It was the first time I let myself cry since the diagnosis. Aggressive reproductive cancer. That was what exploratory surgery and biopsies had revealed two months earlier. The treatment had to be as aggressive as the cancer.<\/p>\n
My mom came from Alabama to stay with me in Dallas through the eight rounds of chemotherapy and the doses of external radiation, 40 in eight weeks. Through it all\u2013the tidal waves of nausea, the crushing fatigue\u2013I hadn\u2019t cried. I was afraid if I started, I wouldn\u2019t be able to stop.<\/p>\n
I wouldn\u2019t allow myself to dwell on how I\u2019d been robbed of ever bearing my own children, to give in to my fears. God, I know you\u2019re with me. I\u2019ll fight through this, <\/em>I vowed, no matter how bad things get. <\/em>For a while, I\u2019d succeeded.<\/p>\n Then, today, the last, most barbaric part of my treatment began\u2013the first of four megadoses of internal radiation. The physical pain was beyond horrific. It was the stuff of nightmares, the kind where you wake up soaked with sweat, your heart pounding. Only I couldn\u2019t wake up from this nightmare.<\/p>\n Even worse was the pain that seared my soul. Because the radiation was so intense, Mom couldn\u2019t sit with me. I was shut in a cold, lead-lined room by myself, the doctors monitoring me through the observation window. It was like I was in a cage. I\u2019d never felt so isolated, so utterly alone.<\/p>\n That finally broke me down. At home I collapsed on the couch. All the tears I\u2019d been holding back came pouring out. What made me think I could get through this hell? No one could possibly understand what I was going through, not my mom, not even God.<\/p>\n I felt a light weight settle on the couch next to me. I blinked through my tears and saw my little affenpinscher. \u201cOh, Molly, you didn\u2019t know what you were getting into when you came to live here, did you?\u201d I murmured.<\/p>\n I\u2019d met Molly six months before my diagnosis. It started with a phone call from Linda, a volunteer at a local rescue center. \u201cWe have a dog who desperately needs a home,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve tried everyone and no one will take her on. Can you foster her? Please?\u201d<\/p>\n My heart sank. Don\u2019t get me wrong, I love dogs. I\u2019d raised Sadie, my miniature schnauzer, from puppyhood, and having her in my life was what inspired me to work with animal shelters. But I was so busy with my career as a regional manager for a medical company. One dog was plenty!<\/p>\n \u201cMolly is a three-year-old affenpinscher,\u201d Linda said. \u201cShe was saved from a puppy mill.\u201d Her entire life, Molly had been confined to a cage and forced to birth litter after litter.<\/p>\n She walked in circles no bigger than the few feet of space she\u2019d inhabited, her legs weak from never having been allowed outside her cage to run and play. She\u2019d never been given a bath. Never known love. And now that no one had a use for her, she would be put down.<\/p>\n Unless I took her in. I\u2019ll foster her, <\/em>I thought, but only until Linda finds the right home for her.<\/em><\/p>\n At the shelter Linda was waiting, cradling a small gray dog. At least I thought she was gray\u2013it was hard to tell what was fur and what was filth. Walking closer, I caught my breath. Molly smelled as bad as she looked, and that was saying something.<\/p>\n She was skin and bones, her fur matted. But it was her eyes that shocked me the most. There was no spark in them. No fight.<\/p>\n Linda set the dog in my arms. Molly looked up at me, trembling. The expression in her eyes grew even bleaker, as if she was asking, \u201cWhat kind of pain are you <\/em>going to inflict on me?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, girl,\u201d I said softly. \u201cI\u2019m not going to hurt you.\u201d No response. She\u2019s probably deaf, <\/em>I thought.<\/p>\n I took Molly straight to the animal clinic. \u201cShe might not be deaf,\u201d the vet said, examining her. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen a dog\u2019s ears so full of waste. Leave her here overnight. We\u2019ll give her a bath and get a better look at her.\u201d<\/p>\n When I picked Molly up the next day she looked better and the vet said she could hear. But she was still terrified of human contact. Getting her to trust me would take a long time…maybe more time than I had before Linda found her a permanent home.<\/p>\n I was a little worried at how Sadie and Molly would react to each other. But they politely sniffed noses and fell into a companionable harmony. Sadie seemed to sense that Molly was too weak to be a threat, and Molly seemed grateful to share Sadie\u2019s space.<\/p>\n Molly took to trailing Sadie, trying to do whatever she did. Soon Molly gained enough strength in her legs that she was able to follow Sadie through the doggy door to go outside.<\/p>\n The only thing that Molly wouldn\u2019t do\u2013or maybe she couldn\u2019t\u2013was show and receive affection. Sadie would run to greet me when I got home from work, her stubby tail wagging wildly while I petted her and tugged at whatever toy she\u2019d brought me.<\/p>\n Molly hung back. When I tried to touch her, she cowered. It was as if she didn\u2019t realize she deserved the kind of love Sadie got.<\/p>\n I\u2019d have to take it slow. I got on the floor so I was at her level, put out my hand and let her approach me. I started with ever-so-gently rubbing her paws while I spoke softly to her. Once she got comfortable with that, I moved on to scratching her ears, then stroking her back and head. Sometimes she\u2019d still tense when I reached my hand out, and I\u2019d remind her, \u201cIt\u2019s okay, Molly. You\u2019re safe now.\u201d<\/p>\n I knew I\u2019d broken through when she started sleeping at the foot of my bed. It was her way of telling me, I feel safe with you. I trust you.<\/em><\/p>\n You can probably guess what happened next. I called Linda at the rescue center and told her I was keeping Molly. I loved her, and even if she might never be affectionate with me the way Sadie was, I could tell she was learning to love me. I could see that flicker in her eyes.<\/p>\n That must have been the reason God brought us together.<\/p>\n We\u2019d settled into a happy routine together, my dogs and I, when my gynecologist noticed some irregularities during my annual exam. Then came the surgery and the diagnosis.<\/p>\n Adenocarcinoma, a complex reproductivesystem cancer. Survivable if my body responded to treatment, but I\u2019d never be able to have children, and the intensive chemo and radiation meant that I\u2019d need someone to take care of me.<\/p>\n Mom moved in. \u201cDo you want me to find someone to take the dogs for a while?\u201d she asked. She had a point. Taking care of two dogs when I needed help to take care of myself probably wasn\u2019t the smartest idea.<\/p>\n Sadie would be fine with someone else. But Molly…if I sent her away, she\u2019d go back to feeling like she didn\u2019t deserve love. I couldn\u2019t do that. \u201cThe dogs are staying,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019ll be a comfort.\u201d<\/p>\n And they were. When I came home from chemo feeling too sick to move, the girls were there to cuddle with me. Or they\u2019d make me laugh with their antics, and I\u2019d forget about cancer for a little while.<\/p>\n Now, though, as my body, my whole being, clenched with pain from the internal radiation, my tears soaking the couch cushions, I felt like I would never stop crying, never escape this agony. Had God forsaken me?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A wet nose touched mine. I opened my eyes. Molly.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, girl,\u201d I said wearily. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at me intently. Love in her soft brown eyes. And something else. Something I hadn\u2019t noticed before.<\/p>\n \u201cYou understand, don\u2019t you?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n Molly knew what it was like to be alone, afraid, in terrible pain. Maybe more than anyone, she knew what it was like to be trapped in a hell not of your own making.<\/p>\n \u201cBut you\u2019re here,\u201d I said, stroking her wiry gray fur. \u201cYou\u2019re strong. You survived.\u201d<\/p>\n Molly licked my cheek, and I knew that I would survive too, the treatment and the cancer. I may never understand why I got sick, but I know why Molly and I were brought together.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n