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The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of fear, uncertainty, and heavy silence. When you’re waiting to hear whether your beloved dog — your constant companion, your source of comfort — might have cancer, every minute feels like an eternity. That kind of waiting is its own kind of pain. It drains you emotionally, physically, and mentally. And for Teddy, it’s been just as hard.
It all started when we noticed something wasn’t quite right. Teddy wasn’t himself — a little slower, a little less hungry, not as playful. A visit to the vet turned into an ultrasound. That’s when they found the mass on his spleen. It was one of those moments where the air leaves the room, and the world narrows into that one terrifying word: tumor.
For a week and a half, we lived in limbo. Every day was filled with what-ifs. What if it’s hemangiosarcoma? What if we don’t catch it in time? What if we lose him? We tried to stay hopeful, tried to keep things normal for Teddy’s sake — but he could feel the tension. Dogs always know. He stuck closer to us than usual, resting his head on our laps, watching us with those deep, soulful eyes that seemed to ask, “Are we okay?”
The biopsy was sent out. And then came the hardest part — the waiting. The endless refreshing of the phone, the checking for voicemails, the silent prayers. Every time the phone rang, our hearts dropped into our stomachs. Sleep didn’t come easy, and neither did peace of mind.
Finally, the call came.
“No evidence of cancer.”
It felt like breathing again after being underwater. We cried — tears of relief, joy, exhaustion. The worst news we had feared didn’t come. The mass is something we’ll still monitor closely, but for now, Teddy is safe. He’s with us. And we don’t have to say goodbye — not yet.
But even with that good news, we’re not totally out of the woods. Teddy’s still healing. His body is still tired, and we’re still working with his vets to keep him comfortable and on the best possible path. He’s had bloodwork, medications, tests, and so much poking and prodding. Through it all, he’s been brave, patient, and full of love — because that’s just who he is.
This journey reminded us just how fragile time is. How deeply we love our pets, and how much space they take up in our hearts. Teddy isn’t just a dog — he’s family. He’s our heartbeat, our shadow, our warm spot on the couch.
Thank you to everyone who kept Teddy in your thoughts. Please continue to send him your strength. He’s doing better, but the road isn’t over yet.
One thing is for certain: we’re holding him a little closer now. πΎ❤️
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