Cancer Cuts

Our dog, Louise, has a slow growing tumor attached to her heart. She is in the last year of her life, living comfortably on blood pressure medication, diuretics, cough suppressant and narcotics. It’s pet hospice.

It has been very hot this early summer and her hair has grown very long. Usually, she goes to the groomer. When I made an appointment today, I was informed I needed to bring in proof of all recent vaccinations. The groomer listed five of them, including rabies. This dying dog is not going to get revaccinated for anything.

I pulled out a scissor and some old buzz razor and I did it myself. Adam helped by holding Louise. Then I gave her a bath. It looks just like what Petco used to do. Except, of course, there are some terrible baldish hack marks where I cut too close. So now cancer dog has a bit of that cancer look. It’s appropriate. Might be her last haircut. Her last sad haircut.

When my grandmother was in the last few months of her life dying of cancer, she was living with us. Pretty unruly, definitely cranky and with a big mouth, my mother decided the only place to take her for her final birthday was something where it wouldn’t be much trouble, especially for the other diners. We went to the main street of our town, Lafayette Avenue, and had dinner at the Cathay Too, a Chinese restaurant. Not a great place, but new enough so it still felt exotic for our suburban town. It was a little festive in there with a yellow and red Chinese thing going on and certainly bright with full pane windows to the sidewalk. But it smelled like a mop. I felt sad knowing that my grandmother’s last birthday dinner was at such a non-romantic hole. I particularly remember we were not far from the service area. Plenty of water glasses, pitchers, food coming from the back. We ate, my grandmother was loud, we left.