I've been feeling slightly uneasy this week. Nicholai's continued good health seems just too good to be true. Since his last checkup revealed an increase in the size of his lymph tumors, I can't seem to let go of worry. Torn between not wanting to lose him and not wanting to see him suffer, I forget to see him as he is, to just be here.
Today we had a kicked-back kind of day. I've been making conscious efforts to give Nicholai days off from strenuous exercise, and he seems not to suffer from it. He enjoys short walks around the neighborhood, sniffing with extraordinary attention – perhaps keeping up with local news and happenings. At ten years old, I think these easy days would be important to his well-being even if he didn't have cancer. Older joints and muscles need more recovery time – I know that from first-hand experience.
This evening he is snuggled contentedly in his corner bolster bed, snoring loudly as I write about him. During the day, he checked the chickens with me, accompanied me and Tim on errands, sauntered around our northeast neighborhood, and ate with gusto. To all appearances, he isn't dead yet.
I just have to accept that days will come when he won't be well, and I can be there with him on those days. First, though, I have to be here with him on these days. One day at a time.
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