Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
“The doctor will be right in.”
I nod, planting myself on the floor next to my dog.
I smooth the fur from his face and whisper to him. “I missed you, pupper. Did they take all kinds of pictures of your insides back there?” A red bandage is wrapped around his front leg from where they took blood. I know Lyric will ask many questions about that when we get home.
The door opens and I can see a pair of black shoes a few feet away from me, but I don’t look up. I don’t want to hear what I know is not going to be good news. The vet’s tense energy is thick in the air and her mood seeps into me.
“Miss Karel?” she repeats.
I finally look up, because that’s the polite thing to do, even though she is going to destroy me in a few seconds.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. We ran a lot of tests and X-rays. We won’t have some of the blood test results in until Monday, but unfortunately what I’ve seen so far isn’t good.” She looks at her chart and I want to tear it out of her hands and throw it in the trash. “I’m quite sure it’s gastrointestinal lymphoma. There is also a large mass in his chest. Judging from the length of time he’s been in your care plus the condition of his teeth and other physical factors, I’m guessing his age to be approximately sixteen years old. I’m afraid due to his age and the location of the tumor, it’s inoperable. And the gastro lymphoma is obviously wreaking havoc on his body. He’s lost a lot of weight. You indicated he hasn’t been eating well and has had diarrhea...I’m very sorry.”
I blink at her, because just a few short months ago, my dog was perfect and happy.
“But he only just started showing those symptoms a few months ago. I didn’t know it was anything serious, I thought it was just old age. Up until today he still seemed happy.”
“Unfortunately, this is how these things usually present. It is very hard to tell if an animal is sick. They hide it well. They cannot tell us what’s wrong. There is really nothing you could have done to prevent this, Miss Karel. He just had his annual check-up a year ago and there was no indication then that he was ill. In fact, he was in remarkable condition considering his age.”
“Wh-what about chemotherapy?”
“I’m sorry. The disease has progressed too far. I don’t think it will improve his quality of life or keep him with us any longer. I’m so sorry, Miss Karel. I know how much you love him and how hard this is. We’ll have more results on Monday but I really think you have to think about end of life.”
I tighten my fingers in Acorn’s fur. End of life?
“What do you mean?”
She kneels on the floor beside me. “He doesn’t have much time left. This cancer is very aggressive. He’ll start to decline rapidly.”
“Will it be...terrible for him? Will he be in pain? And get sicker?” My voice shakes asking these horrible questions.
The sadness in her own eyes gives me all the answers I need. “Unfortunately, he will get very sick. If he were my dog, I wouldn’t want him to go through that. I would want him to pass peacefully.”
I nod and blink back tears. “Could I take him home and think about it for a few days? Let my daughter be able to say goodbye?”
“Of course. In the meantime I’ll prescribe some meds to make him a little more comfortable. You just call us whenever you’re ready and I’ll be here. My cell phone number will be on your paperwork when you check out. If you need to speak to me, for any reason, please just call me.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“I’m so very sorry. He’s a wonderful dog.”
“He is,” I say, looking into his big eyes. “He really is.”
A vet tech helps me put Acorn in the back seat of my car on the blanket that’s been his for years. As soon as we’re alone I crawl into the back seat with him and cry my eyes out. Acorn paws at me and licks my face, and I feel awful for falling apart on him. I should be stronger than this. I should be stronger for him.
“I love you so much,” I whisper to him. “You’re such a good boy.” His wagging tail makes me cry even harder. This isn’t fair. Life is so confusing and unfair and hard. I don’t want to say goodbye to this sweet dog. I want to hold on to his unconditional love forever. This dog has given me the only love that has never let me down. He’s never left me. He’s never been a confusing mess. He’s so much more than just a dog. But I cannot stand the thought of him getting sicker and being in any kind of pain. If letting him go on to his next journey is the last act of love I can show him, then I’ll force myself to do it, no matter how much it hurts me to do so.