I had planned on using this post to introduce my new ex-racer greyhound, Olivia. I was going to describe her sweet disposition, beautiful, brindle coat, and her four dainty paws that look like they've been dipped in milk. Not to mention the impressive fact that she hasn't yet had an accident in the house or chewed one single shoe.
I was going to boast that the lovely Olivia is a canine dream come true. But I can't write any of that. Not today, because my heart is breaking.
This morning I took Elvis to the vet to treat what was diagnosed last Friday as a mild case of doggie bronchitis. He appeared to be getting worse, so I thought another check-up before the offices close for Thanksgiving might be a good idea.
But instead of bronchitis, both Dr. Arnott and I were shocked to discover that, just since Friday, an ugly mass the size of a plum had sprouted on my pup's neck. Emergency surgery revealed it was just the tip of an even uglier tumor inside his throat. Dr. Arnott removed as much of the beast as he could, but said the roots extended far too deep to get it all.
Then he phoned with the news.
My beloved boy has a terminal and very aggressive tonsil cancer. Chemo and radiation aren't viable options, not for this type of cancer and certainly not for a 12-year old dog.
This afternoon, I returned to the clinic to visit Elvis since he has to spend the night hooked up to an IV. I laid on the floor near his crate and held his head against my chest until his agitated breathing slowed down and he started to relax. Through my tears, I stroked him, kissed him, and told him what a good boy he is and how much I love him. Oh, how I do.
And in his weakened, groggy, doped up state, Elvis managed to lift his paw and lay it across my arm. Letting me know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
My boy, my precious boy. He loves me too.
I was going to boast that the lovely Olivia is a canine dream come true. But I can't write any of that. Not today, because my heart is breaking.
This morning I took Elvis to the vet to treat what was diagnosed last Friday as a mild case of doggie bronchitis. He appeared to be getting worse, so I thought another check-up before the offices close for Thanksgiving might be a good idea.
But instead of bronchitis, both Dr. Arnott and I were shocked to discover that, just since Friday, an ugly mass the size of a plum had sprouted on my pup's neck. Emergency surgery revealed it was just the tip of an even uglier tumor inside his throat. Dr. Arnott removed as much of the beast as he could, but said the roots extended far too deep to get it all.
Then he phoned with the news.
My beloved boy has a terminal and very aggressive tonsil cancer. Chemo and radiation aren't viable options, not for this type of cancer and certainly not for a 12-year old dog.
This afternoon, I returned to the clinic to visit Elvis since he has to spend the night hooked up to an IV. I laid on the floor near his crate and held his head against my chest until his agitated breathing slowed down and he started to relax. Through my tears, I stroked him, kissed him, and told him what a good boy he is and how much I love him. Oh, how I do.
And in his weakened, groggy, doped up state, Elvis managed to lift his paw and lay it across my arm. Letting me know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
My boy, my precious boy. He loves me too.
4 comments:
Eileen, my heart is breaking for you and my eyes are full of tears. How could this possibly happen to such a loving boy. He will be with Lucy over the rainbow bridge where there is no pain.
A million hugs to you...
What a touching photo. Hang in there, honey.
Eileen - I've followed your columns for a long time, at least since Elvis came to live with you. I am so sorry. May you and Elvis continue to comfort each other during this difficult time. Relationships this strong last forever.
Sending a hug,
sandy
Candace and I are thinking of you and Elvis. This has really been tough for you the last six months...if you need anything, holler.
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