When I was diagnosed with cancer, I found out on the phone and I was at home, alone. A few days later Brad and I went to meet with the oncologist. As he rattled through lots of facts about my cancer, it's size, it's stage, and my treatments Brad got pale. I asked question after question and he sat there not asking any. At the time this upset me, and I told him not to come to any of my appointments after that. I simply was not afraid, and I was focused on getting through this and getting better, and I was positive and upbeat and so were my doctors - I decided I didn't need Brad to sit there and "be bored".

This past week I learned how wrong I was on so many levels.

As I have said before my dog Jake has cancer. He lost his front leg to a large tumor, and now he has another tennis ball sized tumor on his back leg. He's still happy go lucky though, so we don't worry about it. Until two weeks ago when he started falling down. He'd be walking along and his front leg seemed to just give out and down he'd go. It just broke my heart to see this happen, so I took him to the vet. The vet looked him over and pressed here and there and lifted here and there, not saying much. Then she looked at me and asked both Jake and I to sit down. She then told me Jake had lost all of the feeling in his paws. She then said that this had happened because he had an inflamed spinal cord. She decided that she would give him pills to see if they helped, and we were to give him the pills for two weeks and stay positive that they might help. Then she lowered her eyes, and her voice, and she told me very softly that if they did not help then it was more likely that he had something pressing on his spinal cord which was causing this effect. She then went on to tell me that it was most likely and her best guess, that Jake had another tumor that was growing inside of him, that was causing this, and that he was not strong enough for another surgery to remove it.

It took everything in me not to throw up. I could hear her telling me how sorry she was, and I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes, as I was trying very hard to breathe. Jake and I thanked her and walked out to the receptionist, and she looked at me with great concern and said "Are you ok?" and I realized then and there that I had the same look on my face as Brad did that day in the oncologist office. I learned that day how much harder it is to hear someone you love has cancer.

I made it to the car before I started crying and I called Brad. He was positive the pills would work. There was no doubt in his mind, and he told me not to cry. And I realized again, how strong he is to go through this time and time again with me and with Jake. And how very wrong I was to exclude him from all of my oncology appointments. I realize now, he was not bored he was just trying not to throw up.

We are on week 2 of Jake's pills and he has improved dramatically. I am relearning each day that life is very fragile, and something you can never take for granted.