I just had a couple of really dark days – about 48 hours where I could not stop crying, and then about 24 hours where I could not stop sleeping :-).

I guess it was not until my brother and-sister-in-law went back to Copenhagen that I really had time to reflect on the events since diagnosis on 16 June, and a reaction should not have come as a surprise.

The instant feeling of dread and panic when I heard the diagnosis – what was going to happen to Max. The hectic time activating all networks, and their networks trying to find a good home for an eight-year-old rescue dog, in a city already flooded with dogs for adoption, and now also from Ukraine, and the immense sadness at the thought of parting with him. The research – lumpectomy or bilateral mastectomy? The meeting with the surgeon to confirm: bilateral mastectomy. The bureaucracy of first waiting far too long for the cost estimate from the hospital, the misinformation from the sickness insurance as to what I needed to do (wasting several days trying to get that done – for nothing), the nightmarish day at the hospital where in the end surgery had to be postponed. The even worse nightmare of, for a couple of days thinking the shelter was the only solution for Max (even the shelter had to be persuaded after they told me they were completely full), until at the last minute, with the help of my neighbour-dogwalker Frank and Sabine, we found him a great new home. And one of the worst moments of my entire life: seeing him off to that new home in Köpenick (Frank and Sabine kindly took him in their car) (but which was of course a thousand times better than taking him to the shelter).

It all hit me a couple of days ago.

Many people do not understand why I decided that I would no longer be able to take care of Max. As if a cancer diagnosis and the uncertain future that comes with it were not reason enough. (Don’t even get me started about the response from the so-called adoption agency, House of Bitches – pure narcissistic evil, which also should not have come as a surprise since they had been monumentally unprofessional from day one).

Max is very strong, and still a bit anxious and reactive in certain situations. I can just about handle him with the upper-body strength I have now – strength that I will lose after this type of surgery, and – since I am not getting any younger – can’t be certain that I will ever regain. In fact, even hoping that I will not need debilitating treatments post-surgery, it is more likely that I will not be able to completely regain that strength, and that it will become irresponsible of me to take Max out in the streets around here. And Max is the kind of dog who needs a lot of exercise.

And all that, by the way, is also the reason why I did not “just get someone in to walk him occasionally”, as many have suggested. I don’t know how they imagine getting an experienced dog-walker in to walk a dog at least three times a day, seven days a week would be doable. The dog-walker I originally had once a day twice a week was a great arrangement, and luckily, since it was holiday time, he was able to include Max up to six times a week since my diagnosis, but that still leaves at least two shorter rounds every day. But as always, it is people who have never had dogs who are the experts and full of totally unrealistic advice.

I did have in mind to place Max in a dog pension until I knew more about what the future holds in terms of my health (chemo? radiation), but since this is holiday time, they were all full – or at least the ones in any kind of vicinity of Berlin. I was too exhausted to contemplate travelling with him to the other end of the country, even if I had been able to find him a place.

Even though I miss him very much, I do feel good about the solution we found, and would once again like to say that without my neighbours/dogwalker/dog trainer couple, I simply would not have been able to pull off this solution, and I am forever grateful for their help at one of the lowest points in my life. And the instant feeling of dread and panic I felt while wondering what would happen to him is something I never want to feel again. If I ever mention the possibilitiy of acquiring another pet – someone please shoot me.

In the coming week, I will concentrate on bringing my spirits up, eating as healthily as possible, go to a few exhibitions hopefully not too well visited and which I can reach without using public transport, staying away from people (I REALLY do not want to catch Corona right now ….), and keeping my fingers crossed that things will fall into place with the payment.

It is still, after a week, a “he-said-she-said” situation with the sickness insurance saying they have paid the bill, and that I am NOT to pay it myself, and the hospital saying they have not received the payment and suggesting that I pay the bill myself. Getting rather sick and tired of the whole thing and dreading any future similar situations.