But it’s not just about that, as I’m pretty stressed out, and I’m a writer, and stressed-out writers tend to write about the causes of stress and stress-adjacent issues.
About a month ago, the dogs started powerbarfing. Turned out to be a stomach flu. But while I had Dog at the vet’s, I had them take an x-ray of a lump we found on his foreleg the night before when we were trying to figure out if they had gotten bitten by something venomous. It was a small lump, and the vet assured me that it was most likely a bruise.
The vet called me into the room, and showed me that one of the bones in Dog’s foreleg was…gone. Just gone. Bone cancer is pretty common in Rotties, which is why we took the x-ray to be sure, but everybody in the room was still blindsided by this. Over the past month, we’ve taken all the necessary steps to make sure the cancer is isolated to that location, the ultrasounds and bloodwork and whatnot. By now, we’re confident that amputation and chemo are the best methods to prolong Dog’s life, and ensure he’ll have improved overall quality-of-life until he finally drops dead from eating too many bees.
So, on Monday…well. Chop-chop, and all that.
I’m having a hell of a hard time with the concept of maiming and poisoning him for his own good. That’s my thing to manage. Lots of dogs do great as tripods, and as a friend told me, he’ll be inadvertently hilarious for about a month until he gets the hang of it. He will be fine: I honestly, truly don’t need alternative suggestions for care or treatment. I’m just extremely anxious, and I’ve decided to share that, and now please go buy some books so we can cut off Dog’s leg and get back to a rather wobbly normal.
(Yes, of course I’ll post photos of Captain Hippity-Hop, but most of these will be on Twitter.)