It's Gail here. I write this with a heavy heart.
A couple of weeks ago my friend Kirsty, a retired vet, looked after Bertie for the day and observed his ongoing peeing problems. Despite the normal blood and urine tests a month ago, she was worried about his 'straining' and encouraged me to push for further investigation.
The upshot was that Bertie had an ultrasound scan on Monday this week, and a 3 x 3 cm tumour (a transitional cell carcinoma) was detected at the neck of his bladder. The vet has prescribed an anti-inflammatory drug which might shrink the tumour a little or at least slow its growth and provide limited relief, but the devastating facts are that surgery is not considered appropriate, these tumours can grow and spread quite aggressively, and the prognosis is that he may live a few months, at best. Of course, I shall ensure Bertie does not suffer unduly, but oh he is so dear to me, especially at the moment with all the Covid-related restrictions impacting our lives.
I know that readers of this will understand my shock, and that many of you will have gone through similar or worse with your beloved pets. I wonder if the news would be easier to take if Bertie did not otherwise seem in pretty good shape.
How I wish I had a cheerier message today. Just now, facing the onset of winter darkness and with all our government limits on socialising between households (my visit to Kirsty yesterday for some much needed tea and sympathy was, strictly speaking, illegal here in Scotland) I'm trying hard to stay positive. After all, for the moment Bertie is still eating well, enjoying his walks and on the surface, little has changed.
|Bertie out yesterday, belly part shaved for ultrasound scan|