100 days

100 days - if someone had told me at the beginning of November that I'd be counting Harvey's life in days, even 100 and, hopefully, many more, it wouldn't have seemed a possibility to me.

Now, every day is a victory, another blessing to be cherished, although there's also the ever-present awareness of the fragility of those victories. Never knowing if this could be the day, or tomorrow or the day after - if we'll make the next milestone anniversary or face an unfathomable heartbreak.

I believe it's called anticipatory grief. Knowing that it's coming, but not knowing when, is always there in the back of my mind, stealing away tiny bits of the joy I have that he's still here and still feels good. I can't let myself rejoice too much at these little milestones because it could all be gone so quickly. Yet, focusing on the negative is so counter-productive when a positive attitude is one of our strongest weapons against this disease. I so want to say we're "managing through his recovery", but this disease is not one where the word "recovery" is even used. Long term remissions do happen, rarely, and we're hoping and praying for Harvey to be among those few dogs, but recovery? Not an option, according to the experts.

I guess I can best compare what I'm feeling to that split second before a car crash. You see it coming, your mind races to figure out how to avoid it, your body tenses as you try to brace for it, then there it is. Except I'm in a perpetual state of that tension as each day comes and, thankfully, passes without the crash actually happening. But I'll continue to carry that tension, if I must, if it means my boy is still here, still feeling good.

So, we celebrate. We celebrate another small victory over HSA - we celebrate and we prepare to battle hemangiosarcoma - and love our boy - yet another day.