I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I have to share a little news.
Prednisone is working for Jazzmin. Her lymph node has shrunk down to the size of a malted milk ball. I’m thrilled. I don’t know what it means. Our vet has been very supportive, but at the same time, he’s been very clear that he does not want to give me false hope. Prednisone just means that Jazzmin has more time and feels good while she’s living for as long as she can. It is not a cure. Her time is still short. We’re just making the most of what she has left with the medication.
Jazzmin’s still feeling great. She went out for a walk with my son today and played fetch this evening and as I type this, she is laying behind my chair, grumbling at me because I’m not rubbing her ears. I’m getting through another NaNoWriMo with her help. Jet and Lexi are just about useless as writing buddies. Jet tries to steal my books off of my shelf while I’m writing. Lexi lays down for two minutes, then barks and paws at the door and wants back out. I will miss my pretty lady and her quiet support when she’s gone and I don’t want to think about losing her. She reminds me so much of our Reilly that sometimes I wonder if it will hurt more when she goes, because she’s the first dog we’ve had since he died that really filled the space that he left behind when he passed. He got me through my first NaNo by shoving his head into my armpit whenever I would stop. I would pet him for a few minutes then we’d throw a ball across the basement and then I would get back to work. Jazzmin does the same thing, except she puts her head on my knee and drools or she’ll harumph and grumble at me until I pay attention to her, then, after a good belly scratch, she’ll settle back down and I can get back to work again.
The other dogs I have loved created new spaces to fill in my heart, rather than step into Reilly’s shoes. Jazzmin did a little space making of her own but she also just fits well, like your favorite pair of comfy jeans. She’s such a good girl. She’s so sweet and so loving and just, well, she’s perfect.
I think all dogs are perfect, in their own way.
Tonight, I’d rather be laying in the floor with Jazzmin than writing. Maybe that’s what I’ll do with the rest of my Saturday. To hell with word count.