It’s been such a difficult month. My Mable has been gone for two weeks today…and it’s been almost that long since my sweet little boy had his cancerous tumor removed. He’s back to his old self again, but the heaviness in my heart has not dissipated in the least. I finally got to speak with the vet who is familiar with his case yesterday evening. Fruit Cocktail just wasn’t able to give me all the information I needed to know, and my suspicions of the worst were pretty much confirmed. The margins of the sample removed were dirty. My boy still has cancerous cells in his leg. The doctor tried to give me hope…saying that lots of cats can have dirty margins and never have a recurrence. But, I’ve seen the statistics online. I know that there are usually worst case scenarios on the internet, but my sources are veterinary sites. I want to believe that we’ll have a miracle, but I need to prepare myself for the worst. The statistics for cats with VAS and dirty margins are up to 16 months. I could lose my boy before his tenth birthday. The reality of that tortures me. We could get radiation, but the expense is astronomical. We could give him more surgery or amputate his leg, but the decision is excruciating. The vet assures me that a three legged cat is a normal cat…that they don’t even know they’re missing something. He’s a resilient boy…a tough boy…and I’m sure he’d cope just fine. But, how do I decide to remove my baby’s limb? How do I make that decision for him? All this is still premature. I need to see the results of X-Rays. I need to know that it isn’t one of the rarer sarcomas that has spread to his lungs or lymph nodes. If it has, there is absolutely nothing I can do…short of chemo therapy that will make him sick and miserable. I don’t want to make him suffer…especially if the results would only prolong his suffering.
He has been happy and playful the last week. He has been purring and nuzzling like the sweet boy he’s always been. When he wants attention, no matter what, I give it to him…and I curse myself for all the times I’ve pushed him away because I was busy or not in the mood. But, there’s nothing I can do about that…and he knows that I love him. I’ve loved him from the moment he grabbed the back of my coat from his cage. He was such a sweet little kitten. We grew up together. He’s my best friend. He’s sweet and neurotic…playful and affectionate. In the last few years, he’s become a little lapcat. But, he still hasn’t lost his quirkiness. He’s the best cat anyone could ever wish for and the thought of losing him so soon…so young…just kills me. I know he’s technically a senior cat, but eight years old is still so young to me. He should live at least another eight.
I need to stop obsessing over the things I still have no control over. I just can’t help but feel the impending doom of news I have yet to hear.
