Submitted by megan on Tue, 02/17/2009 - 21:50
By the end of the conversation with the vet earlier this evening, I was openly bawling.
The poor woman. She'd stayed late at work to talk to me, even, and there I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, having stopped listening to her options minutes ago. Wads of snot-soaked toilet paper piled up in the diamond of my legs.
The best case scenario now is that the mass in Freya's chest is lymphoma, and that once the chemo has made her better, she will be one of the 10% of cats who live for two more happy years.
That, my friends, is a shitty best case.