It is reported that Mark Twain once famously said “The report of my death was an exaggeration.” I understand.
First and foremost, I would like to thank the many readers, family, friends, and strangers who reached out to comfort and provide commentary and tips upon my recent publication of the horrible news about our Nova Grace. After a routine vet visit showed a large mass we were on a roller coaster of emotions and given 3 to 6 months to enjoy her before her predicted demise.
Today, I am happy to report that the second opinion we were urged to get turned out to be the best opinion we ever sought. We have had a strenuous few weeks, a serious surgery and what seemed like an interminable wait for results of the biopsy. After all that, and a LOT of prayer, we are here to report that Nova is reported to be absolutely free of any the mass and did not in fact have cancer. As the surgeon said when he called me “this isn’t just good news. This is a step above good. This is even better news than we expected.”
The sense of relief and pure joy cannot even be put into words and I’m a word person.
Regular readers who have followed Nova’s journey from the beginning, and I do use the word journey correctly, know that she has now survived two hurricanes, one near death experience before being diagnosed with Addison’s disease and now a second near death experience with the cancer that wasn’t. Her “rescue name” was Chance. I am now thinking that was a very fitting moniker for our “one more chance” Wonderpup. As a dear friend says: ”I know she’s a dog but with these nine lives — I think she might be a cat!”
On the same day that we would eventually get the great news, we had a very adventurous morning. I left a little early for work because I don’t like to be rushed. I hopped in my car and started the 4-mile commute to work. It’s a route I drive 3-4 days a week. As I recall, I was making a routine left-hand turn. The vehicle behind me slowed, and I had almost completed the turn when my head exploded.
I remember a metallic bang so loud I instantly felt senseless, but I did register the sensation of spinning. I now know that my car has something called vehicle crash assist. I could’ve gone my whole life without discovering this and been happy, but it actually was very helpful. Even as Jesus was taking the wheel, the vehicle was quite calmly informing me what was happening. “Vehicle crash detected.” As my little Honda SUV came to a rest deep in a field, the car was already calling for help. That’s handy.
I’m sure I was in shock, definitely concussed, and I was definitely trapped in my car for nearly an hour. I’ve never had that happen before, and I hope to never experience it again. The bang I felt was the side airbags deploying when a vehicle allegedly driven by someone who felt it was a good idea to pass a line of traffic on the left at an intersection slammed into my vehicle as I made the turn.
I don’t even know how to explain what happened. It’s all fuzzy. I had what was my first — and one hopes — last ambulance ride. I spent hours in the ER. I could not recall the address of the home we have lived in for 28 years — so that was new — and terrifying.
The pain was incredible, but almost as bad was the emotional fear and trauma. My family was left shaken. GirlWonder was out of state. It took a lot of talking to get her to abandon her plan of hopping in her car and driving straight home. My husband was there because he is Wonderful, hence his name.
I was flooded with concern from loved ones. And I appreciate every prayer. As GirlWonder said, still shaken, she spent that night on a bike ride with her husband thinking “this could have been a much different, tragic, day.”
Once home settled in with ice packs on the sofa, my phone rang. It was the surgeon with the amazing update about our sweet Nova. It was wonderful to hear that good news. Reframing is so important to a positive mindset. The truth is everything could’ve been so much worse. Yes, I almost died, but then I didn’t. It was a truly blessed day.
Meanwhile, I imagine our dog, sitting serenely as we celebrated her “survival” once again. If dogs could talk, I imagine ours would say “why don’t you quit eulogizing me every couple of years and worry about yourself, Crash.”
