It is said that Mark Twain once famously said, “The news of my death was exaggerated.” I understand that.
First of all, I want to thank the many readers, family, friends and strangers who offered me comfort, comments and advice after I shared my terrible news about our Nova Grace. After a routine visit to the vet revealed a large tumor, we were on a rollercoaster of emotions and had 3 to 6 months left to enjoy her before she would die as predicted.
Today I am happy to report that the second opinion we were asked to seek was the best we could have ever sought. After weeks of exhausting surgery, a difficult surgery and a seemingly endless wait for the biopsy results, we are now able to report that Nova is completely clear of the mass and in fact does not have cancer. As the surgeon said when he called me, “This is not just good news. This is better than good. This is even better news than we expected.”
The feeling of relief and pure joy cannot be put into words and I am a word person.
Regular readers who have followed Nova’s journey from the beginning – and I use the word journey correctly here – know that she has now survived two hurricanes, a 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 now think that was a very fitting nickname for our “One More Chance” miracle pup. As a dear friend says, “I know she’s a dog, but with those nine lives – I think she could be a cat!”
The same day we finally got the great news, we had a very adventurous morning. I left for work a little early because I don’t like being rushed. I jumped in my car and began the 4-mile commute to work. It’s a route I drive 3-4 days a week. As I recall, I made a routine left turn. The vehicle behind me slowed down and I had almost made the turn when my head exploded.
I remember a metallic bang so loud that I instantly knocked myself unconscious, but I felt myself spinning. I now know that my car has something called a car crash assist. I could have lived my whole life happily without discovering this, but it was actually very helpful. Even when Jesus took over the wheel, the car calmly informed me of what was happening. “Car crash detected.” By the time my little Honda SUV came to a stop deep in a field, the car was already calling for help. It’s handy.
I’m sure I was in shock, definitely concussed, and trapped in my car for nearly an hour. This has never happened to me before and I hope I never have to experience it again. The bang I felt was from the side airbags deploying when a vehicle, apparently driven by someone who thought it was a good idea to pass a line of vehicles on the left at an intersection, crashed into my vehicle as I was making a turn.
I don’t even know how to explain what happened. It’s all a blur. It was my first – and hopefully last – ride in an ambulance. I spent hours in the emergency room. I couldn’t remember the address of the house we’ve lived in for 28 years – so this was new – and terrifying.
The pain was incredible, but almost as bad was the emotional anguish and trauma. My family was devastated. GirlWonder was out of state. It took a lot of conversation to talk her out of her plan to jump in her car and drive straight home. My husband was there because he is “wonderful,” hence his name.
I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support from my loved ones. And I am grateful for every prayer. GirlWonder said she was still shaken and spent the night on a bike ride with her husband, thinking, “This could have been a very different, tragic day.”
As I was at home, snuggled up on the couch with ice packs, my phone rang. It was the surgeon with the great update on our sweet Nova. It was wonderful to hear this good news. It is so important to have a positive attitude to look at things in a new way. The truth is that things could have been much worse. Yes, I almost died, but then I didn’t. It was a truly blessed day.
In the meantime, I imagine our dog sitting there calmly while we celebrate her “survival” once again. If dogs could talk, ours would probably say, “Why don’t you stop giving me a eulogy every few years and take care of yourself, Crash?”
