It’s been a rough week or so, but I’m OK. Thanks for all the positive vibes. Really, what I need the most is for people to stop poking me with needles and such. I’m fine. Throw the ball and I will return it. End of story.
Here’s what happened.
I went to the vet and I got an xray. The vet noticed that I had fluid in my chest and suggested to the management that I visit another vet for an ultrasound of my chest. Those people didn’t find anything with the ultrasound, but in the tradition of “if there’s smoke, there must be fire” sent us to another vet to get a biopsy of…what? I don’t know. And they didn’t either. So we went to the other vet who wisely decided that we should drain the fluid so that we can get a better xray. We did this. In this new xray we see a mass on my lung…or was it the Virgin Mary? I don’t know. Apparently xrays are not very precise.
Now I’m in trouble. We are now certain that I have cancer and the only question is am I going to croak now or in the next 5 minutes.
The doctors want to provide some guidance to the management, so they suggest that we do a CT scan to better understand the situation. So they knock me out and do the CT scan. Meanwhile they find more fluid in my chest and this is even more evidence that things are baddddd.
A few days later we are at the vet hospital to review the CT scan results with an oncologist. You would think the management must have ingested a bad poblano chili with their breakfast because they look pretty sad. The oncologist is mumbling about this and that when one of the managers says “but what did we find in the CT scan?”
The oncologist says “nothing.” No cancer. What’s there is consistent with someone surviving radiation treatment 3 years ago.
Finally. Everyone is settling down again. I’ll be fine as long as people stop poking me. Really. Where’s that ball?