The Crime Scene

***Disclaimer*** Don't read this post if you are squeamish

I woke up yesterday with a cold sore starting on my bottom lip. I knew it couldn’t be a good omen. Primero called me when he got home from school. “It looks like someone was murdered in the living room,” he reported, sending me snap chat photos as evidence. Blood was smeared all over the floor, drips were splattered all over the area rug the dog beds were full of blood as was the small couch pillow. My poor, sweet Canela was the cause of this bloodshed. She has had a growing tumor on her front left leg since last spring. The vet told me it was inoperable and would most likely kill her, since it didn’t respond to medication making cancer the most likely culprit. The tumor has swelled and grown grotesquely in the months since she has seen the vet. I’ve wanted to return to the vet, to check again if more can’t be done for her. At this point, I was waiting for my income tax money so I could afford the surgery to remove the unsightly tumor. Unfortunately, things became more urgent with the events that occurred yesterday and last night. Primero determined it was the tumor that was causing the mess and put Canela outside while he cleaned it up. I let her back in when I got home and after cleaning up a few drips and securing a Thursday appointment with the vet, it seemed like the bleeding had stopped. But, it had not. I was in the bathroom when I heard her yelp. I hoped one of the kids hadn’t bumped into her. I was calling out to Primero to see what had happened when I heard Chica Marie exclaim, “Oh my God, Mommy Canela’s bone is bleeding!” (for the record, she calls the tumor a bone. Primero calls it a boil). I rush out of the bathroom to see a ever-widening pool of blood growing around Canela’s tumor. I quickly mop it up and try to cover the spot where the blood was coming from with a few cotton squares and some bandage tape. It holds for a little while but soon a new puddle appears. Before we go to bed, Primero and I secure a new bandage and some saran wrap around the tumor to keep blood from seeping out all over the place.

 

I slept fitfully until 3 am. At that point Love Bug cries to join me in my bed. Prancer, the smaller dog, is unsettled and the clickity-clack of her nails on the floor as she trots back and forth is driving me mad. I yell at her twice to go lay down. She doesn’t listen, so I get up to see if she needs to go out. I step out of my bed into something wet and squishy. Canela had made her way into my bedroom and the same crime scene spattering of blood was all over my bedroom rug. I can’t let it dry and soak in or I will never get it out. I have no choice but to clean it up as best as I can. I grab water and a rag and some paper towels and set to work. I get most of it up, but having the overhead light on wakes up Love Bug and he thinks it’s time to get up. He whines and tries to get out of bed, but I won’t let him because I don’t need to clean him up too. After scrubbing for thirty minutes I deem the rug saved and climb back into bed, exhausted.

 

Canela had stayed in my room all night, but fortunately the bleeding seemed to have slowed. I pasted another bandage over the weeping area and Primero helped me usher her out of my room. She didn’t want to lay on the wooden floor again, it was hard for her to get up. But, it makes cleaning up the blood easier. While I was doing Chica Marie’s hair I heard her yelp and when I went to check on her I saw she had pulled off the bandage, ripping open the forming scab. In what felt like a never-ending nightmare, I mopped up yet another pool of blood and affixed another bandage to her tumor, pleading with her to let it in place. The children had been given a two hour delay for school and I decided to go into work two hours late in hopes of catching a few more zzz’s. I felt awful leaving Canela home alone but there really isn’t anything I can do, other than try to keep her calm and stop the tumor from bleeding. I hope and pray there isn’t another mess for Primero to clean up when he gets home later today. I don’t know how I’m going to survive another night like last night. I wish I had the financial means to take her to the local emergency vet, but just walking in the door is a three digit bill. I fear I know what the vet will tell me and I don’t want to have to make that decision. I’m guessing she will be disinclined to remove the tumor because it might just grow right back, putting us in the same spot. And, it seems that a quality life is not compatible with the tumor and I don’t want to make Canela suffer.

 

Canela has been with me since she was 5 weeks old. I got her from a neighboring community when I was in the Peace Corps. I brought her home with me because I couldn’t fathom leaving her behind. I called her my Nica Princess. She has been my constant companion for nearly 12 years. She is so well-behaved and so attuned to me, I really couldn’t have asked for a better dog. She was the first dog that was ever all mine. I cannot envision going forward without her but, sadly, dogs don’t live forever. I know her life expectancy has been vastly prolonged being with me than it would have been had she stayed in Nicaragua. She has had a good life. I just wish it could go on a little while longer.