Jul 9, 2016

Today I learned that it's OK to let Stewey have some peace and quiet in his little bed in front of the patio window while I get some things done. I've been afraid to let him out of my arms, but realized that he loves laying in his little bed and I don't want him to miss that.

I picked up a cuddle bunny at Target yesterday and laughed as I watched Stewey pounce on it and squeek the squeeker over and over.  It's floppy and soft and has a sweet face, and I think that it's more for my comfort than it is for his...but that's OK.

My biggest fear in all of this is that I'm missing something...something I should be doing or asking or demanding or trying.  I just don't want to make a bad decision because of me being stupid or selfish or ignorant.  We sat in front of that xray, the words "bone cancer" were spoken, and everything after that was a complete blur.  I've started reading about it online, but get more and more terrified and more and more devastated every time I do, so I just try to breathe instead.

Amputation and chemotherapy.  On my baby.  My heart.  My one true little love.  Would those two things cure him and allow him to live a long and happy life, or am I just buying a few very sad, very hard, very miserable months?  When I asked Dr. Nieman what he would do if Stewey were his, he told me to bring him home, love him, and keep him comfortable, and I nodded dumbly and drove home determined to do just that.  

But today I agonize if there isn't somebody or something out there who can tell me that there is an alternative.  A new medicine or therapy or idea or treatment.  Or maybe the diagnosis is off somehow and this is actually fixable....and then I realize that I'm just grasping at anything I can to avoid the reality of it all and I fall back into the nightmare.

Someday I will reveal all of my deep dark secrets that give this situation...context.  Needless to say, if this was the only thing that had fallen on my head lately I would be rather ashamed of my hysterics.  But the list of major "issues" on this spinster's shoulders is long and heavy, my friends, and Stewey and Stewey's companionship was the last piece of duct tape holding me together.  

I'm terrified.

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