Cat Lindsay

In addition to that LONG update: The $4,000 we’ve raised here on GoFundMe has already been exhausted on Banjo’s surgery back in July. We’re basically back down to square one, which is why the goal was increased to $20,000. We’re doing everything we can to put our own money into this, of course, and we have. We’re doing local fundraising as we can, too. Receipts/Invoices will be uploaded in an update soon! ♥️

Hello, everyone! It’s been a long time since I updated here. You’re definitely owed one. Most of our updates are over on my Instagram page (@cottoncreekhome), but here’s the update I shared the other day: Banjo had his first appointment with NC State Veterinary Medicine Medical Oncology this week. I don’t really know how to talk about it. I’ve tried all week to put it into words for you all. I think I’m still numb. I didn’t film much. I was trying to be present. I wanted to pay attention to Banjo & listen to every single thing they told us & ask all the questions in my head & write things down & absorb as much as I possibly could & just be there with him. It was a good appointment, I think. There was actually a lot of good news, considering the circumstances. His blood sugar is staying really stable on prednisone, which they said is actually pretty unusual for their insulinoma patients. He’s feeling good & eating & walking & still very much himself. They don’t think he needs to start diazoxide right now because what we’re doing is working. And, thankfully, his bloodwork showed that he’s okay to undergo anesthesia for his CT scan in October. There are even some things that we can do. So, why don’t I feel better? Maybe because you can have good news about a terminal illness and somehow still leave the hospital completely heartbroken, or because none of the good news changes the fact that my best friend has cancer. There’s still a 6cm metastatic mass sitting at the root of his mesentery that couldn’t be safely removed because of where it is and what could happen if they tried. There’s still cancer in my boy’s body that I cannot see, cannot feel, and cannot fix. I hate it. I hate it so, so much. I’ve spent the past few months learning words I never wanted to know. Insulinoma, metastatic, neuroendocrine carcinoma, mesenteric root, radiation planning. I never wanted to know any of this. We have his CT scheduled for October 5th to get a better look at his chest and abdomen, and we’re going to talk more about radiation depending on what they see. It’s a special kind of targeted radiation called Stereotactic Radiation Therapy (SRT). Radiation won’t cure him, but it could potentially shrink that 6cm mass in his tummy or slow it down. Chemo is still an option, too. They talked to us about Palladia, which is an oral chemotherapy given 3 times a week. It’s something he could potentially stay on long term if he tolerates it, but it comes with its own risks and side effects and would cost us around $660-$880 every month. This is somehow the cheapest chemo option, too. We decided to wait on starting it until we have the CT results and know more about what we’re actually fighting. Banjo’s liver values have gotten significantly higher. His ALP, ALT, AST, and GGT are all markedly elevated, along with his cholesterol. The oncologists don’t know why yet. It could potentially be related to cancer spreading to his liver, it could be one of the supplements he’s taking, it could be the Prednisone, or it could be something completely different like inflammation. So for now, we’re monitoring it and hopefully the CT gives us more answers. His urine did show some protein, so they ran another test called a UPC. That was elevated too but because Banjo has benign prostate enlargement and his kidney values are great, they don’t know yet whether this is actually a kidney issue or something related to his prostate. They’ll probably want to monitor that going forward, too. Despite all of that, his CBC showed no reason that he can’t safely undergo anesthesia for his CT. So, we somehow left with more answers & more questions & a plan. We have a plan. October 5th is the CT scan, radiation planning, continuing prednisone, still feeding every 4 hours, checking blood sugar. We’re keeping his Myos muscle supplement because they feel it has been helping with his hind leg weakness, but they don’t want us adding any more supplements without approval because some supplements can potentially contribute to abnormal liver values. We’re just waiting again & I don’t know how to be good at waiting when the thing I’m waiting on is my dog’s life. Of course there’s the money, too. I don’t even know how to talk about this part without feeling like I’m whining, but we need help. I’m not working, I’m newly disabled and trying to figure out what the hell my own life is supposed to look like now, while Jacob is working full time and then some just to keep our normal life going. But add cancer treatment on top of that. The CT alone is expected to be around $3,000-$5000 if we add radiation planning, still $3,000-$4,000 without. Palladia is another $660-$880 a month. Radiation, the most beneficial thing if he’s eligible, would be $8,000-$9,000 for a 2-4 week protocol. (This is the total that includes every. single. day. for 2-4 weeks.) And all of this is before you even start talking about the regular visits, bloodwork, medications, additional imaging, special diet, travel, or anything else that comes along with this. I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but I know we’re going to try, and we need all of the help we can get. We’re working on a benefit auction for Banjo right now, and we’re trying to figure out whether an in-person event, an online auction, or some combination of the two makes the most sense. I’m reaching out to businesses and friends who might be willing to help. Asking for help is so hard for me. I’m very stubborn and prideful in that way; I’d much rather figure it out myself. But I can’t this time. I don’t know what else to say right now. I feel like I’ve been living in an alternate universe for the last 3 months and none of this feels real. I’m heartbroken & scared & exhausted & just really, really sad. But I’m so, so grateful for everyone who’s checked on us, shared Banjo’s story, donated, sent messages, cried with me, prayed for him, rooted for him, or just followed along and cared about my boy. Seriously. I read your messages & I see every share. I notice every person who asks how he’s doing (and who don’t). I know there are people out there who have never met Banjo and love him anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to properly explain what that means to me. We have a long road ahead of us and I’m going to have to get real comfortable with asking for help, which is just absolutely not my favorite thing in the world, but thank you to everyone who has pushed me and encouraged me to do so. ♥️ Thank you for being here & caring about him & caring about us. That’s all I’ve got tonight.

As I write this, our favorite boy, Banjo, is hospitalized and being monitored while we search for answers. Early this morning, we rushed Banjo to Carolina Veterinary Specialists after he suddenly became lethargic, confused, weak, and disoriented. He was stumbling and bumping into things and acting as though he couldn’t see well. His gums and tongue were pale, and he seemed completely unlike himself. He didn’t care about the car ride. He didn’t react to unfamiliar people handling him. Anyone who knows Banjo knows that alone was enough to tell us something was seriously wrong. After his initial exam and bloodwork, we received frightening news: Banjo was severely hypoglycemic. His blood sugar was in the 30’s, which is low enough to cause seizures, loss of consciousness, and other life threatening complications. A normal dog his size should be in the 90-110 range. Numbers this low don’t happen from a late breakfast or a skipped meal. It would generally take days without food to reach levels like these. The next step was additional diagnostics, interesting x-rays and a urinalysis. By this point, our total had already reached approximately $1200-$1500. Unfortunately, the results didn’t give us many answers. His urine looked normal. There was no evidence of infection, blood, or dehydration. The x-rays showed what the veterinarian described as a “massive” prostate, along with a small cluster of tissue that may be enlarged lymph nodes. While those findings are concerning, they don’t explain the severe hypoglycemia. At this point, the possibilities range from treatable to devastating. The enlarged prostate could be benign prostatic hyperplasia. It could be an abscess that isn’t yet showing up in his bloodwork. It could be cancer. Another possibility is an insulinoma — a tumor of the pancreas that causes dangerously low blood sugar. In dogs, most insulinomas are malignant and often shorten life expectancy. Right now, we simply don’t know. To get answers, Banjo needs two additional tests: an insulin-to-glucose ratio test and an abdominal ultrasound, along with continued hospitalization and overnight monitoring to keep him stable. Our total is now estimated at $3000-$4000, 75% of which is due at time of admission and the remaining due at discharge. This estimate assumes Banjo only needs one night in the hospital. If his blood sugar remains unstable or his condition requires longer monitoring, his stay could extend, increasing costs further. If testing confirms something like an insulinoma, we could also be facing significantly more expenses ahead. The veterinarian explained that surgery, if he’s even a candidate, could cost anywhere from $8,000-$10,000. Right now, we are focusing on getting answers first, but it is impossible to not feel the weight of those possibilities. Anyone who knows me knows that Banjo is not “just a dog.” For the last seven years, he has been my constant companion. My schedule revolves around him. If Banjo can’t go, I usually don’t go either. If I can’t identify every ingredient in something, it doesn’t go in his bowl. His prescription diet costs over $150 every three weeks, and we’ve never once questioned whether he was worth it. Over the last two years, I've become disabled. For the past year, I've been unable to work under my doctors' orders. During some of the hardest days of my life, Banjo has been right by my side through all of it: the sleepless nights, the early mornings, the countless days spent resting and trying to get through another flare. He's been my comfort, my routine, and one of the biggest reasons I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Since becoming disabled, I've had to rely heavily on Jacob, who works incredibly hard to support us. He already works long hours just to keep our household running and our bills paid. There isn't extra income tucked away for emergencies like this, and there simply aren't enough hours left in the day for him to work more. We were recently approved for CareCredit, which we're incredibly grateful for, but the approval amount was only $1,500... far short of what Banjo's emergency care and diagnostics are expected to cost. We've always done everything we could to provide for ourselves, which is why asking for help feels so difficult. The truth is that Banjo has given us everything he has for seven years. He's been there through every milestone, every ordinary day, every difficult season, and every moment in between. He has loved us unconditionally, asked for very little in return, and has somehow always known exactly when we needed him most. Now he needs us. I'm not good at asking for help, and swallowing my pride enough to create this fundraiser has been extremely difficult. But Banjo deserves every chance to get answers and receive the care he needs. The least I can do for him now is fight as hard for him as he has always fought for me. If you're able to donate, share this fundraiser, or simply keep Banjo in your thoughts, it would mean more than I can ever adequately express. Thank you for helping us fight for our favorite boy.