Six months have passed since our Boston terrier, Lilly, got her cancer diagnosis.
So many experiences shrunken into distant points in the rear view mirror. Distant, but not forgotten. The “C”-word’s gut-punch. Weighing treatment options. Surgery with iffy margins. Electrochemotherapy. Recovery’s first steps loping into a hopeful trot.
Shortly after Lilly’s surgery, my best high school friend died. My takeaway: love harder when faced with an unknown future. Lean toward letting go when life demands it. Then, more news about Lilly: another needle biopsy of a lump in her left flank, consistent with sarcoma.
Pace. Breathe. Another surgery? Highly survivable. Clean, wide margins, this time. More chances to live on life’s terms as the coal of uncertainty smolders in the backs of my wife’s and my minds.
Wait. Wait some more. Waiting becomes a window through which we learn how much more love we have to give to — and receive from — our Lilly. Biopsy report on new tumor. Benign hyperplasia. Three-month imaging post first tumor surgery: no evidence of residual disease.
A quiet family hug, Lilly squished between us. We know not to whoop and beat our chests. Grade III is sneaky. Coulda easily gone the other way. And, still may.
Each day, thousands of pet parents get dreadful news. Nothing more we can do. Keep them comfortable. They’ll let you know when its time . . . Generally, these outcomes are not the result of remiss pet parenting or the sick pet’s poor show of will. Cancer can be a random and pernicious traveler, its targets not selected for a lack of fortitude or floppy moral fiber.
Western societies erect verbal and concrete monuments to cancer survival. We tout those who “battle” cancer, “beat it back,” and “win.” But what of those who don’t “win.” What of those who couldn’t host one more cancer cell or tolerate one more round of chemo? What about those who die? Are they “losers?”
Cancer survival stories stir flickers of hope in the families of afflicted individuals. Unfortunately, they can also trigger binary judgements within humans about what it means to “win” and “lose.” Our pets harbor no such judgements. For them, there’s no “battle” to win or lose. Loving and being loved are victory’s spoils, endlessly shared.
For now, our Lilly is a cancer survivor. But it’s the depth and breadth and height of her love that make her a “winner.”