Someone's Going to Get Hurt Before You're Through

Driving Lola home from the vet turned into one of the worst days of my life.  She couldn't walk.  She was so drugged from the shit they gave her in order to biopsy her lymph nodes and X-ray her body that I barely recognized my dog.  I had to pull upward on her harness while her legs limped along just to get her in the car.  My sister waited in the driver's seat while I climbed into the back seat with my dog.

Lola whimpered.  Cried.  Her eyes were bulging in fear, I could see the white parts all around them.  I petted her and hugged her but nothing would sooth her.  She wouldn't even get on the seat; she laid on the floor of the car.  

"Call Steve," my sister requested.
"Tell him to meet us at your house."  

When we pulled up in the driveway, my brother-in-law, Steve, was waiting at the curb.  He lifted Lola out of the car and carried her through my back yard and down the steps and into the house.  He placed her on the couch.  

She whimpered and cried and paced the whole day.  I couldn't get her to eat, nothing I did helped.  I wrapped her up in her favorite velveteen blanket, turned the fan on, hugged her and cried.  Finally, around four o'clock in the afternoon, she fell asleep.  The only thing she ate was some expensive, leftover cheese that we had bought for Alec's mom while she was here.  

We got the results of her blood work and biopsies and X-rays multiple days later.  It was supposed to be twenty-four hours.  I carried my phone even to the bathroom with me with the ringer on for days, waiting.  Finally, they had some answers.  

"Blood work remains normal.  It has not passed to either of her lymph nodes.  Her lung and body scans are clear.  It has not metastasized."

I started to cry.  

"Is this comprehensive, could anything have been missed?"  I asked.

"You have done everything you can do.  I think she is a very good candidate for Stelfonta."

We go to Lola's radio-oncologist tomorrow.  We hope that she will do the treatment immediately.  I stare at the tumor on her leg, worrying that it is metastasizing as I watch.    I kiss her and do weird Catholic shit, hoping that though I'm a non-believer that they will still bless my dog.  

I bless my dog.  

* Title, Waylon Jennings