Leo has improved, in some ways, and is failing in some others. The chemo and the cancer and old age and the ravages of all of these things have taken a toll on his body. There's a light in there, and a happiness to be out in the park or pushing around bally or just sitting around, but there are some problems, too. And while his lymph nodes haven't swollen up yet, that's only a matter of time before they come back.
We've gotten to the terrible part of cancer. I'm not sure we can treat him any more. I'm not convinced he can take it, physically. But the cancer will kill him, and probably fairly quickly.
Chemotherapy is a miracle of modern medicine, but is awful. I've been told by oncologists, in moments of candor, that the goal of chemo is to kill the cancer slightly more than they kill the patient. The trick is to work out a balance between effectiveness and side effects. As the cancer gets more resistant and the patient gets weaker, the side-effects become more dangerous. So.
It's not just the chemo and cancer, though. Leo's body is tired. He's suffered some muscle atrophy from the prednisone, and he's having a lot of difficulty getting up (although he's still a border collie through and through, and he will not stop trying). He's also got some swelling on his left rear ankle, which looks like an injury (and bothers him some when he walks) that isn't helping his mobility at all. He can't really eat his pig ears anymore - they're too tough, and his jaw muscles are weaker than they used to be. And his belly still isn't all that happy. Chemo, old age, and me spoiling him don't help with that.
Of course, we go out and he's happy to be outside, happy to sit in the park or just walk around slowly or just be. He's happy to push Bally around. He's happy to sit by me and let me pet him. But I think he knows. I think he's getting himself ready.
He's had a good long life, especially considering a terminal cancer diagnosis over 3 years ago and a recurrence almost a year ago.
What's hard is he has such soul. Such spirit. He seems (to me, and to a lot of others) to have a special something that other dogs don't. Maybe it's the eyes - the border collie eye that's so effective at herding also works on people. Maybe it's just that I'm around him so much. Maybe I'm projecting. Or maybe he really is a luminous being. He is to me. He's more than just a dog, more than crude matter, and I will miss him terribly.
But not today, and not tomorrow. Today, I'll enjoy his company, remember good times, and spoil him. Because today is what matters.
No comments:
Post a Comment