Several weeks ago, our regular vet detected the presence of a tumor in Faylinn’s bladder. Immediately, we made plans to visit a specialist at MedVet. On Friday, we met with the specialist. The news that came out of her appointment is of the bad, good, bad variety.
The bad: Our vet was correct down to the dimensions and location. There is a tumor on the front of Faylinn’s bladder.
The good: An assortment of tests did not detect any additional tumors in her body. Her lymph nodes, lungs, and the rest of her bladder are all clear. We caught it before it metastasized. Also, for the vast majority of bladder cancers in dogs, the tumors grow close to and along the tubes which lead down to the kidneys and the urethra, making surgery impossible. In Faylinn’s case, the tumor is at the front of her bladder in about as perfect a spot as it could be for surgery. It should be a straightforward operation to remove the tumor with no complications.
The BAD: Unless we are winning-lottery-ticket lucky and the tumor is benign, removing it will not cure the cancer. Without some sort of secondary treatment, our little nurse will be crossing the rainbow bridge in a year.
When Chaos was diagnosed with cancer, I went into full denial mode. Not about the disease, but about his chances of recovery. I documented my thought process through that runaway wagon cart nightmare on this very site. That experience. . . I still struggle to process it. I don’t know if I can go through that wringer again, nor do I think I could subject Faylinn to the level of suffering Chaos endured. I am trying to be realistic about our chances and to start processing the grief now.
Fuck cancer.