Never been the same

Something changed after I got home from MacDowell: I became truly aware that Oliver's health needed to be watched and managed.

While I was in Boston, Adam told me he wasn't eating as much as usual. We switched food type, but to no avail. When I got home, he wasn't his typical self. I knew it the minute I walked in the door and picked him up.

Three days later he had 215 ml of fluid drained from around his lungs.

That first week afterward, I thought he may not make it. It all depended on whether he responded to the medication that would reduce the fluid -- helping the heart, but not the kidneys. He did respond. It's been two months. But every time he twitches -- literally -- I freak out.

It's never been the same. It will never be the same. Some days it's harder to accept.

I'm thinking of the day after the fluid was drained. Our vet saw what she thought were three nodules on his lung (turns out two were just congestion, which cleared up; who knows what the third one is) and diagnosed it as cancer. (Two months later, I'm not quite convinced, and neither were the other vets he's seen since.) I asked what his prognosis was. She said: "Not good."

After we hung up, I sat in the sun next to him and bawled. Then I did something even harder than having to listen to the diagnosis: I called Adam. I kept saying over and over: "I'm sorry."