The Unexpected Happens

            Maybe this isn’t my week. My cousin, my namesake, Judy passed away rather suddenly on Sunday. She had had a few health problems, but her death was a shock. She was only 49. My family in New Jersey is grieving and so are we. I cried. I called. We sent flowers, a card. It doesn’t lessen the pain her loved ones are feeling however. Her father, Dutch, is my favorite cousin, and was a young soldier, when I was a tiny girl. He loved my southern accent and asked me to say, “Shut the door,” over and over because I pronounced “door” with three syllables. He thought it was cute. “Here comes the hair and the legs,” he’d say of me. (It was the wildly curly red hair and chubby knees that got the attention!) I loved him and am so sad for him and for his wife, Joan. I know how their hearts are breaking.

            Here on the home front we have our issues too. Our beloved Chocolate lab/Britney mix, Rudy, has been diagnosed with lymphoma. We felt a lump on Friday, went to the vet on Monday, and here we are on Wednesday facing a huge dilemma. Rudy is not quite eight years old. My son, Alex, who had brain cancer himself at the time, rescued an emaciated puppy from a litter of others and brought him home. “I don’t know, there’s something special about the only brown one,” Alex said. “Would you guys take him?” Of course we could not resist.

I remember Rudy’s first night here. We already had a German shepherd puppy, only two weeks younger, and had our hands full. Hallie, who had been with us for a few weeks, had adapted to her crate and her new home. Rudy had a tougher time, especially the first night. I vividly can remember his non-stop crying and whining. Unable to sleep, finally I pulled him from his crate, carried him into the family room and held him in my arms, rocking him back and forth like a baby until he was content. He never cried at night again. The bond was made.

We have a choice: $10,000 worth of chemo that will not cure Rudy anyway, steroids that will decrease the swelling, or nothing. “Nothing” means six weeks, perhaps a little more. Steroids may help a bit on a short-term basis. Chemo could extend his life perhaps a year, but the quality of his existence will be compromised tremendously. I don’t want to see him in greater pain. No matter what, his cancer is terminal.

            We know about chemo and radiation . . . God, how we know. So, here we are sad, angry, and despondent all over again. Losing a daughter as my cousin has, losing a son, as we did, are hallmark events. NOTHING can come close to touching the emotions we have experienced, although, to a lesser degree, the loss of a precious pet to that monster cancer cuts to the core. It’s simply not fair.

            I’m venting here, I know. My blogs are usually much different. I needed to write though to unleash my emotions. If anyone has read, thanks for the time.