Truth is that I have not for any number of recent years harbored the misplaced illusion that life is fair. Indeed, I have taught my children and grand that it is, in fact, most decidedly NOT.
Life is good; life is bad. It is happy; it is sad. As the saying goes “some days you eat the bear; some days the bear eats you.” Ups and downs, it is what it is and we do our best to play the hand it deals us with varying degrees of success.
And yet, just as when Jim died, I find myself railing at the fates that bring me once again to a point of staring death square in its relentless, unyielding, unbending maw.
It is not for myself that I mentally scream and shove my fists at the heavens in Scarlett O’Hara fashion this time, but for my furry companion of the last 13 years, my Boykin Spaniel, Charlie Brown Dog.
Charlie was a Valentine’s gift from my late husband, my crying towel and constant companion after Jim’s death. He has seen me through grief and my tango with Cancer almost 2 years ago. I have coaxed him back to health after surgery to remove a damaged vertebra and refuse the lower portion of his spine. Though he often walks like a drunken sailor, I am beyond grateful for the skill of the vet who facilitated the return of the use of his rear limbs. He can run, wallow in the grass, snarf up every crumb that lands on the floor, loll around like a goof and take care of his own business without outside assistance. We are kindred.
Now he faces his own near certain dance with that bloated, evil toad Cancer. A vicious, sickly sweet smelling, coal tarred tumor grows inside the floor of his mouth. While not yet definitely diagnosed as cancer, his capable and compassionate vet will remove the tumor, biopsy the tissue so we do know for sure what we are dealing with and sew him back up. He will have quality of life again. Cancer or not, the prognosis is that it will more likely grow back than not.
This path was chosen for my 13 year old furry friend rather than subject him to the rigors of the excellent oncology vet we are fortunate enough to have one town over, who would remove both the tumor and his lower jaw as well as recommend reconstructive surgery even so there is a greater than 90% chance it will recurr. This same clinic performed his spinal surgery 6 years ago. Also discounted was merely addressing the symptoms with antibiotics and steroids for the remainder of his days. Neither choice was palatable nor in the best health interest to Charlie.
His vet agrees that palliative care is the kindest option for my aged, four-legged friend. It Royally SUX in the worst way…big, sweaty, hairy donkey balls, as my son would say. I don’t have to like it (and I don’t), but I can live with this path…it is what is best for my sweet, wussy dog…and… in the end…me.
It is harsh to my soul to know the end game remains the same and that the time will come sooner than later that I have to make another choice for Charlie. My reality is that Charlie will not adventure with us when we leave the stay put life. He will, howsumever, have what ever time is left to us as a happy, relatively healthy, camp dog on our weekend jaunts as long as he is able.
So….here’s to you…Charlie Brown Dog…and to life as good as it gets for as long as we get it.
