My memory of The Call from our veterinarian is still so vivid it's as if it happened yesterday. I hadn't slept much since Tynan was recovering from the surgery to have his tumor removed. He was in a lot more pain and was much more blue than I had expected. I was driving when The Call came and since I knew the vet was calling with the tumor biopsy results, even though I was about twelve blocks from home, I pulled over and answered. The doctor first politely asked how Tynan was doing post-surgery, then... then he gave me The News. Tynan's tumor was malignant. Tears began to stream from my eyes while the vet reassured me that we had caught the tumor early, it was fully encapsulated and he reminded me that had safely removed the entire tumor as well as some safe buffer of tissue surrounding it. He explained to me that he did recommend chemotherapy just to be safe. Then came the whopper... no matter what we did, this form of cancer had a fifty percent chance of reoccurring, likely on or in the spleen. My heart broke. My stomach sank. My poor baby boy!
I numbly mumbled my way through The Call, holding back audible sobs. After making arrangements for beginning Tynan's chemotherapy, The Call ended. I don't think I sat in the car on the side of the road so near to home for long but I can't be sure. Everything from the moment The Call ended was a blur. Hopefully, I did an okay job of sucking it up and not further upsetting my already ailing Tynan. I do remember that the chemotherapy was a nightmare. The "support" from my well meaning friends was to tell me about other dogs they knew that had lived for a short while with cancer. The problem was that all of the dogs in my friends and families "supportive" stories were twice as old as Tynan! I didn't want my six-year-old best friend to live for a while longer with cancer, I wanted him to be fine and live a long and healthy life!