October 29, 2008
The morning shines bright on a beautiful day, and we’re off once again to CSU. With x-rays in hand, we fight the rush hour traffic that will lead us to familiar doors. You sit beside me, happy in the moment, just to share it with me, happy that I chose you to share the road with me today. We’re off to determine if chemotherapy is an option at this point. I had been so adverse to this treatment, but now am willing to give it a try in my efforts to rid your body of this invasive, unwanted intruder.
We arrive after the typical hour and a half and take our seat in the waiting room. Being the first appointment of the day, the room is quiet and when a young man rushes in with a large dog in his arms pleading that someone help his dog. His dog is taken quickly behind closed doors and he quietly breaks down in tears. We share the common bond of dog, but there are no words that seem to comfort him and I too begin to cry.
The waiting room is a special place. It’s huge and quickly fills with dogs. Everyone has a story to share and it’s easy conversation that we cling to. Each patient is singled out and greeted by name, usually by a student and you feel like you are the only patient in the room. Smiles are exchanged and love shared for our canine companions who sit by nervously trusting our decisions.
New x-ray images are taken and compared with the films I’ve brought along. Yes, there is a new tumor, approximately 2 centimeters, but Cain now has pneumonia and that will need to be cleared up before chemotherapy treatments can begin. We’re given information on the types of chemo available, a new prescription and another appointment 2 weeks from now. The tumor is still small, and quite possibly treatable.
