I finally took in Knightmare to Banfield today (Wednesday was the longest of the humpday's I've ever had to endure), and it turns out I was right to be so negative. He has less than a 50% survival rate at this point. He's highly anemic, has a severe infection of the liver, and possible fluid buildup in the lungs. He's Grade 1 on heartworm infection out of 5, but the only reason he's not worse is because he's such a big dog, therefore has a bigger heart. The worms are apparently backing up into the main vessel that goes to his liver, which is where the infection comes from. Dr. Haynes flat out told me his prognosis is weak, and he's not a good candidate for heartworm treatment. In the off-chance he survives the next three days of hospitalization, he's still facing months of arduous treatments and blood scans, as well as aggressive medication combined with steroids which could end up fucking up his liver and kidneys anyway. Even though he wouldn't say it, he seemed to hint that the best way to go was euthanasia. I thought of my big ol' Monster-Head, of the way he always marches on head-first into situations without fear and utmost confidence, and I thought 'Fuck that!' I have to try. So I ordered the blood transfusion and antibiotics and steroids for now, along with the hospitalization and further exams.

When I'd gone in, none of the assistants wanted to look me in the eye. Once I went to the register to pay for Knightmare's stay, however, I could see them visibly relax. I truly believe they'd thought I'd pull the plug on him. The doctor and nurses, however, all seem to think I'm just throwing money at the problem. Dr. Haynes made a point to tell me I was only buying my dog time, and in the long run, he's still dying.

I. Don't. Care.

Thanks for your kind words, Ghost. It really means a lot, makes me feel not-so-lonely in all this. I hope all goes well with your pending doctor's appointment, and congratulations on your new neice. She's beautiful.

All these days I've felt small. Like a child. I know it might sound wrong, but the last time I felt this way was when my father died last year. But then again, my padre si que fue un perro, hijo de la chingada. ;)