Proof

Words can’t describe my gratitude for all the kind thoughts, vibes, juju, and messages that have come my way after sharing news about Gavin’s latest biopsy. Even as I write this, my eyes are watering because most of you don’t know my dog or me, but you love dogs and the people who love them enough to take time out of your busy day to send a heartfelt message to a lady who makes treats. To me, that’s proof that there’s so much love in the world, despite what I read in the news every morning.

We met with the surgeon last week. I was hopeful leading up to the appointment. We’ve beaten cancer before. I researched the right surgeon far longer than I’ve ever spent scrutinizing options for my care. And, twice, I heard the word ablation. I’ve had an ablation and was fine later that day, so I thought, “man, this could be easy.” I actively avoid googling Gavin’s ailments because my heart hurts so much seeing photos of dogs who should have seen a veterinarian rather than their people asking for online advice. 

Well, a total ear canal ablation isn’t an easy surgery. It’s pretty huge. And, on paper, before seeing Gavin again, his oncologist (who we love and who loves Gavin so much that she offers to be on my list of emergency contacts every time we see her) recommended surgery due to his history. However, after examining him again, side-by-side with the surgeon, they decided that removing my sweet boy’s entire ear canal and part of his skull would be, as they described, a hammer, given our primary veterinarian was able to remove most of the tumor, and the mitotic index was super low.

I’m not usually a wait-and-see approach type gal, but I instantly felt relieved as Gavin leaned against my leg and looked up at me with his soulful brown eyes. I can closely monitor his ear for regrowth. I can put herbal salve on the incision scar. I can give him immune boosting and cancer-preventative supplements prescribed by his holistic veterinarian. I wasn’t sure if I could put him through another monstrous medical procedure so soon after his separation anxiety-setback-stomach surgery.

I’m choosing to see this news as proof of miracles. Of course, I’d much rather Gavin be completely cancer-free, but life doesn’t work that way, so I’ll continue to look for evidence of love, support, and freedom.

I have proof of love every time Gavin wiggles and scrunches his face when I walk back into my kitchen after loading and unloading supplies. I feel freedom from not needing to prepare Gavin and myself for extensive surgery. I can focus on helping him feel happy and confident alone again. And, I can allow myself to feel unbelievably grateful for the support I have in my mom and boyfriend, who’s happily said yes this week to every request to watch Gavin.

May we all look for and find proof of soul-filling beauty and heartwarming peace as often as possible.