monday & meds

it is night and day, carver on deramaxx. even after his first pill yesterday, he seemed more comfortable. but the proof was in the pudding-both this mornings walk and this afternoons, carver was full of spunk. today at ward's pond I had to run to keep up with him. the changes take place so slowly, and subtly. I am so glad we chose to put him back on the meds. dr. w said to take him in in a month for blood work unless he is showing any troubles. hopefully last times vomiting and kidney issues was a bug, and not the medication. I so want carver to have as much mobility and to be as pain free as possible. on our walk we met a nice woman (with a beautiful 14 year old dog) who had a shepherd that had bone cancer. he lived two years post amp with out chemo. I LOVE these stories. I am so grateful to have carver still with me, almost 8 weeks after diagnosis. I have not written to the first vet yet, although I intend to. I want her to know that carver is well, and that we have already had months more excellent, mobile, healthy time with him then she said. she needs to know that it is not her place to make decisions for people, that she needs to give all the options. that people and animals are vulnerable in her hands.

It was tough when carver was vomiting this weekend. anytime he shows illness I jump straight to panic. it is so difficult to stay calm and focus on the moment at hand-vomiting-and not jump to the cancer is back, it is in his stomach, etc. How do I walk the line of being present, hopeful, joyful, and yet cautious and realistic. it is an impossible task, honestly. I am trying to take it moment by moment. the sadness sneaks up on me. yesterday we were in a section of the arboretum we rarely go to-it is a swampy field by a maple grove, where carver and I used to walk back when he was little, and could walk the three miles from our house to the park, before walking an hour or two around the park, then all the way back home again. All I could see was carver running, so fast and far I would have to strain to catch a glimpse of his tail in the distance, me calling out his name over and over to get him to come back. It has been a long time since carver was that dog, a long time before the cancer. but I found myself crying, mourning the loss of THAT dog. mourning is a process. I try not to get ahead of myself, because although we no longer have that carver, we have this beautiful one, so gentle and curious and kind, more interested in people and dogs than he has ever been. so cuddly and sweet and cozy. the dog that slows me down so that i can take in the world. this dog I do not have to mourn yet. this dog I get to love now.