The Vet

Not to harp on a topic or anything, but we went to the University Vet Hospital today. That's where pets go when they have no other options. It didn't have that dreary feeling, but deep down, you kind of knew that everyone in the waiting room had bad shit going on. Of course, Mackenzie had no idea what was going on. She was into the crazy smells and wanted to greet and attack the other dogs in the waiting room. Since I wasn't going to let her do that, she finally submitted to sitting and whining under my legs. It was endearing in its own way.

We finally went back to meet with the vet student who took her vitals and checked her out. She gave us info on mast cells and oncology. When she handed us the information, she warned us that the costs listed are higher than what is on that sheet. Isn't that comforting? That procedures will cost more money than what they put before you. Plus, when you are sitting there, looking at your dog, knowing she has cancer, you don't care how much it costs. You want them to remove whatever foreign thing is inside her, fix her up and give her back, like she's a brand new dog.

Once the vet came in and gave us our options, we had trouble deciding what to do, but it wasn't even possible for us to decide to do nothing. Nothing wasn't an option. And now, my mind can barely grasp the idea that if this second surgery doesn't turn out 100% clear that she will have to go through chemotherapy. I can't fathom putting her through it. Yet I can't fathom not doing it either. See, there is nothing rational about how I feel about my dog. In fact, I find myself talking to her constantly. I tell her about what is going on and how we're going to take care of it. And then she looks at me with this expression that says, "Are you going to be okay? Do you need a hug?" It just slays me.