"My Dog has Cancer"

I sent the text through tears to Heather as I waited for Tessa to be x-rayed.
"No," She replied.
"Lymphoma," I sent back.
She text talked me through the next thirty minutes until I was able to talk to her.

Earlier this week I was on the couch cuddling with my best friend. I always love snuggling around her neck where her fur is softest. She has a lot of sebatious cysts but the large lump I discovered was different. I felt a smaller one on the other side of her neck and believed she had swollen glands, probably an infection of some sort. She had an infection not long ago, maybe it needed another round of antibiotics. When I asked her dad if he felt it too he concurred that it was abnormal so I called the vet right away and made an appointment for the next day.

Everyone at the vet's office knows us and loves us. Well, her more than me of course. We're regulars. The techs usually come out from the back to say "hi" to her and she is always happy to see them all. I know the routine: weigh her (103 pounds), wait, then go to the exam room. Dr. Cidon was off so we saw Dr. Frye. "I don't know if I'm being paranoid," I told her, "but with her history I never want to take any chances."
"No, you're right. These are swollen." She checked her other glands and found them swollen too. "We'll take some samples and see if she's reacting to something or if this is possibly Lymphoma."
"She's not allowed to have Lymphoma," I told her.

Out came the needle, I held her and distracted her with tales of how wonderful she is. While we waited for the doctor to look at the samples I started to think of how likely it was that my dog had cancer. What are the odds that a dog that has been through as much as she has would now develop cancer just before her sixth birthday?

When Dr. Frye came back in I knew by her face that it was bad. I cried, sobbed, told Tessa, "bad dog. I told you, you're not allowed to be sick again." Dr. Frye explained that with chemotherapy we could extend her life a possible year beyond the few weeks the cancer would normally allow her to live. "Does this sound like something you're interested in pursuing?"
"Yes, I have to. I am not ready to let her go. I thought I'd have another four years with her. I'm not prepared to lose her anytime soon."

So, yesterday she was given her first round. I sent a text to her dad during the day, "How much did your morning suck today?"
"Pretty bad," he sent back.
"My stomach is in knots."
"I just want to curl up with her and cry."

We found out she had stage four lymphoma after more tests yesterday and needed to start on the chemo immediately. When she got home she was normally peppy.

Today she started on her meds. She's a little sleepier than normal. Another challenge for her to endure and us to support her through.