I've just gotten out of the shower after my morning run with Ranger. Davan is still asleep, which means that Ranger is laying here on the floor of the living room with me. If Davan were up, she'd be in her room, sleeping on her bed. It's peaceful. We had a nice run. Ranger is sweetly sighing.
However, I'm filled with dread to think about this time tomorrow. I'll probably be back home from my morning activity tomorrow, too, but Ranger won't be here. I have to get up early in order to take Ranger out to relieve herself before putting her in the car and driving to Cascade Veterinary Referral Service. I'll be leaving her there to be drugged, cut on, sewn back up and to spend the night. For this pleasure, I get to pay $2000.
To say that this whole situation doesn't make me happy is an understatement. I don't want to have to do this in so many ways. And to be honest? The money is not the least of my concerns about why I don't want to do this. It's a lot of money. A lot of money that we don't have begging to be spent. I'm having to say no to things I'd really like to say yes to for Davan, ranging from classes to Rosetta Stone. I owe a big thank you to my mom for making one of those nos a yes, but I'm still not thrilled about the money.
I feel confident that the surgery will accomplish what it's supposed to. The mast cell tumor will very likely be fully removed with clean margins. It's why we're going to the Cascade Veterinary Referral Service rather than using our usual vet - for that confidence. I'd feel fairly confident with our usual vet doing it, but I feel really confident about Dr. F. So, I'm not worried that Ranger won't make it. I'm not worried that she'll need radiation. At least not much. If it comes to that, well, that's a whole different ball of wax, which is really only a tiny worry just now.
No, I'm not worried about the surgery itself. What I'm worried about is Ranger's mental health. She used to have really bad separation anxiety. When she first moved in, we couldn't leave her at home alone unless we wanted to redo our trim. Once she escaped by opening our closed bedroom door, then jumping out the window so hard that she popped the screen out. She was looking for us. When we were reunited, she was thrilled. She just wasn't overly smart about finding us. Luckily, a nice family found her and brought her home. They were only able to lure her into their car with cheese. So, it wasn't just about finding anyone.
When Ranger ate chocolate just before our Christmas trip to Colorado, the vet had to send her home, even though she was still throwing up and they'd intended to keep her longer because she was so upset. She cried when someone wasn't right with her, petting her.
As tomorrow looms closer and closer, I find myself more and more appalled at the idea that she's going to have to stay overnight in a kennel in a strange place, hurting. It's going to be so hard to walk through those doors and leave her. And will she come back with renewed separation anxiety?
All-in-all, I'd really much rather not have to do this. But we don't really feel like we have a viable choice.