It’s been a while, I know, but between the pandemic and some serious health problems for me, life got complicated. Calvin pivoted quickly when he realized his treat schedule was going to change, his daily walks, too, and he was going to need to roll with it, and not in the mud either. Not an easy task for a beagle but he rose to the occasion.
My family came to the rescue as well, each member contributing their talent for keeping me sane. My daughter took care of the endless administrative details that came with doctors throwing papers, articles and weekly instructions at me, not to mention the myriad of appointments for tests. The paperwork was my doing. I insisted on seeing the research for the prescribed protocols that my care team wanted me to embark on.
My son took time off from work to take me to doctor treatments, hold my hand while I was in treatment, and made sure I was looked after well. He would have made a great RN.
Alf held down the fort. That meant Calvin at home. The chemo center would not allow for a nose-to-the-ground hound dog on the premises, although he would have made a great therapy dog dispensing slurpy kisses and smiles to fellow patients. He also would have devoured the contents of their lunch boxes and left them with only their water bottles and tea.
Nobody is ever prepared for a cancer diagnosis. It’s shocking. It takes time to process and accept it. I’m grateful for the resilience of my family and their loving support, the care of neighbors and friends, and the amazing contributions from my extended family without which I wouldn’t be here to tell about it.
Calvin says, “You didn’t push very hard for me to be in the chemo room with you. I would have made everyone giggle like children and that’s better than any treatment.”