It's a grim outlook, but aside from distracting me from my art-making, it has strangely little effect on my mood. I still feel so grateful Tisha was spared to us last week... we were prepared for him to die then, so the fact that he still lives is everything I could want. He's with us now and he's as happy as anyone with a giant healing wound in his neck can possibly be. We spend as much time with him as possible, and he purrs to show us he likes it, and that's that. Our goal for the remainder of his life will be to give him as many and as comfortable days as possible. If that means radiation, we'll try that; if that means foregoing treatment so he can avoid any more car trips and meds, then an option too. It's all about Tisha at this point. And we're not going to worry about it until after he's recovered from the surgery.
But you probably know, even when you declare fervently that you're not going to think about something, you still do; even when you make a decision, it's still not over. Your brain still mulls over things underneath your conscious thoughts, and that affects you. That's why I'm writing here right now instead of drawing.