Benign

I’ve had a stressful near 24 hours.

Right before turning-in last night, Brisket jumped up on the bed, her usual sleeping spot, burrowing a groove right next to me. As I was rubbing her belly, I felt this small bump. At first I thought it was a “nipple,” then I realized that it was more pronounced and toward the right of her lower abdomen. Sure enough the small, raised growth looked a little like a bug-bite but more mobile and squishy just under the skin.

Trying not to over-react, I was going to wait until after the weekend to have it evaluated. Of course, I could barely sleep all night. At least I wasn’t crying uncontrollably, anticipating the worst. Still I was worried,  Staffies /Pit bulls/ mixes being prone to Mast Cell Tumors regardless of age. Brisket hadn't even turned five, after all. Her young age didn't really matter though as I learned the hard way with the late, great Diva Joplin, passing far too soon. 

I managed to get a few hours of sleep before waking up to a sort of epiphany. Call me crazy, but it wasn’t the first time I had the feeling that George had talked to me in my dreams, calming my fears like he'd always done. Other than His influence, there was no reason for me to have awoken less stressed. In fact, my entire self-talk had change.

The advice was framed as a much needed lesson in "tough love." For some reason, I finally realized that George’s death would not protect me from other bad things happening. Life would go on—for better or worse. So rather than freaking-out, I needed to do the best thing for Brisket and me. Although waiting a few days was reasonable, I knew the lump wasn’t going anywhere after decades of experience with a variety of companion animals. 

Early the next morning, I dropped-off Brisket at Lake Travis Animal Hospital to have her evaluated and to avoid ruminating over the unknown.  A few hours later, Dr. Foster called me at home to say that the bump was a small cyst. Brisket needed a teeth cleaning, too, never having  had one before. So Dr. Foster advised to remove the cyst during that procedure. 

This story's moral is "all’s well that ends well," trite but true nonetheless. A random incident has taught me that there are indeed many things beyond our control. Life isn’t going to give me a break because George isn’t here anymore. I won't get an automatic pass for a “happily ever after." None of us will. 

Thank you, God, for the good, the bad, and the ugly!

"I'll Follow You Into The Dark,"

Death Cab For Cutie