I am a person with the gift of sleeping well, but it’s 3AM. I’ve been awake for an hour, and I’m not sure when I’ll go back to sleep. I’m anxious, and I’m crying. Our dog Edgar has cancer (large cell lymphoma, if you’re curious), and his sounds are too much for me to bear. Moving around in search of comfort he might never find. Retching. Quick breaths. The prednisone made things so much better for two weeks. He regained his appetite and his interest in toys. He was our boy again. The doctor warned us the impact would only be short-term and, as expected but not as hoped, things took an abrupt turn a day or two ago. On those nights I was too tired to hear him. Tonight I’m gripped by fear. Is he in pain? Are we waiting too long? Is our indecision causing him more pain? And worse, is it my pain I’m seeking to end instead of his? Will it ultimately be a selfish decision?

Edgar and me the weekend after his diagnosis

We made an appointment to say “goodbye” this week, and I’m not sure we’ll make it to the day. Four nights to get through. Nights are so much worse (or is that just how it seems when it’s quiet), and I count down the hours until he can have his medicine again. Five hours until we can hope morning will be better than right now. This is hard, but for some reason sending this into the ether makes me feel just a little bit better. Thanks, strangers.