Best Birthday, Ever

Yeah, today's my birthday and a good one it was. Great, one might even say, if one could ignore the personally addressed solicitation from Lone Tree Cemetery in Hayward that arrived, alongside flowers and birthday greetings, announcing, "Hurry, special 50% offer ends February 29!"

Seriously, folks.
That faux paux aside, family and friends spoiled me, reminding me (as if I could forget) that I am indeed surrounded by the cream of the crop. Pretty damned lucky, yes.
But, I have to confess, the star of the show was Elvis. And you have to understand why.
Last Friday morning, I was getting ready to leave for work when I went to say goodbye to Olivia, then Elvis when OMIGOD what was that? An angry looking, swollen, walnut-sized lump had sprouted overnight on the incision site on his neck. Gingerly, I touched the intruder. It was hot. Soft. Bulging. It didn't appear to be causing him pain, but damn, the thing was huge.
I sent a text to my manager explaining I'd be late, but in my heart I didn't really think I'd be late. I didn't think I'd be coming in at all. Because while driving Elvis to Dr. Arnott's office, I was convinced that this was "it." He would tell me that the tumor had returned and it was best to just accept the inevitable and put my boy out of his misery. Now.
And I was prepared to do just that. Wore my glasses because I can't see clearly when I'm wearing my contacts and crying. Wore my mom's special necklace because I want her spirit with me when I send Elvis into her arms. And tried to ignore that sick throbbing knot in the pit of my stomach.
After Dr. Arnott examined Elvis, I steadied myself for the words I've been dreading. I certainly wasn't expecting, "This might be good."
What?
He suspected that the lump was filled with the disintegrating remains of the tumor. Remains that were killed by the new chemo Elvis had two weeks ago. "I think it's working," Dr. Arnott said incredulously while extracting the liquid. "There's no other explanation for this fluid." He reminded me that this cancer is not curable, but the chemo appeared to be having the desired effect: stunting the growth of the tumor and buying time.
This weekend, Elvis polished off every morsel I put before him, eating with a gusto that made my heart sing. We took walks, albeit slow, but steady, and I let him take the lead and go where he wanted to go. He's a smart boy. He knows which routes are long, which paths are peppered with the lemon grass he loves to nibble on, and which are the shortcuts that take a measly 15 minutes.
Of course, he chose the long paths. With Olivia by my side, obediently restraining her youthful energy, it took us two hours to complete a simple two-mile walk. But the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Elvis was relishing every nibble, every sniff, every step.
As was I.
This was a gift I didn't see coming. And one that helped make this such a great birthday.