My furry reason for living

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This is Tiago. Short for Santiago. I adopted this crazy pup 2 years ago before I found out about my bladder cancer. He needs some special care: he was likely wandering the northern California fire zone extensively prior to being captured by Ukiah Animal Control. He does well with humans, seems gentle with children but I've always kept a firm hand ready to pull him back just in case the child does something startling. But he feels challenged and defensive around most other dogs.
I've always been able to handle him, and hopefully I'll out-survive him, but's gonna hafta hafta rotsa ruck.
This may sound depressing: I don't let it all get to me much beyond my worry what happens to this animal. I'm not looking for some flowery sympathy shit, so please don't.
But here goes: I've discovered I can't tolerate the treatments 2 different ways. I've always had multiple sensitivities to medications, compounds and food additives. Secondarily, some of the first procedures done by a poor bedside manner practitioner left me with severe PTSD nightmares long after.
Although I've got some options, and a better practitioner with far better approach and willingness to take some extraordinary measures for me, now I'm between gigs, uninsured and unable to do anything more than hope this stays in some remission state. Even if I pick up work now, it will exceed recommended treatment intervals..
My health improved considerably after the first surgery, and no cancerous tissue was found on the second. Still, it's the nature of the high grade tumors to recur. I'll reiterate: I'm gonna need rotsa rotsa ruck.
For now, Tiago is the only emotional support I have aside from any physical support at my home sweet travel trailer.
If this rotten country had socialized medicine like most of the planet, I wouldn't be in this potentially deadly conundrum. The ultimate irony of it all? I work as traveling ancillary medical staff.
I only hope should the worst happen to me that Tiago goes to someone loving who can accommodate a loving, special needs pupster.
In my present situation, if I have the fatal cardiac or cerebrovascular event where I'm at, he'd probably have to eat me and I likely wouldn't be found for months.
Situation of a long term, widowed traveler. I've accepted my likely grisly potential demise.