of Yo-Yo's status—especially specific information about prices of tests and blood gas levels, what she's eating and how's she's responding to the protocol—will contribute to the overall instructional value of the web. God knows, neither of the two stories that currently exist prepared me for everything that happened the two weeks after that initial test strip started turning brown.

Java Update, no. 2

My cancer treatment included radiation to my head. My oncologist warned me that I would lose my sense of taste, emphasizing that this loss would be difficult to tolerate. I could imagine loss of taste, as could my doctor who had only observed people coping with the deprivation. I remember thinking, "Well, that will be weird, but I can do anything for six weeks." In reality, absence of taste was completely demoralizing. I lost so much weight that my doctor threatened to insert a feeding tube into my stomach. I tricked the nurses by filling my pockets with keys and coins and not peeing until after I got on the scale each day.

I not only lost my sense of taste but also had to tolerate the sour radiation burn. I kept convincing myself that a specific food item would clear my mouth. If I only had a bottle of Coke over ice, for example, I'd feel better. If I only had a Ring Ding, all would be well. But the Coke and the Ring Ding, neither of which my tongue recognized, only depressed me because they didn't do what I'd hoped, rid my mouth of the burn. Before radiation, I understood intellectually what absence of taste must be like; after radiation, I had a full body knowledge of it. On the last day of zapping, the techs congratulated me. Apparently most patients getting radiation to this part of the body bail long before they complete treatment. Believe me, I knew why.

On Monday, Java's "forever dad" arrived to take Java to his "forever home." When I first agreed to foster him—before he even arrived—I imagined that I would get attached and then be sad to see him go. But again, this was an intellectual understanding of how I would feel. I wasn't prepared for the full-body sadness that consumed me as I handed over the leash, watched his new owner lift him into the SUV and drive off. I no longer controlled how often he would get walked, whether his time would be spent free of a crate, if he would get smacked for bad behavior or squirted with water. He was such a dynamo that the house seemed too quiet, too empty without him in it. The loss wasn't an idea in my head but a heaviness in all of my limbs.

Today I washed the sofa covers and kitchen floor, both of which Java had dirtied with muddy paw prints. I vacuumed up the fuzz that he had pulled off the tennis balls, the stray pieces of stuffing he had loosed from all of the stuffed toys. I threw the Nylabones into the toy chest. I imagine that Yo-Yo and Bug will ignore them now; they no longer have a puppy to steal them from, no puppy to torment as they gnaw the bones leisurely just out of reach. I won't miss all of the extra house work, but I do mourn the loss of that sweet soul, as does Bug, who let Java chew on his head so often that he now has bald spots above his eyes. Yo-Yo, however, seems satisfied that the house no longer includes Java nipping at her heels, trying to get her to play. Vaya con dios, Little Man.

It turns out that Java played a very important role around here, but I'll get to that in the next post.

Dear Melissa Etheridge

I am a big enough fan that I purchased your iTunes Originals, even though I already owned all of the songs on CDs. I really enjoyed the spoken explanations and histories for each track interwoven with the music. One of your comments about "You Can Sleep While I Drive" really struck me: You said, "I never expected anything from that song ... but audiences would love it when I sang it. It was never released as a single ... it was never a hit on the radio or anything ... but it was a hit with my fans."

I think I can explain why people like that particular song so much and why other artists have covered it: The song illustrates the opening sequence of stages a potential hero must complete in the Joseph Campbell hero cycle. Campbell believed that everyone is prewired to recognize these stages—in stories, movies, or even songs—because the cycle resides in our collective unconscious.

Campbell believed that every human being, whether a Regular Joe like me or a mythological person like Achilles from the Trojan War or Ripley from Aliens, is meant to begin a journey of growth during which an old self will "die," allowing the "birth" of a more evolved being. This journey has three distinct portions, departure, initiation, and return. During departure, the potential hero must complete five stages. First, she receives a call to adventure. Next, she initially refuses the call, wanting to avoid change and secure her old, familiar life. Supernatural aid, the third stage, is the entrance of a wise figure, often bearing amulets of power, who guides the potential hero at the beginning of the adventure. The hero wannabe then crosses the first threshold, the demarcation between her known life and the realm of the mysterious journey, and enters the belly of the whale, an existence where entirely new challenges await. "You Can Sleep While I Drive" illustrates all of these stages.

As the singer, you first make the call to adventure, beckoning the one sung to, the potential hero, to begin the journey: "Come on, baby, let's get out of this town ..." Obviously, the one sung to is resisting this call. Despite your offer to let her sleep while you drive, you see that the potential hero has a "mist that covers [her] eyes," a reluctance to accompany you. So you next step in as her supernatural aid, offering as amulets of power the fully gassed convertible, money for expenses, a plan for the trip, all with your guidance as the driver behind the wheel.

People want supernatural aid, even though the appearance of such a person in their lives indicates new challenges and change. That's why the hard to please Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid, Obi Wan Kenobi of Star Wars, or John Locke of Lost are such compelling characters. They demand that their heroes-in-training work hard and become more fully human than they currently are. The real woman who inspired this song might have resisted your call, but fans listening to the offer would hop right in. Gay fans who have seen your real-life leadership in coming out, raising a family, and fighting breast cancer would be especially quick to recognize your voice as supernatural aid, authentic with real experience, and respond to the call that is the song.

Leaving "this town" is crossing of the first threshold, Tuscan the beginning of a journey where the routine of daily life gives way to the unexpected adventures along the road.

I played "You Can Sleep While I Drive" to my students after we discussed the departure portion of the hero cycle. Since the song did not get airplay as a single, many of them had never heard it before but immediately responded, as they should have, prewired as they are for recognizing the stages of departure. I followed with "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses, the best belly of the whale song, to show that once the adventure begins, the hero is so not in Kansas anymore.

Anyway, it makes perfect sense to me that this song is a favorite, not only of yours but also of your fans. God knows, you have been supernatural aid in my life for many years, and I wouldn't hesitate to jump right into that vehicle—if only to drive to the corner Starbucks for an iced latte.

Best,
Sparky