Skip to main content

The hits keep coming


So, the vet calls to tell you that your dog, your 12-year-old dog, has lymphoma. She tells you that lymphoma is usually quite easily treated in dogs, that the chemotherapy has little or mild side effects, that remission is achieved in over 50 per cent of cases. She says she'll call you back the next day to discuss treatment options more in depth.

The next day, the vet's office manager calls to tell you that the standard course of treatment will cost you four thousand dollars. And the best case scenario is that your dog will live 12-18 more months.

What would you do?

Yeah, me too.

In a way, honestly, this is a relief. I was afraid the cost would be more in the realm of reasonable -- say, a thousand, or fifteen hundred, an amount that we could almost afford, an amount that I would be hard pressed not to spend. But four thousand dollars? It's so beyond our means that there's no question. We simply can't do it. There is no moral dilemma here; we can't afford it and that's that.

But that means that Finn is going to die of cancer. Fairly quickly. And we just have to sit and watch it happen.

Comments

aimee said…
Poor sweet Finn. I am sorry. I hope that she is not in any pain.
Anonymous said…
Me too.

Mom
H Noble said…
I'm so sorry Krista. We lost our 10 year old kitty Trigger in March after a long bout with diabetes. Its never easy to say bye to your pet and harder I'm sure when the kids don't really understand.

I do hope you all are doing okay.

Popular posts from this blog

I ask you

This is my garden: Or rather, this is the patch of soil that was my garden last summer. It produced millions of tomatoes, dozens of green peppers, a handful of cucumbers, and two puny watermelons. I do not wish to repeat last summer's vegetable bounty, because most of said bounty went to waste. Nor, however, do I want this patch of soil to remain brown and bare throughout the summer, because it's unattractive. So, what do I plant here, in the shrubbery/flowery vein? Keep in mind that I do not have a green thumb. Also, I don't want to spend a lot of money. Also, this area is in full sun most of the day. And it's really hot. And sometimes we get rabbits. Any advice? To thank you in advance, I give you these goofy photos of my children and their homemade parfaits (which Mallory persisted in calling "specialinis").

It's what's for dinner

One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...

the closet

Amy has challenged me to list 8 things that are hidden in the back of my closet. I try not to actually look to closely at the back of my closet, so these are my closest guesses: 1. At least three no-longer-needed diaper bags. 2. An outfit that I've been meaning to return to Land's End for at least six months now. 3. One of our wedding pictures, which has a broken frame which I keep meaning to replace. 4. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes. 5. Possibly a pair of fuzzy slippers. I miss those fuzzy slippers. Maybe I should brave the mess and go try to find them. 6. Baby blankets. 7. A few small toys that I meant to stick in the girls' Christmas stockings. Maybe next year. 8. And I'm guessing, a bunch of mismatched socks. My closet isn't very interesting, I'm afraid.