We’ve just come back from our follow-up with the vet.
The initial exam was unremarkable. Normal temp. Breathing sounded better. His lymph nodes felt OK.
Next more X-rays to have another look at that lymph node. I also asked if they’d aspirate the tumor on his leg to see if it could be a lypoma.
It’s not good, I’m afraid.
The spot at the base of his heart has grown.
Our good vet said she could do surgery and possibly remove it, but it would require cracking his chest. I said no. Chemo might buy a few months, and she could refer me to an oncologist.
Her best guess is I have 2-6 months with Rumpy. But it’s just a guess. All I really know is I have today.
It’s not that I didn’t expect this. The cats have been telling me for days. They know. Animals always know.
It’s an awful place to be. My heart wants to do everything humanly possible for Rumpy. My head says that even if I could afford it, I don’t want his final days to be filled with procedures that buy at best a little time. For me. Not for him. For me.
Soon my home will be without a dog for the first time in many years. It hit me how frightening a prospect that will be. Rumpy and those who have come before have been a source of comfort and protection for me as a single woman. I have to admit that fear because I don’t want Rumpy hanging around for me because I’m afraid. His death needs to be on his terms. I told him to let me know when he was ready and I’d respect his wishes.
I feel guilty saying all this knowing yesterday a Twitter friend died in a tragic house fire.
But life does go on, doesn’t it? I still have to work. Bills must be paid. There are others who depend on me too.
Please keep us in your thoughts as we face Rumpy’s final journey on this plane.