Cancer Stinks

Cancer really stinks.

Literally as much as figuratively.

EmmaTheDog is still with us. So is the giant tumor that droops from her cheek. When we noticed it in late February, it was the size of a small thumb. Now it's more like a kiwi. A solid mass of cancer that dangles from her lip when she drinks, shakes her head, and lies down to sleep. 

There is a scent that hangs around Emma like a storm cloud. Heavy. Dark. Threatening to burst. Fetid. 

It smells like death. Emma's bed (we call it her Cloud; have forever) is stained tonight with fresh slobber that's barely tinged pink. And it smells to high heaven. The Cloud is her go-to spot. It's her favorite walk-around-in-circles-till-the-folds-are-just-right nest.

Yesterday I sobbed when I thought of having to trash her bed. The smell was just so horrid!  Then I crammed every bit of it in the wash and bleached the heck out of it in the hottest setting. It came out smelling fresh and clean, like a second chance.

Less than 12 hours and the Cloud smells as it did yesterday. The tumor still sags in Emma's mouth. The entire house reeks. And still, Emma, well, she's still with us. She acts like a 16-year-old  dog with a lumpy mass in her mouth. Slow, not sick. Sometimes I wonder if she's so loyal that she fakes it so we won't know she's hurting. And I pray that God will tell us when she really is.