A Good Day...

...all things considered.

Yes, just last week we were told that sweet Mellie had 8 weeks left. We saw our family vet (have I mentioned how much I love him? He's the greatest!), and he said to get that number right out of our heads. There are so many variables. And we don't have conclusive proof from a biopsy (which we are not going to subject Mellie to - knock her out, tube down the throat, take a piece of her stomach...). How can they give such a definite diagnosis, even down to the time frame, without lab work to back it up?

Am I kidding myself? Do I think she is perfectly fine and has many, many, many years ahead of her? No. I know that they are right in the general diagnosis. It is what we all have been suspecting, but as our vet said, they are giving us a "definitive prognosis on a presumptive diagnosis." He said to continue the meds and food as usual, and send her positive energy, and to love her while we have her. You just gotta love him.

In an effort to make every day as good as it can be, and send as much positive energy to sweet Mellie as possible, I will concentrate on only good things every day, and just let the bad roll away like water off a duck's back, or grease through a goose, or something not quite so disgusting.

The good part about all of this is that it takes very little for me to have a good day, now. My standards are pretty low. In fact, they are in the toilet, so to speak...you'll see what I mean. As long as Mellie is eating, poo-ing, and is not in pain, it's a good day. Car won't start? That's OK. Didn't win the lottery? That's OK. Roof blew off the house in a hurricane? That's OK. It could all be worse.

Today, for example. She ate 12 (count 'em, TWELVE!!!) chicken nuggets for breakfast this morning. Wolfed them down. Did not hesitate for a second. Plus, she ate two milk bone treats when I left for work. Now that's a good day. Who cares if the car repair bill is in the hundreds of dollars this afternoon. Hey, it could be in the thousands for all I care (as long as they take Visa). Mellie ate her breakfast. I feel like shouting it from the rooftops! MELLIE ATE HER BREAKFAST!!! That's what I'm talking about.

(The fact that I took a fistful of Prozac this morning really does not enter into it in any way.)