Y’all, I can’t talk about Flash right now. I’m still too…I think the word is distraught, but that doesn’t even go far enough. Rubbed raw? Emotional. Sometimes words don’t seem to measure the depth of what you’re feeling, do they? I haven’t answered any of your lovely – and meaningful – comments, but I want you to know how much they mean to me. I am truly blessed by your spirit of friendship.
One of my friends who lives here in San Antonio wanted to accompany me on Flash’s Date with Destiny. That’s especially moving to me since she confessed how difficult it was for her to lose her own beloved dog. Flash and I will be going alone – and I’ll let you know when later – because in most things we’ve been each other’s pal and buddy. Being there when he dies is the last gift I can give him. But it will be hard. Very hard. That’s pretty much an understatement.
Right now Flash is sleeping on my feet. He’s making that funny sound that’s not quite a snore, but almost like a purr. As if he’s happy, contented, and pleased with the world. I can almost guarantee you that I’ll hear that sound until the day I die, and I will probably feel this pain again.
Flash’s primary vet surprised me by not arguing for chemo. He said it really didn’t work on hemangiosarcomas. All he could keep saying was, “I’m so sorry. I was hoping and praying it would be anything but that.” He agreed with me that Flash’s Date with Destiny should be sooner, rather than later, especially in light of the histogram report that showed tumor cells in the liver. Flash’s prognosis is weeks, not months. So, I’ve made arrangements and I will, somehow, see this through.
Again, thank you, and if I’m missing for a while, you know why.