That’s my baby, Oliver.
I took him to the vet this morning for surgery on his eyes. I rescued him after an untreated infection destroyed them.
I got a call from his vet (also my boss and friend) after his procedure. Her voice was wavering, upset.
I expected to come home heavy-hearted with another hole in my chest.
She told me to expect the worst. I assumed I would hold him until he died in my arms. That’s what they said would happen. Brain swelling, a stroke, not breathing on his own for over 2 hours. We’ll keep him alive until you get here, they said.
They did. And when I got there, his chest was rising and falling on its own. We sat with him for hours while he fought death. He is against the odds. He is unheard of. He did not want to die.
So my heart is guarded and sore, but light. Because he is beating the odds. He is alive and walking and the road is long but his legs work.
Hope is alive in this world, and I’m going to hold onto it with two hands.