If you have been following my blog, you will remember that I have always said that dealing with a patient with cancer, human or animal, is like a roller coaster. The best roller coasters of the world save the most intense emotions for the last part and then end up with a smooth rolling stop.
Yesterday we entered the last part of our ride, we are running the last kilometres. Frida was almost due for her every 5 weeks check up, but on Monday she started throwing up. Yesterday early morning, I discovered a big mass in her stomach. I could clearly feel something there, and I knew immediately it meant trouble. So we took her to the vet and our dear doggy has a tumour of considerable size in the liver. The one in the lung hasn’t really changed. We all followed up on the lungs, without knowing that the final stage would be in the liver.
There’s nothing else that can be done. Her cancer was a death sentence since day one, her cancer is very aggressive, a very nasty one, as Dr. Graveling said when she first delivered the news back in February. I really consider ourselves very fortunate, as she has lived 8 wonderful months after her surgery.
We are facing now the terrible decision of saying when. She’s not in pain, she’s still in control of her functions, she’s eating, however we needed to modify her diet to something easier to digest, and she’s looking good. I don’t have the heart to say “Stop” at this moment. How far shall we go? It’s clear we won’t let her suffer, but how much is too much suffering for her? I have never had to put a dog down, neither Mark. I know this will be done from the point of view of love, but it goes against me to take life from any living creature, especially a creature that I have taken care of since she was 7 weeks old, and that the last 6 years has been my friend, my companion, my joy, my dog. This is really a hard time.
We are determined to enjoy whatever time we have left. A few days ago we could see ourselves reaching one year of survival, next February. Right now, I think it will be a miracle is we make it to Christmas. We are hitting the statistics of life expectancy for histiocytic sarcoma: 9-12 months.
So there’s not much we can do now. Once again, I’m reminded that there’s only so much I can do or control. God is in charge, and honestly, I don’t want to be in charge of this. It’s up to him. We are praying for light, guidance and strength. If you are reading this, Can you please pray for us? and if you are not religious, at least keep us in your thoughts and send light our way?
This is certainly a hard time, as we know the end is near. Some months ago I decided to stop fighting against death, I felt it was so agonizing for me, trying to fight as if death was pulling Frida to one side and I pulled her back to mine, almost like pulling a rope! I decided that given the moment, I would let Frida go, let her go to the Rainbow Bridge, straight to the arms of God. That’s how I see it in my mind. She deserves it. She has been so brave, so loyal, so loving.
One hour at a time, and hours might become days. That’s how we go from here. I’m so at peace because I know we have done everything, however that doesn’t mean that this is not painful. I know that we have given her the best life she could have, the best care, and so much love. And we have gotten in return a fantastic dog, that in her short 6 years has taught us so much, and loved us as we never imagined.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.”
A journey with Frida, our Schnauzer 