Howdies!

My name is Bryce, and I'm trying to raise funds to help with medical treatment for myself, and my best friend.

...but before we get to the sad stuff, let me first bring in some joy, by telling you about one of the greatest animals to ever bless a human...

Mr. Gray's story:

Mr. Gray is a wooly husky I took home from St. Tammany parish animal shelter in Lacombe Louisiana, January 8th, 2018. He was estimated to be aged 2 years at the time, and had been treated for heartworms and other parasites while at the shelter.

The employees at the shelter told me he was a "repeat offender", having been adopted once prior, and when picked up again the previous adopter could not be contacted. He was a bona fide street urchin!

The employees at the shelter also told me he had several visitors during his current incarceration, initially interested in him, but all had declined. This is something I still find hard to believe. When we first met, he ran up to me like I'd always been his, and was very keen to his environment, with a depth and intelligence in his eyes, such that it took me less than 2 seconds to say "I want him, but can you bathe him first?", (the kennel smell was no bueno, and his destiny was to ride as would a friend, not a beast). They were kind enough to bathe him before we went home.

Our first walk together was around the nearby pond at the shelter; I wanted to get a feel for if he'd ever had any experience walking on a lead, (he did not). The pond had ducks, which cut our walk short once he noticed them, because he absolutely wanted to "play with" them. He was like a crackhead watching someone else smoke it up, or a chihuahua watching someone eat a slice of pizza, until we got in the car.

That day, and ever since, he's been my ride or die, front seat passenger wherever I was allowed to take him.

He loves people. Everyone. His favorite person, is always the newest person in the room. I think he just really wants to grow our pack. He only snaps at other animals after enduring several minutes of harassment.

When he was able to go on extended walks, often in the middle of the night to avoid the heat, he would walk "on by" silently as fenced in dogs would go nuts barking at us. It always made me proud the way he'd stay quiet as the other dogs' owners would come outside and yell at theirs to be quiet until we'd walk out of range.

He only chewed on a shoe once, in our first week together. I told him no, that was bad, then replaced the shoe with a chew toy and literally never had another issue with him chewing the wrong things.

I tried crate training him for the first few weeks, and after the first few days, he'd run to the crate when I grabbed my work bag to leave, until one day, he didn't. I told him to "get in the hole!", and I could have sworn he actually told me "No!". I told him again to get the in hole, he shook his head, stomped his front paws and told me no again! Was this "animal" really arguing with me?

So we came to an agreement, if he "booped" me on the leg, or barked while we were inside, he needed to use the restroom. The crate got relegated to being a rusty piece of backyard art that night. We had years without bathroom incidents.

This dog is a genius, he learned several sign language commands within minutes each. He would go wherever I pointed in about a 10 foot radius, even if he had to jump to get there. He would bark on command if you did the puppet hand nom nom nom thing.

He's also very generous; If you lay down on the floor, he'll come lay by your head and let you use him as a pillow, (great for camping!).

Last year he was diagnosed with cancer, the vet found a tumor attached to his secum that had grown so large it was taking up stomach room preventing him from eating his normal amount. They removed it the same day and he was 'mostly' back to normal with a 1 yearish prognosis.

This year, he's still alive, however he's developed some new issues. He was found to have an enlarged liver, with globular growths and possibly Cushing's disease (test results haven't come back yet). He's supposed to receive regularly scheduled ultrasounds I can no longer afford.

He's somewhat incontinent now, and will occasionally urinate without realizing it. He no longer has the strength to bark, or consistently lift his rear end off the floor on his own, but will whimper quietly when he needs the to use the loo, or needs help standing up to go eat or drink.

I am with much love and sadness willing to adopt him out to anyone willing and able to pay for his future vet bills. He is my only source of peace in these times, but I want him to live and enjoy his life as long as he can, even if it's not me who gets the benefit of his companionship.

My story:

I'm a 52-year-old, single, cis-gender, white male, and for that, I apologize.

Somewhere around august 2023, I had my first stroke. Six months later, I was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer when they removed a 10cm tumor from my ascending colon. I went through 12 rounds of chemotherapy, and when that was finished, I was told the cancer was now stage 4, in my lymph nodes, and would eventually spread to other organs. I was also informed that their treatment goal going forward was now palliative, as opposed to curative.

They placed me on an immunotherapy treatment that was to last "until progression, or toxicity", and told me I had "a few years with treatment, less than a few without". It was suggested that I get my affairs in order, and make a will, or at least an advanced directive.

I accept my fate, and continue to remain positive by considering alternate perspectives such as... I'm already older than others who've died from similar diagnoses... everyone lives a random duration, my window is just now smaller than most.

I was still able to work, play, and (barely) afford the treatments, house note, car note, vet bills, etc.

A colleague I once counted as a friend, told me when I was first diagnosed, that I should set up a GoFundMe, but I did not, because of pride, but I would say that I felt donations would be better spent on those that weren't able to work.

After a year of the immunotherapy treatment (tri-weekly Keytruda infusions), I was diagnosed with diabetes. Though not "officially" confirmed to be the cause of mine, the Keytruda treatment often causes diabetes in cancer patients, (it's one of those, "the treatment is worse than the disease" sort of scenarios).

My introduction to diabetes began on a Friday (a Keytruda treatment day) where I was told my glucose was too high for the treatment, and had to be lowered with fluid IVs until they could release me. I was told I needed insulin but was not given a prescription for it. My primary doctor, instead of consulting with my oncologist or reviewing my chart and prescribing what I needed, offered me an appointment for the following Monday. So I spent the next three days (plus however many had come before) in what is known as "Diabetic Ketoacidosis", or DKA. That Monday, I saw the primary, got the prescription ordered, and it filled on Tuesday, but by then it was too late; my stomach had stopped letting anything pass through, my body was dissolving fat, leaking electrolytes, something about ketones, and engaged in all sorts of chaos, causing vomiting of even sips of water. Nearly dead, I spent that week in the ER and ICU until I was able to eat and return to work.

The severe DKA event 'may' have also have caused some heart damage. At the time of this writing, I am currently wearing a Holter Monitor, which is a mobile EKG device, due to two recent possible cardiac related events.

I went to my supervisor and my colleagues with concerns about being able to meet expectations with my current conditions, treatments and an inflexible work schedule, thinking under the Family Medical Leave Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act, I was protected and could get reasonable accommodations to continue working and contributing. This turned out not to be the case.

After the conversation with my colleagues and team leader, instead of receiving any reasonable accommodations, or helping to file a complaint on my behalf, a complaint was filed against me, based on "job performance". It was the kind of complaint that when you read it, you know there's nothing left for you there. It's laying the groundwork to get rid of you, containing some truth, partial truths, exaggerated truths, omitted truths, and falsehoods. I started reaching out to whomever else I could, trying to get someone to actually hear me, and though I may have actually found that someone eventually, it was too late.

Of course my performance was suffering; I had told them this myself, it's why I was asking for their help. Accommodations I had started with, were systematically stripped away (being able to work less than 40 hours on bad weeks and more than 40 hours on good weeks, being able to work remote from the cancer center during treatments or from home on weekends to make up time missed for medical appointments, assuming said work was able to be done remote).

Believe it not, I was even told at one point that if I used FMLA time for medical reasons, I was still required to make up the hours in the same week and on-site. So as you may be sensing by now, the second complaint did come in, and I was let go. 11 years, no severance.

I am currently seeking employment elsewhere, so if anyone reading this has an open position, doing (almost) anything, I would still prefer working to earn my own way over charity, (though keep in mind, I will still require a somewhat flexible schedule that can accommodate some weeks with multiple medical appointments).

This is my first time begging for money (unless you count panhandling for fun on the streets of New Orleans as a teenager). I'm not enthusiastic about it; I'm just a bit desperate.

I don't understand how proper begging works, because one thing I did learn on the streets of New Orleans, is that for some reason, people are more willing to give you money for booze than for food.

Perhaps to my detriment, I've always preferred honesty so I'll list what I'm afraid of:

1. Not being able to afford the insulin I need to survive day to day.

2. Losing Mr. Gray, my fuzzy buddy.

3. Missing my next mortgage payment

4. Missing my next vehicle payment.

5. Missing my cancer treatments.

Finite costs:

Mortgage payment: 650 per month

Vehicle payment: 600 per month

Infinite costs:

Insurance: 500-600 per month

Medicine and medical supplies: 200-300 per month if insurance can be maintained.

(Insulin Glargine, Insulin Aspart, Glimepiride, pen needle tips, alcohol prep pads, etc.)

Electricity: 100-200 per month.

Groceries: I don't even know.

Petrol: 75 per week, though probably a little less now without a job.

I'm assuming this is a long shot, but I figure maybe someone out there can sympathize with simple man and his amazing dog, struggling in a fight against the universe.

Thanks for listening.

~Bryce (also known as 'Blurred Memories' in some circles, ENC LFG anyone? ; )