Thunderstorms Brewing

While sitting on my porch as I so often do, I get that familiar pull to write.  What about, I have no idea.  It just itches the back of my brain, so I write single sentences in an unfamiliar pattern.  They don’t make sense and aren’t cohesive.  Nor are they about anything in particular.  Then I hear the rumbling of a coming thunderstorm.  It reminds me of my own emotions.  Bottled up noises that threaten a storm coming.  It gets louder and louder until suddenly the rain pours down.  It’s intense and powerful in an instant.  You can feel the electricity in the air, your arm hairs prickling.  The small leaves of the trees twinkle in the sun as the raindrops hit them.  It has an odd beauty to it, this deep intensity that disburses as quickly as it starts.  The dappled sunshine comes back.  Little beams of hope, the leaves sparkle now.  Fresh with the healing liquid.  They can now grow a little bit more.

I’ve been going through a lot of ups and downs the past week.  It’s been calm and then intense, just as this storm has.  I started off the week great, being able to take photos of my friend and see my family on Sunday.  Monday morning was lazy and slow.  Stumbling around, deciding what I was going to do with my day.  I decided that I’d take my Kenzie doggie to the vet.  She’s had this growth on her ear for the past week or so that wasn’t healing.  It was red and angry, so I figured it just needed to be cut off and she’d be good to go.   She also hasn’t been herself.  It’s been nagging at me, but I can’t put words to it.  She’s laying by my bed all the time.  Kenzie normally will play and eat her bones, she has no interest in anything right now.  It’s just been not right.  That feeling that something is wrong has been itching my brain, as it has done with my past couple of huge vet issues over the past year.

Kenzie has terrible car-sickness, so after I went to work for Connor for a few hours on Monday, I went to give her the motion sickness medicine and took her to the vet.  The vet was much more alarmed with the growth on her ear than I had been.  She immediately thought it was a mast cell tumor and needed a bunch of tests (of course) to make sure.  She had to be given some anxiety medicine, as she’s so scared of everything, she wouldn’t sit still for the x-ray.  After being sedated, they got it and saw she had an enlarged spleen (another sign of cancer).  They then took a biopsy of the growth and sewed it back together with a few stitches.  They told me it could be either a mast cell tumor, melanoma or squamous cell carcinoma.  There is also a small chance it could be benign, even though it’s spread to her leg.  This of course, is catastrophic to me.  Kenzie is a staple of my life.  She’s been there for me through years and losses of other dogs.  She’s seen me at my worst and my best.  She’s my angel doggie.  She is perfect in every way except having car sickness.  I’d have her by my side at all times if she could ride in the car with me without being miserable.  She loves everyone and everything; babies, dogs, people, cats, walks by my side without pulling.  She’s perfect.  And now she may be leaving me soon.  This is devastating to me.  I’ve only told three or four people until now.  I don’t know how to process this.

On the day I heard, I was in shock.  I didn’t know what to think.  I just kind of shut down.  The day after, I completely shut down.  I slept all day and didn’t do anything but cuddle and think of my little tootsie-roll (she looks like a tootsie-roll on stilts).  How do I do this?  How do I go on without knowing what’s going on yet?  Today I took this nervous anxiety and turned it into constant moving.  I got up early and showered (odd for me to do in depression).  Then went to the grocery store and steam cleaned my carpets.  All done before noon.  I then sat on my deck to rest and the cleansing storm came through.  There is hope in the sunshine.  Maybe it’s benign and everything will be okay.  I’ll get to keep her for years to come after they just cut it out of her ear.  I can keep going.  I’ll just keep swimming for now.

 

 

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