My heart wrenches every time I say or write that sentence. I literally feel a tug of sorrow every time I think about it. I'm already grieving her and she's not even gone yet.
A few months ago, the cancer that was removed from her was one large mass. It was about the size of a tangerine. The anchors of that tumor wrapped themselves tight around whatever it was they were attached to, and they took a while to scrape out of her. The body of it was tightly encapsulated, but those tentacles...those evil, vile, disgusting finger-like projections that weave between muscle, tendons, and nerves...they hung on for dear life. They regrouped, worked fast and hard, and they're fighting back with a vengeance. They're determined to win. They're laughing at me and my feeble attempt at ridding my dog of their existence, and they ARE winning.
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| The original. 2/12/15 |
She went from having empty space that kept filling up with liquid right after her surgery to this. They're spreading wider and they're growing more rapidly. I can actually see a difference in size between what they look like today and what I saw a little less than two weeks ago. Jezzy is acting fine, but when I look at her face, I see something so subtle that I probably wouldn't see it if I wasn't so in-tune with her. I'd miss it because that's how animals are. They don't act sick until it's either nearly, or already, too late. I don't know if she doesn't feel well, or if she's hurting, or if it's something else entirely, but there appears to be a sadness that shows through when she's not actively seeking or giving attention. She masks it well when we're engaging, but I see it when she's laying on her bed, or on the other end of the couch. Or like right now, when she's laying between my feet on the floor.
Her birthday is on September 5. She'll be 11 years old. My goal is for her to make it to her birthday. I'm not one who does the whole doggy birthday celebration (shockingly), but when that day comes and she's still with me, I will feed her hamburgers for both meals, let her eat real cake and ice cream, and I'll let her hang out in the sun all day long.
She got her pictures taken last week by Jeanne Taylor Photography. Jeanne's soul dog, Bandit, passed away last year. In his honor, she now offers photo sessions for free to families who have terminally ill pets. I'm anxious to see the images Jeanne was able to capture of Jezebel. Jeanne shared one on her Facebook page, and it took my breath away. Anyone looking at that picture can see the bond Jezzy and I share.
Thank God I have Admiral. I love him every bit as much as I love Jezebel, but as every parent knows, the love you have for each of your children is different. It's the same way with pets. He's the one I nursed back to health and bonded with during that process. She's the one who has seen me through some dark times and gave me confort the only way a soul dog could. I'm sure Admiral would have too, but we hadn't met yet. I'm equally sure that when Jezebel leaves me, he will see me through the loss. He will fill her paw prints and take care of his mom.
This is hard. Really hard. It's so hard that I know people who refuse to get a dog because they lost one in the past and can't take pain like that again. To me, the pain is worth it. It proves that what I have with her is special. It validates the time and the love we share. There will never be another Jezebel. There will never be another Admiral. But there will be more dogs who are equally special in their own way.
Jezzy, Admiral and yes, even Chuck whom I was terrified of, are and were very lucky to have you as their "mom" and you were equally as lucky to have them love you so much. Even though Jezzy's time may be growing shorter she has know love and trust most of her years. The day you adopted her was the best day of her life.
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