Gromit, sweetheart dog

"What's his name?" asks a large gray-haired man unsuccessfully reigning in an exuberant black lab/boxer mix named Scout in the lobby of the vet clinic.

"Gromit," I say, ready to explain his rather unusual moniker.

"Gromit?" he asks, smiling. "Is Wallace at home?"

He bends over, gives Grom a quick scratch and says "Gromit, you are a real sweetheart."

Yep. A sweetheart dog. That's the word most people use for Gromit. It's what we've called him since he was a puppy. And while many of you have never met Gromit, if you did, you'd say the same thing within minutes of meeting him.

He's just that kind of guy.

So when doctors (who have to give you the worst case scenario) say things like "this kind of abnormality in the stomach, I just can't think of a good scenario for that" and "two hard swollen lymph nodes" you can probably understand why I sobbed on the couch all morning.

He's eaten next to nothing for more than a week. In that time he's transformed from Gromit, smiley sweetheart dog, to a forlorn little guy who looks incredibly uncomfortable both day and night.

Around 3 p.m. today, the doctor called to say they'd found no masses, tumors, or obstructions in his stomach or small intestine. However, his small intestine is extremely red and irritated and, while they haven't ruled out some sort of lymphoma, the preliminary diagnosis is Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome (which I swear is what Jim gets after El Taco Grande).

We still don't know the scoop on the lymph nodes -- but the chest x-rays looked normal and all of the biopsies will come back in a few days. The doctor was very positive.

It's hard to explain what this fuzzy little mutt means to me and Jim, but if you knew him, you'd understand that life is significantly sweeter with Gromit in it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The birds outside
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Sort of relieved but not quite