The second she realized where we were she started shaking. She hates the place, and I don't blame her. Not that they're not nice to her there. Not at all. But she has been cut open a few times by them.
The last time they took her back into the back room, I had to leave her there, for days. The last time, they didn't think she would make it. The last time they sent her home with me and told me to just try and make her comfortable, that it might not be too long. The last time was after the last ultrasound, six months ago.
This time, the last place she wanted to go was back to the back room. It was for another ultrasound. It took a while, and I nervously did some work to distract myself, so I wouldn't really think about it.
When they called me into the room again so the vet could talk to me, I got a knot in my stomach. No, it couldn't be.
But when I saw both the oncologist and the surgeon come into the room with big smiles on their faces, I knew I didn't need to worry.
They said they could no longer even detect the mass on the ultrasound. The low-dose chemo was working. And the next day, her blood work came back looking good.
TheDog is doing great. And although I was hesitant to make plans for a birthday party for the old girl, my sister talked me into it. And now there's no way we're not helping her celebrate turning 15 in a bit over a month. What is that, 105 in dog years?
Thank you, everyone, for all your prayers and well wishes over the last six months for TheDog. Apparently miracles do happen.
