From the EquineSite.com bulletin board:

I have just arrived home from Tufts after another day spent on an emotional roller coaster with my best friend. Missile (my 25 year old QH) colicked late Sunday afternoon. (Isn't that the law?) After 24 hours of treatment at home, we made the decision to send him to Tufts. Afraid that if the pain got unmanageable, I couldn't deal with it at home, we arrive at Tufts thinking we are dealing with an impaction colic. Everything will be OK. Poop in the trailer so already things are looking up. What we discover through ultrasounds etc. is NOT an impaction, but a mass of undetermined size, shape and form. Unsuccessful at getting a biopsy, but successful in determining that there aren't other tumors in the area and that this particular tumor is not shedding cancer cells. All good news though we still don't know what we're dealing with. Nor do we know that even if we operate we will be able to get it out. The last attempt to biopsy reveals that what we are dealing with is a tumor the size of a watermelon! Will I let them operate in spite of the cost? You bet I will. How could I not. There are some who will say that it's crazy because of his age. To them I say, "Here is a horse with true soul. Here is a horse who has given me everything he has and more. Here is a horse who defines the word horse." He may not have much more time on this earth. A few years at best. But whatever it takes in my power he will live them to the best of both our abilities. They operate tomorrow. Tonight when I left him, he looked me in the eye as if to say, "Don't worry Mom, things will be OK. Thank you for helping me!" I pray that he is right.

The roller coaster ride has ended. Missile's journey is over. It is with a very heavy heart that I tell you the tumor was inoperable and I had to make the heart wrenching decision to end his suffering. A bypass around the tumor would have bought some time, but I had to ask myself, "For whom." He would have had to spend that time confined to his stall recovering from the surgery and that is not what I wanted for my best friend. When I went to see him today before his surgery, the light was indeed gone from his eyes. ... He did give me all he had and more- 24/7 for 23 wonderful years. He owed me nothing in the end. I owed him the respect and dignity to let him go and end his suffering. It is the hardest and best gift I could give him. His ashes will come home to rest. He will be missed. Sleep well, my noble steed...we will meet again!