A few days ago, my wife and I took our Tess to the vet for her second chemo session since her right front leg was amputated last December.
While we sat in the reception area waiting for the oncologist to meet us, the medical director stopped by. We have known this doctor for 20 years: he’s a very considerate and kind person.
He looked at Tess and liked what he saw. Then he asked us how we were coping with the situation.
I told him we still found it hard to accept we had made this decision for her, and watching her hobble was a constant reminder of it.
He took on a stern tone and said, “Understand this. She lost that leg the moment she contracted cancer. Your prompt decision gave her a new shot at life. She’s already adjusted to it—you do the same.”
I felt a wave of relief at his words and my sense of guilt faded away.
Now I’m looking at Tess—and the whole situation—in a completely new way.
Tess, we got this!