“Bentley and me (are sharing cancer).” Part 2 (reading time 2:03)

The phone rang at 4:53 P.M. My legs began to shake.

“Mr. Kagan, this is Bentley’s doctor’s office calling. We got back all the remaining tests and it appears that the mass tumor on his nose is the only evidence of cancer in his body.”

I don’t know what you believe in, which God you acknowledge (if any) or where you turn when you feel helpless and need something to calm the quaking in your legs to keep you from collapsing like a rag doll to the floor. The news I got was the best result I could have gotten, and I looked up and simply said, “Thank You.”

Our doctor had given me five scenarios the day before when I picked up Bentley from the clinic here in Franklin, Tennessee. He had gone through a day full of “staging” to determine whether the tumor was localized to his nose, or if it had spread anywhere else in his body; the outcome would define severity, treatment, time. When I got there I could here his whimpering in the other room. I was told that it was caused by the meds used to relax him (yes, he was rightfully confused and stressed). When they brought him out and he saw me his tail wagged (albeit a bit more syrupy than his usual blurred tempo) and his eyes locked on mine. I took him, cradled him in my arms and set my breathing pace to match his; our breathing was like the murmured sighs of autumn’s breath that brings powerful oaks together, moaning tenderly as they move in each others arms.

“Thank you. That is very good news.” My legs were still shaking.

“Yes, it is good news. The doctor will meet you on Thursday to discuss the next steps and treatment alternatives.”

After a deep sigh I ended the call, “Thank you so much, and thank you for caring so much about Bentley.” Now, I know many of you are probably thinking that veterinarians treat every animal they care for the same. That would mean that doctors treat every human patient (regardless of their condition, demeanor, and attitude) exactly the same. That would mean that in this commerce of life in which we are all engaged we treat each other (regardless of condition, demeanor and attitude) exactly the same. Now that we have debunked these myths I will confess that remarkable things happen when people (and animals) interact with Bentley. He loves every life, unconditionally. He picks up the vibe of every situation and encounter and responds appropriately. It doesn’t matter if it is on a plane, in a store, in a business meeting, at my chiropractor or any of the “most everywhere” places I take him he adapts. He lives in and through each moment he is given, unconditionally.

So, as we are dealing with this mass tumor, this cancer that has precipitously positioned itself on the tip of his nose, he is clueless as to what is actually going on. He is adapting and being Bentley on this walk, unconditionally. His tail keeps wagging no matter where he goes and whomever he meets on this walk, unconditionally. He trusts me to guide all the steps of this walk, unconditionally. We love each other, unconditionally. Not a bad concept for us all to consider trying with and for each other, whatever the condition.

My legs are still shaking.

For emphasis, unconditionally.

(b&b)