Time bomb

Apologies to the writing group members expecting to get straight to the writing group post. Just click on the link at the right to go straight to Week 12 or scroll down. I normally try not to post over the weekend, so as not to throw anyone off, but I'm kind of freaking out a bit and need to unload because I can't sleep.

Thursday I took Tank to the vet because he has seemed...off. He doesn't do his whirling dervish dance before meals. He's a bit lethargic. He doesn't give as many kisses as normal because he's been laying around a lot. He's just not been his usual adorable lovebug self and we were worried, particularly since Winnie was put to sleep less than a month ago.

Thursday turned out miserably, needless to say. After a lot of whining and shaking in the vet's waiting room (he really does not enjoy leaving the house, no matter where we go, not just the vet), he had a bunch of tests done and some x-rays. His spleen was very enlarged, so Friday he had to have an ultrasound. The ultrasound showed spots on his enlarged spleen (spots are clearly worse than just an enlarged spleen, which is bad enough) and on his liver, too. But his tests came back ok, so now an oncologist is looking at his x-rays because of the liver spots.

The vet wants to remove Tank's spleen Monday morning because it is so enlarged, but we can't decide what to do. We won't get any information on the liver spots until Monday afternoon at the earliest. No one wants to put him through major surgery if he has liver cancer, too, because that's just cruel, particularly because he would have to stay at the vet's for a few days of recovery. On the other hand, we are running the risk of having his spleen rupture, which would be horribly painful for him and horribly traumatic for both him and us. No one wants him to suffer like that, obviously, but we're not ready to say goodbye because he's happy, just not as happy and silly as he was two or three weeks ago.

But what if we agree to the surgery and the vet notices that he's riddled with cancer? Again, there's no point in removing the spleen when he doesn't have long to live, in that case, but then, as my mother pointed out, it would be cruel to wake him up and wait for the spleen to rupture, which will happen and most likely soon. I hadn't even thought about that. I can't even think that Monday might be the last time I see him. I start crying at the very thought.


Tank will be eight on May 1st. He is the baby of the family; his sister is the baby, too, but Tank is beyond sweet. He's never been in trouble. I don't think anyone has ever even raised their voice at him. He's just, in a word, precious. He sleeps with me and he fights his father and sister to get the closest to me for cuddles. My lap is basically a revolving door for the three of them; Tank, being the sweetest, usually loses out the most because his sister is way too pushy and his father, the handsome one pictured on the right is far too stubborn not to get his way, has also lived with me and been completely spoiled for his entire life but I don't even care. He's perfect and it doesn't matter. But, Tank. Tank.

We are having a really, really hard time coming to terms with all of this. It's too much. It's too awful. It's Tank.