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Skeptical
Originally uploaded by HairGirl.
Last night my dog, Sasha, had a seizure. She's never had one before, I've never seen one before, and I hope neither of us ever goes through it again. But as terrifying and heartbreaking as it was to see her scared and powerless, it was nothing compared to how it felt to hear the vet at the ER say "brain cancer."
As I understand it, it would take a lot of stressful tests to find out how advanced the cancer is. I don't know how old Sasha is; I only know that she was fully grown when she compelled me to adopt her 8 years ago. She's gray around the muzzle. She's old. Probably 12 to 14 at least. Too old for stressful tests.
And I'm not sure the test results would make much difference anyway. Maybe I've got another year with her, or maybe I've only got another month. No amount of time is going to make letting her go any easier. We have the time we have and we never get to know how much it is so we just have to the best we can with every minute. Today, that meant stopping on the way home from the vet with her to get her three different kinds of treats.
So yeah, she's home now, and seems mostly ok. Tired, freaked out, and humbled, much like me. She's on a couple of different meds, one to shrink the inflammation caused by the brain tumors, and one to prevent more seizures. She's snoozing away on her favorite piece of furniture--my bed--and I'm going to join her in a moment since sleep was entirely out of my reach last night.
(Special thanks and love to lalalisa for the drive to the ER, the insightful questions to the vet when all I could think to say was "um...", for the wisdom of stopping for bourbon on the way home, for the friendship and support and love. Last night you saved Sasha and me both.)