Sunday, June 11, 2006
Cleo is a sixteen-year-old terrier mix, about 15 pounds. We adopted her from the pound when she was four. For the last few days, she has been in the hospital, undergoing and recovering from a surgerical biopsy on her liver and intestines. The news, so far, is not too good.
We visited her yesterday, and saw the stitched wound in her abdomen, the I.V. in her foreleg, and the shaved area for medicine patches on her side. We talked to the vet; he says there are abnormalities in her intestine and liver; he kept using the word "hepatitis," although the biopsy results are not in yet. He says we can give her medications orally, so when she starts eating again, we can take her home. He says, with proper treatment, we can enjoy "whatever time we have left with her."
These are tough words to hear. The vet is clearly trying to prepare us for something. I don't want to be prepared. I don't want to steel myself for losing the pet we adopted in our first year of marriage. It's hard for me to imagine being with Chris without being with Cleo.
I was wondering why I didn't feel like blogging this week, and I realized thinking about Cleo was taking up my energy. But I missed the blog, too. So I'll just blog about her.