The Waiting Game
The most dreaded time in any pet owner's life is upon us. Cassady had some tissue/cells drawn from a lump and the results "strongly suggest sarcoma". We'll have a full-on biopsy done this week to determine the type of cancer and hopefully, give us a clearer idea of what stage the cancer is in.
I can barely bring myself to consider the options. Each time I start to think about what we'll do or how we'll handle it, I find myself changing the subject in my head. Avoidance! It's my friend. Denial! It's the first stage. Or so they tell me.
How in the hell am I supposed to make a decision? I find myself asking how much this or that will cost as if it matters. I don't care how much it costs - I just don't want to put him through the trauma of surgery and chemo and all of that without a guarantee that it will work. And of course there are no guarantees - I know this, but it doesn't help to know it. It's like the price tag is the only thing that IS guaranteed so I keep coming back to it.
I know he's had a good life. Is it possible to have a good death? How do I give that to him? Somewhere, we must have crossed the line from my job is to provide him with a good life to my job is to provide him with a good death and right now I just wish I could fly around the earth backwards a la Superman to go back in time to where we crossed that line. I don't think it's marked very well and you'd hope something that was that significant would be. There's probably some kind of life lesson in there somewhere. You know what I say to that? Fuck life lessons. At least, that's how I feel right now. Why is it bad to bury your head in the sand when you know above the sand is a swirling pool of suck?
I guess it's theoretically possible I'm jumping to conclusions about all of this since there is not a firm diagnosis at this time. But you haven't seen him lately. In the last 3 weeks, he's lost over 5 pounds. His fur is literally falling out. The skin under the fur is turning black and flaking off like the worst case of dandruff you've ever seen. His head is covered with bumpiness that feels a bit oozy. He has no energy, pretty much rising to eat twice a day and go outside twice a day - for the most part, he doesn't even get up from the couch when we come home.
So far this year, two of my friends have had to put their dogs to sleep - dogs that they adopted about the same time I adopted Cassady. Maybe that's part of the reason I already feel like we've lost the battle. I don't want to feel resigned to this fate, but it's almost like foreshadowing. The same day last week I found out about the sarcoma is the day one of those good dogs passed on.
I know, I know - lots of people have to go through this. But bear with me cuz it's the first time I'm having to do it. Don't go Beaner Bean! Sniff.
I can barely bring myself to consider the options. Each time I start to think about what we'll do or how we'll handle it, I find myself changing the subject in my head. Avoidance! It's my friend. Denial! It's the first stage. Or so they tell me.
How in the hell am I supposed to make a decision? I find myself asking how much this or that will cost as if it matters. I don't care how much it costs - I just don't want to put him through the trauma of surgery and chemo and all of that without a guarantee that it will work. And of course there are no guarantees - I know this, but it doesn't help to know it. It's like the price tag is the only thing that IS guaranteed so I keep coming back to it.
I know he's had a good life. Is it possible to have a good death? How do I give that to him? Somewhere, we must have crossed the line from my job is to provide him with a good life to my job is to provide him with a good death and right now I just wish I could fly around the earth backwards a la Superman to go back in time to where we crossed that line. I don't think it's marked very well and you'd hope something that was that significant would be. There's probably some kind of life lesson in there somewhere. You know what I say to that? Fuck life lessons. At least, that's how I feel right now. Why is it bad to bury your head in the sand when you know above the sand is a swirling pool of suck?
I guess it's theoretically possible I'm jumping to conclusions about all of this since there is not a firm diagnosis at this time. But you haven't seen him lately. In the last 3 weeks, he's lost over 5 pounds. His fur is literally falling out. The skin under the fur is turning black and flaking off like the worst case of dandruff you've ever seen. His head is covered with bumpiness that feels a bit oozy. He has no energy, pretty much rising to eat twice a day and go outside twice a day - for the most part, he doesn't even get up from the couch when we come home.
So far this year, two of my friends have had to put their dogs to sleep - dogs that they adopted about the same time I adopted Cassady. Maybe that's part of the reason I already feel like we've lost the battle. I don't want to feel resigned to this fate, but it's almost like foreshadowing. The same day last week I found out about the sarcoma is the day one of those good dogs passed on.
I know, I know - lots of people have to go through this. But bear with me cuz it's the first time I'm having to do it. Don't go Beaner Bean! Sniff.
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