I’ve been avoiding writing about this for awhile now, and figured it was time to finally download my feelings. My dog Chuckles had surgery in late March to remove a mass on his right hind leg. The pathology came back that it was cancer. And not just any cancer, it was the rare and aggressive kind. Chuckles has a mast cell tumor, grade 3, which has almost an 80% reoccurrence rate and an 11% one year survival rate. Plus with the location of where it was on his body, they had to be careful with how much skin they took, and as a result the margins of the tumor weren’t clear. He still has cancer cells present in his body. I did, however, receive an oncology referral from the vet, and wanted to do my due diligence to investigate what my options were.

So earlier this month, I took Chuckles in to talk to a vet oncologist. And the reality of his situation hit home for me with full force. Treatment for chemotherapy and/or radiation starts around $5k and goes beyond $10k. And from the discussion with the vet oncologist, the treatment would only be to prolong his life. The best estimates were that treatment would buy a few months to potentially up to a year…if it even works at all. The vet stressed there wasn’t a guarantee.

I sobbed almost the entire drive home, talking to to my bestie, and confessed to her how I felt guilty, as if I was just letting him die by not pursuing treatment. I know intellectually that isn’t true but emotionally that’s how it feels to me. I’m letting my dog, my best friend, one of the only men I really love and cherish, die. Normally when I cry, he runs away and hides upstairs. But that day, when I came home from the vet, I reviewed the paperwork again, and as I sat and silently cried by myself, he stayed. He just sat there, laying on the living room floor, looking up at me lovingly. His solid presence, even when the bad news was about him, was comforting and heart wrenching all in the same breath.

I’ve had Chuckles for just over 10 years. We adopted him before I even knew I was pregnant with with my kiddo, but he was always my dog, bonded exclusively to me. Sure he loves and adores my daughter, but when I leave a room, he’s hot on my heels. Always by my side. My constant companion. The prognosis for him with strictly palliative treatment is from 2-6 months. I have been putting off calling the vet, to start the process of palliative care, because literally and figuratively that feels like another nail in his coffin. I’m not ready to lose him. The thought of being completely alone after he’s gone, makes my heart constrict with grief. I know in my soul I am going to make it through this, as I’ve made it through losing my father, but there is a thick layer of sadness that weighs heavy on my heart. And on top of my own feelings, I have to contend with making sure my daughter is appropriately processing her grief as well. I’m not a young 20-something like I was when I lost my dad to cancer; I’m now a mother, who is raising a very deep feeling, empathetic, kind kiddo who is going to take the death of her first dog really hard.

I have arranged for a special photoshoot next month, and am confident we will make some good memories and have wonderful photos to cherish once he crosses over the rainbow bridge. And I’m so eternally grateful for all the time I have had with him. He’s been there with me through becoming a mother, changing jobs, being my emotional support dog through my divorce, and witnessing the joy and happiness that has come from my new chapter. I love you so much bubba, and I am so thankful I got the opportunity to love and take care of you. I’ll do my best to make sure you receive the very best love and care from now until the end. You have my word.