Navigating Dread: A Personal Journey with Pet Cancer and How to Combat the Disease

The Worst Feeling

Dread is a heavy word, like a brick that sinks into your stomach and sits there unmoving and terrible. We all know dread, the unwelcome visitor bearing dark and terrible news. How each person manages it is unique and personal, but as pet owners, what inflicts dread is unfortunately common.

Dread crept back into my life two weeks ago when I found a lump on my dog's thigh that wasn’t there the day before. That lump brought familiar feelings of worry, fear, and this heavy sense of 'what's next?'. November is National Pet Cancer Awareness Month, and the timing of this new development is oddly coincidental.

Flashback

This lump isn’t just a bump—it’s a flashback to a tough time. In 2020, at the height of Covid, I lost my best friend Bear. Bear died of complications brought on by a tumor in his pancreas (Canine Insulinoma). It all started on Christmas Eve, a fun and festive night of dinner and poolside family time. But that night, Bear was looking ill. We celebrated Christmas morning as usual, but I could tell something was off, and by the afternoon, I was frantic to find him medical attention. But COVID-19 made it difficult. I called dozens of clinics, each turning me away due to pandemic-related staff shortages. As nightfall came, I was driving an hour out of town to the only clinic able to take me. Sitting in my car masked up and waiting in an unlit parking lot for another masked stranger to knock on my windshield and take my dog away was a surreal way to spend Christmas. It was dark, it was cold, it was lonely. But I wasn’t alone as I listened to a woman in the next car quietly sob as her dead dog lay in the back seat. That’s when it hit me. Dread. She was an omen, a bellwether, a sign, as I sat silently with my head down to ward off the death that surrounded me. An hour later, I received his checkup results. Bear had low blood sugar, and a radiograph revealed a mass near the liver or pancreas. Ultimately, he was stable enough to go home as is, and though I was happy to, I remained frightened at the motionless body in the seat next to me. I found it hard to believe that he was stable.

Bear: aka “noise with dirt on it”.

I watched Bear like a hawk that night and called my vet first thing the following morning. We reviewed the paperwork and tests from the previous vet, and I asked if I could bring him in. The reply was every test he had the night before would be repeated, and they preferred I wait to see an expert who would ultrasound the mass. I acquiesced and hung up the phone. But as the morning wore on, things took a turn for the worse. Bear began losing his balance and coordination and wore a vacant and pained look while I struggled against every instinct to drive him to the clinic. So I sat there somberly and watched his demise, a witness to his last hours as he sauntered off to hide in his crate like old dogs do when they go off somewhere to die.

Exhausted from the night prior, I napped heavily on the couch but woke briefly when Bear jumped up to sleep with me. I sighed, thinking, “Great - he must be feeling better.” I dozed off again, happy to have his warm body next to mine. Not an hour later, I woke because Bear was kicking me in the head. Funny, I thought, he must be dreaming and running in his sleep, which he often did. But the kicking continued and got fiercer. That’s when I looked over and realized Bear was seizing. I jumped up, dialed the emergency clinic, and got us both in the car as I sped toward help, all the while screaming and crying as Bear continued having grand mal seizures in the back seat. After flagging down staff from my car, I stood there helpless and in shock as they took my dog from my arms while tears poured down my face. Bear was now getting the care he needed, but another seizure in the clinic left him in a coma. Four hours later, I received a call that he had another seizure and that I should see him immediately while he was alive. But his heart gave out before I arrived, so I said a painful and final goodbye to his lifeless body. Bear died that day not from cancer but from a preventable condition: hypoglycemia.

Lessons Learned: Vigilance and Overcoming Self-Doubt

Nearly three years later, that experience still haunts me. I struggle with guilt for not being a better advocate for Bear, but I learned my lesson well. Bear’s death shaped me to trust in my instinct when my dog’s health and well-being are concerned. Furthermore, I learned to have confidence in speaking with caregivers when seeking medical attention that I believe in. I now have a new best friend, and I love him madly. He’s my soul-dog whom I named Grizli as an homage to Bear. Grizli helped ease the pain of Bear’s death, and every day is a happy one with him in my life.

Grizli on his “Gotcha Day”, January 2021. rescued with thanks from Beagle Freedom Project.

Where veterinarians are concerned, it’s not just about regular vet check-ups—it's about finding that perfect match in a vet, someone who empathizes with you, who cares about your bond with your pet, and who offers compassion with a variety of solutions to suit your budget and personal views. Vets do their best to treat patients without a voice to tell you what’s wrong. But I never returned to the vet clinic that wasn’t there for me or Bear that day.

The Right Vet with Great News

Companion Animal Wellness Center of Carlsbad is a clinic that offers everything I seek in a pet healthcare provider. They provide both traditional and holistic services, the staff are all fear-free certified, and they have my dog’s best interest at heart, giving me peace of mind. And I love that the lobby is uncommonly clean and quiet with a zen-like feel. While my vet and I formalized a health plan for the bump on Grizli’s leg, she shared information that was too good to keep to myself, hence this blog.

There’s promising news for pet owners concerned about pet cancer. It’s a new test for early cancer detection in pets. You can search for veterinarians offering this test here: Oncok9. It’s a game-changer because early detection is the key to saving your pet’s life. As with everything, you should discuss this with your vet. I would choose the path of science and prevention over the unknown and dread.

And the bump? It decreased in size and is barely noticeable. Pathology came back inconclusive, but a careful warning from my vet, a follow-up test next month in December, and we’ll go from there. Until then, dread remains a word on my lips and not a pit in my stomach.