Lola died on April 18 at about 12pm. It turned out that her cancer wasn't lymphoma but histiocytic sarcoma. She was doing pretty well until the 16th and then took a sudden and horrible turn for the worse. By the morning of the 18th it was obvious that the cancer had taken over. She had no control of her bladder and would just lay or walk and pee. She stopped eating, except for a chicken breast that Linley dragged to her from the kitchen. I was so shocked that she ate it. Dr. Andres, her oncologist, came over to do it. I was so glad that she did because I don't know how I would have gotten her to the hospital.
It was odd trying to say goodbye to her in front of someone else. She was laying in the living room and I put her head on my lap. I pet her head and belly as the drugs were injected. It was quick and peaceful, like she was sleeping. I couldn't even tell that she was gone. Carrying her out of apartment was ridiculous. Dr. Andres put her on a sheet and we carried her down the stairs but she kept folding in half almost, her head falling toward me because I was going down first. Dr. Andres felt badly about it but I told her it was fine. I wonder what my neighbors thought as we tried to get her in the backseat of the car.
It was odd trying to say goodbye to her in front of someone else. She was laying in the living room and I put her head on my lap. I pet her head and belly as the drugs were injected. It was quick and peaceful, like she was sleeping. I couldn't even tell that she was gone. Carrying her out of apartment was ridiculous. Dr. Andres put her on a sheet and we carried her down the stairs but she kept folding in half almost, her head falling toward me because I was going down first. Dr. Andres felt badly about it but I told her it was fine. I wonder what my neighbors thought as we tried to get her in the backseat of the car.
