It's decided. We're not going to put our dog Dixie through radiation therapy right now. Apart from the staggering cost we're put off by the logistics. We'd be coordinating our disparate work schedules, which is tricky already with only one car, with getting her to San Jose, 20 miles the wrong direction from work, three mornings a week so she can be trucked over the mountains to Santa Cruz, put under general anaesthesia, radiated, and then trucked back to be picked up by us no later than a time neither of us can make without taking time off work. We would have to do this for three weeks. She would be miserable, and frightened, and she's always loathed being in cages, and she doesn't like other dogs much, and the side effects are pretty uncomfortable. So even though we'd probably be killing off the last of the mast cell tumors, and we may still do this at some time in the future, we're not doing it now. She just went through her third surgery in two years, and I cannot, cannot, put her through more misery so soon. She's feeling really well finally now that we've started giving her Benadryl again. I want her to enjoy life for a while.
The fact is, this mysterious mass near her adrenal gland is potentially as fatal as the mast cells, and we know far less about it than we should. So I'll do some fact-finding. Talk to the radiologist again. Get a referral for the vet school at UC Davis. John will probably take time off work and drive Dixie over to Davis for a consultation with an oncologist. We'll see if we can find out enough to make a sensible decision. We're sensible about this even though this is such an emotional topic I can't write or talk about it in detail without the tears rolling down my face. We've talked about what happens if we do nothing, treating the symptoms until we're forced to do something radical again. We've talked about how this all ends if the mast cells take over. We've talked about what the surgery on the adrenal gland mass will probably involve for her, for us, emotionally, logistically, financially. And we've talked about how and when to say enough's enough, and bring her home, and let her go. We are agreed on all of it.
So it's decided. She can have December, and we'll do our research. She might have to be poked and prodded a bit, probably x-rayed again, but she doesn't mind that too much as long as we're with her. I'm relieved. I didn't want to deny her helpful treatment but I had powerful reservations about starting the radiation therapy so soon. I have even more powerful reservations about the necessity of another surgery. Quality of life is paramount. If the doctors say yes, the surgery gives her the best possible chance of another five years then I will weigh that against the trauma, and pain, and long recovery the surgery would entail. I will ask myself the difficult questions of how long, and what then, and will she suffer more now or later.
I will bury my face in her golden fur, thinking of the long years she's kept us company, the different aspects of her personality. The thousands of walks we've been on. The thousands of dog biscuits we've thrown for her, each and every one a delightful surprise even though she knows she gets one after each walk. Her disdain for the cats, who adore her. Her endless love for us even when we're late for her walks, or don't go the way she wants to go, or take her to the vet. Our happy, sweet-tempered dog, who was shot at as a puppy, and carries the birdshot in her to this day because it's too numerous to remove. Our goofy oldest "daughter" who thinks car rides are the finest thing on earth next to a good roll in decayed roadkill. Our one and only dog, who is worth the painful decisions we're making.
Some people won't own a pet, because they think they couldn't bear to lose them, and they know they must inevitably lose them. I wouldn't live without them. They bring something extra to my life: love, amusement, uncomplicated pleasure, joy. Why hold back from the good things because there are bound to be bad things? If you don't try, you'll never learn. If you don't accept the endings, there will never be any beginnings. There are more cliches than I can summon to express the simple equation. The circle of life is rich and full, but it is a circle, and that's a sorrowful lesson. I'm glad it was Dixie who came along to teach me; she's been a wonderful companion. I'm going to do what I can to give her the best possible next few years.
For now, we have December.
