Well, it’s been a week since we lost Ray. Definitely one of the toughest weeks of my life. Every time I thought I was done crying, I wasn’t. Still not quite there, but every day is a bit better.
We got some news yesterday that I’m still sort of wrapping my head around. The oncologist called with the lab results. Ray’s tumors were apparently sarcomas – very nasty and very aggressive. Totally the opposite of what we thought, what the CT scan showed and even what the cytology test indicated.
I am not a religious person, but my knee-jerk reaction was to say that science failed us and something bigger stepped in here. There was no hope for Ray, as it turns out. He had very little time left, and as of last week, none of us knew it. Had I gotten this news outright, that he only had a couple of months to live and they would quickly progress into awful and painful months, the decision of when to let him go would have been been infinitely more difficult. Of course I would never want my dog to suffer. I know dogs often let their owners know when “it’s time” but still… It’s just hard to fathom that even a week ago, he seemed pretty much fine, hopping around happily, eating heartily, smiling that Golden smile. A little congested, occasional coughing, but that was it.
When we thought surgery could save him, we seized that opportunity, but Ray’s body took it from there. As the doctor said, you can’t know what you’re dealing with until you open them up, and at that point, it was beyond bad. The large tumor had stuck to several blood vessels and even to the outer sheath of his heart. Every attempt to carefully cut it away caused bleeding and more complications. When they said he was in danger of bleeding to death, I told them to stop and let him go in the most peaceful way possible. The choice was not easy, but it was right.
And now, I know that really was the right thing to do. I didn’t ever really question it, but now it seems even right-er, if that makes sense. Ray left us while he was under anesthesia, so he had no fear and no pain. Pain and fear would surely have arrived at some point in the near future if we had known the severity of his cancer and had not attempted the surgery.
One memory from last week sort of haunts me, but knowing my darling Ray, it shouldn’t surprise me. He was never the type of dog to nuzzle and cuddle me if I was crying – he would just wag his tail and smile, oblivious to sadness.
As we sat in waiting room last Tuesday preparing to give him over for the surgery, I wept openly and held him, not caring that everyone was staring at us, perhaps sensing deep down that things may not go well. “Please don’t leave me,” I sobbed into his floppy, soft ear. And Ray, being the ever-goofball, just looked at me and smiled like I was being ridiculous. That is how I will remember him. That is who he was.
