Barky Boy #1 had a dental appointment yesterday morning. Since Hub had just returned home from work, I said I’d take him in.
We adopted “Quixote” seven years ago as a companion for my precious Scottie when he was in the final stages of Lymphoma. I truly believe Quixote kept my Scottie-dog alive those few extra weeks. Quixote became my walking companion after my Scottie died. We’d walk early before work and come home and play until it was time for me to jump in the shower to start my day.
The additions of “Panza” and “Blanco Villa” have rounded out our pack and these three are about as inseparable as three poochies from different mamas can be.
No big surprise, I love these furry guys. A lot.
So when the vet called in the early afternoon yesterday saying there was something wrong with Quixote, my heart dropped into my intestines. She explained it isn’t as serious as she had initially thought but there is cause for concern.
She hedged around and I finally asked her if we were talking about cancer or leukemia. She said no to both but that we need to watch him over the next month: watch his appetite, his energy level, and take him back in a month for more blood work.
I called Hub. He had gone to visit his dad who was recently placed in respite so that Hub’s sister could get a few day’s rest from the hospice care she’s been providing to him over the past year. His first question, like mine had been, was if we were talking about cancer.
You see, we had made a promise to each other that we wouldn’t try heroic measures again. We spent so much money (read thousands of dollars) on chemotherapy and our Scottie still lost his battle. We promised that if we had to deal with the “C” word again, we’d keep our poochies as comfortable as possible but no more than that.
Heartbreaking to discuss it. Even more so to remember the conversation had ever taken place, or ever had to take place.
On the positive side, the vet doesn’t think it’s cancer. However on the flip side, she isn’t exactly sure what’s going on.
So we watch.