One week ago I was here, checking on you and trying to understand why you were circling the whole time. A few days before we did the only session of stereotactic radiation to fight this squamous cell carcinoma cancer that came back after the mandibulectomy surgery. We were so hopeful the surgery would have given years of happy life and we were devastated when we learned that the cancer was back. We were now hopeful that the stereotactic radiation therapy would have given you months (and who knows, maybe years) of fairly good life.
But you started circling a couple of days before. The doctor said this could have been the cancer aggressively attacking your brain or maybe the radiation therapy giving you some inflammation. I was hoping this was going to be inflammation. Last week and a day ago it looked like you were doing a little bit better, but not today last week.
Who knew that we would have gone to bed only to wake up with you circling aggressively and meowing. We immediately brought you to the ER. The doctor told us things were not looking good, but that their best neurologist was going to be in that day. The neurologist called us last Monday and told us that yes, things were not looking good but that we had to do an MRI to make sure we knew what was going on with your brain. And we waited the day after for the MRI.
And the doctor called. The tumor was everywhere in the brain. You were still sleeping from the anesthesia and we decided this was too much, you fought like a lion for the past five months, you had ups and downs but I hope more ups than downs, but now there was no other way to keep fighting. I so much wanted to tell the doctor to wait for me, to allow me to drive as fast as I could and come say goodbye to you and hug you before you left this world, but my wife looked at me and told me "let her go". Oh man, it was so difficult to say the words to the doctor and in fact I had to give the phone to my wife because I was crying and not able to talk.
And I am still crying now, while writing these words. It has been a week that you left me and I miss you so so so much. I miss everything of you, I miss your meows in the morning when you were waking me, I missed you jumping over my lap when I was writing on the computer (as I am doing right now) and loving my hand on your belly. I missed your new smile after the surgery, I missed how you called me with your little tongue sticking up, like a little goblin that I found so so so beautiful and sweet. And I can't stand the fact that I'll never see you again, I can't stand the fact that I will not see you getting older, a sweet old kitty, I hate it that your destiny was for you to say goodbye at almost 11 years old, I hate everything of what happened since that day in February, when the doctor wold us that you had squamous cell carcinoma.
And now I am so afraid that my mind will play tricks on me, that will make me forget you slowly...first forgetting your smell, then the way your fur felt on my hands, and then you'll become a memory. I don't want this, I want to remember each and every feeling I had with you, I want to remember each and every inch of your face, I want to remember your beautiful eyes that were looking at me with love.
I miss you so much, my little Holly. So so so much that I don't know what I'll do without you.
But you started circling a couple of days before. The doctor said this could have been the cancer aggressively attacking your brain or maybe the radiation therapy giving you some inflammation. I was hoping this was going to be inflammation. Last week and a day ago it looked like you were doing a little bit better, but not today last week.
Who knew that we would have gone to bed only to wake up with you circling aggressively and meowing. We immediately brought you to the ER. The doctor told us things were not looking good, but that their best neurologist was going to be in that day. The neurologist called us last Monday and told us that yes, things were not looking good but that we had to do an MRI to make sure we knew what was going on with your brain. And we waited the day after for the MRI.
And the doctor called. The tumor was everywhere in the brain. You were still sleeping from the anesthesia and we decided this was too much, you fought like a lion for the past five months, you had ups and downs but I hope more ups than downs, but now there was no other way to keep fighting. I so much wanted to tell the doctor to wait for me, to allow me to drive as fast as I could and come say goodbye to you and hug you before you left this world, but my wife looked at me and told me "let her go". Oh man, it was so difficult to say the words to the doctor and in fact I had to give the phone to my wife because I was crying and not able to talk.
And I am still crying now, while writing these words. It has been a week that you left me and I miss you so so so much. I miss everything of you, I miss your meows in the morning when you were waking me, I missed you jumping over my lap when I was writing on the computer (as I am doing right now) and loving my hand on your belly. I missed your new smile after the surgery, I missed how you called me with your little tongue sticking up, like a little goblin that I found so so so beautiful and sweet. And I can't stand the fact that I'll never see you again, I can't stand the fact that I will not see you getting older, a sweet old kitty, I hate it that your destiny was for you to say goodbye at almost 11 years old, I hate everything of what happened since that day in February, when the doctor wold us that you had squamous cell carcinoma.
And now I am so afraid that my mind will play tricks on me, that will make me forget you slowly...first forgetting your smell, then the way your fur felt on my hands, and then you'll become a memory. I don't want this, I want to remember each and every feeling I had with you, I want to remember each and every inch of your face, I want to remember your beautiful eyes that were looking at me with love.
I miss you so much, my little Holly. So so so much that I don't know what I'll do without you.