Friday my monster had surgery.
He figured out how to remove it because he is a canine criminal mastermind — even when he’s high on morphine.
I am supposed to find out this week if his cancer spread and if we’re facing the beginning of a battle — or the end. I try to put it out of my head as much as I can because I don’t want to waste time worrying until I know it’s necessary, but prognosis aside, his three big incisions break my heart. I almost cried when I saw them.
Full confession: I love my dog more than I love most people, so this isn’t easy. Maybe that makes me a misanthrope, or maybe he’s just a very special beast. Either way, I have been loathe to leave my house since bringing him home from the vet. I’ve turned down dinner invitations, hiking offers, and I bailed on book club. I just want to be home so I can watch him sleep.
Here he is crushing Cee Cee the Cancer Lion during a recent nap.
I bought Cee Cee for him the day his initial needle biopsies came back positive for cancer. I cried so much that night that I woke up the next morning with my right eye nearly swollen shut. I had to ice my eyelids before I went to work. (It wasn’t awesome.)
I did manage to drag myself away from my patient this weekend to make an appearance at a baby shower, albeit, a brief appearance.
I probably spent more time putting together the gift basket than I spent at the shower, but I did what I could.
That’s why I get carried away making them look pretty for people.
Like this one.
Presents help me deal — and they help me express things I sometimes fail to communicate properly.
That’s also why I cook for people. It’s my way of saying I care about them even if I’m lousy at saying it sometimes.
Now I’m off to blast some Matoma remixes and make myself a quiche because I need to show myself a little love.