The first time I had cancer, I went through chemotherapy. I was bedridden and in pain. My cat, Snoopy, stayed by my side the whole time, except for short breaks to use the litter box and to eat. She purred nonstop.
I cannot express in mere words how much that comforted me.
This was a very independent Norwegian Forest Cat. A cuddle bug she was not. Prior to chemo, she would disappear outside for hours at a time. Trying to keep her inside was not a battle I wanted to attempt, as she had been a feral cat for years before we adopted her. She could, and would, climb out the window if the door was closed. Then one day she opened the door, and we gave up the fight. Maybe it’s a good thing we never had kids…
Anyway, it was very unusual behavior for this cat to stay by me all day as she did. I think at night, while I slept, she probably stalked the apartment to use up some energy, but every time I woke up, she was there.
What’s even more strange — until that time, I had assumed my husband was her favorite human. I knew she loved me, but she seemed to be a “Daddy’s girl”. When I got cancer, though, she became tender with me.
She was the first being that recognized I had cancer. She stopped touching my breast. Prior to that, she would sometimes put her paw there if I picked her up. But a few months before I was diagnosed with cancer, she stopped doing that. I wish I had realized what that meant. She never touched my breast again until months after I completed treatment. She must have sensed I was healed.
After that, I called her my own private “cat scan”. If she stopped touching my breast again, I knew I’d need to worry.
She wasn’t the only pet I had that was extra sweet to me. My dog Annie was a rescue dog and was elderly when I got her. She was therefore just the right speed when I was diagnosed with cancer again, after 13 years. She became my shadow and was happy to go on gentle walks with me. She was one of the most gentle beings I have ever known. Neighbors still remember her, because they could trust her around their toddlers. She was a purebred Scotch collie and exemplified the characteristics of that breed.
Currently, my dog is a high energy white German Shepherd. He is very sweet and so very handsome, but I had to have a friend take him while I get through the cancer because I am too weak to care for him. But a couple of times a week my friend and I arrange visits where I get to play with him. Sometimes it’s a bit difficult for me as he’s so powerful and he’s still young enough to not always be coordinated. So even though he tries to be gentle, there have been a few bruises. But it’s worth it.
You see, he makes me laugh. A lot.
He is such a big happy goofball… and he loves me so much. It always breaks my heart a bit to say good-bye.
But, in a way, that’s a good thing. It’s one more motivation to keep fighting to live.
You see, I was told at the end of April, 2021, that I had 6 months to live. That was their best case scenario. Because I have metastatic brain, lung, and liver cancer. Or I did.
During my CT scan in December, they could no longer find the liver cancer. The lung cancer had shrunk a lot. The bad news? In January they did an MRI. My brain cancer had become more aggressive. I had 5 brand new tumors.
While I was going through radiation for that, I didn’t see as much of my dog because I was so very weak, and it’s only been last week, a week after I finished treatment, that I was able to get back on track. I am hoping now to continue to get stronger so I can bring him back home.
In the meantime, however, my cat Opal, another feral cat I adopted a couple of years after the death of Snoopy, has been keeping me laughing. She is the most mischievous cat I’ve ever known, but I think that is what I need right now.
Have my pets helped saved my life?
I don’t know for sure, but I feel they have. Animals can give you the type of unconditional love that human beings don’t seem to know how to give. When a person does what comes naturally to a pet, they are considered on the fast track to sainthood. Meanwhile, our sweet pets, whatever their species, seem to humbly give us the gifts that matter most.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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