My service dog, Big Far, has been really sick.
Big Far is a gentle giant, an Anatolian shepherd and rottweiler mix, a snugglebunny velcro dog. He’s spoiled and adored. He’s my baby.
His service dog duties are small but so necessary. Far gets me out into the world. With Far, I leave the house, and we go to the mall, to shops, to the grocery. We go to places I’d never go. I leave my nest on the couch, even when I’m hurting terribly, and we go somewhere.
And Far’s got a fungal infection in his nose. Dogs get it from grasses, any dog can get it. Shepherds are more prone to it. The fungus gets into the nasal passages and starts eating away at the bones. Too many invasive tests are required to determine if that is what it is; he’s been through multiple blood works, a CT scan, some scoping, and a biopsy of it all.
None of the doctors have any sense of impetus. The fungus is eating away at the bone, the bone that separates sinus from brain. That goes, and the dog can’t survive. It’s already been a month since the initial diagnosis. Since then, it’s spread to his other nostril, and it’s getting worse. Finally, finally, we have an “official” diagnosis from the CT scan, and the operation is scheduled for Wednesday.
So I’ve been praying. I’ve been praying so hard. Before, I prayed: just let him survive the anesthesia from the tests on Friday. Just let it be the fungal infection and not cancer. Then, I prayed: just make the labs hurry up with the final diagnosis. Just make the surgeon available soon. Now, I pray: just get us through the surgery. Just let my dog wake up after it. Just let the procedure work. Just let Big Far be happy, safe and healthy.
Oh, God, please, please … just give Big Far and I another five or more years together. Happy, safe and healthy, God. Please.
Yours in anxious, repetitive prayer,