Glenwood: Breathing a Tad Lighter for the Moment

Friday night, with Timmy in his usual place by my side and Glenwood as usual waking us up at all hours, Timmy got the massage of his life and we both dozed off with his head in my hand. I realized he isn't ready to go and I'm not ready to let him go. So there was some peace in that. At some other point during the night, I refilled the dry food container, and let the cats revel in its bounty.

Midnight feast

The drive to One Love was horrible. Timmy was panting, drooling, and more or less checked out; by the time I got in I was in tears, again scared I'd be leaving without him. Mash, a new vet tech I met once before, was as kind as a human could be, to both of us. (I recently read up on One Love on Yelp, and my adoration of these people is clearly shared.)

Timmy hasn't lost more weight, which has to be the 400 cans of wet food he's consumed recently. (Are four hollow legs possible? The pictures below are his post-vet feast.) That's good, but he's only about 12 pounds, which may sound like a lot to those of you who have not been in his mighty presence, but is way down from his fighting weight.

What Dr. Ryan (I love her) found is that Timmy has a mass in his throat, which is why his breathing is loud ("like a bulldog," she said). It may be a tumor or a polyp. He has always had an odd way of drinking water, taking some sips then lifting his head to swallow them, which may mean it's a polyp that's always been there but has grown. Dr. Ryan also found that the bones in his head look "moth-eaten"; I could see how light and spotty they looked on the x-ray. This is more commonly seen in dogs with bone cancer.

The x-rays are being looked at by a radiologist, and I will know more tonight. In the meantime, bringing Timmy home was as joyous as anything could be with things as they are. So here's the celebration.