Grief and Gratitude: Facing a Tumor Diagnosis With Hope, Love and Perspective
Published on August 18, 2015
Skip To
We got some sad news last week about our beloved Pug, Bruce. For the past several weeks, Bruce has had a noticeable cough and has seemed to have less energy than usual. At first, his symptoms seemed to be related to a bronchial infection, but the cough never let up — even with treatment. Suspecting that it could be related to a heart condition or a problem with the structures in his airway, I took him to the vet for some tests.The Bad News
What I saw on Bruce’s radiographs made my heart drop. He has a tumor in his chest that is pressing down on his heart and lungs. I stood in the vet’s office and faced the very real possibility that my beloved Pug may have cancer.
As I listened to the vet explain his findings, my mind was already spiraling forward. I immediately began to think about who to call and what appointments I would need to schedule in order to get a more specific diagnosis. I was thinking about treatment options and potential cures, and fretting about side effects and associated risks. And through it all, I was wondering exactly how my family — including our other Pug, Willy — would live without Bruce, our furry ball of joy.
I was able to hold myself together until I left the vet’s office. But as I lifted Bruce into my car, he licked my hand and wagged his tail and looked up at me with his sweet face, and I immediately teared up. “I love you Bruce,” I told him. “You mean so much to me.”"Our Little Brucie"
On the drive home, I called my father. My attempts to be strong and factual as I told him what the vet had found lasted about 10 seconds, and then I burst into sobs. In that moment, he went from being Dr. Marty Becker, America’s veterinarian, to being my wonderful daddy and a sad and grieving Pug grandparent.
“I can’t imagine anything ever happening to our beloved little Brucie,” he told me. “There’s a lot that’s unknown, but I’ll tell you what I do know: Bruce is family. And for him, we’ll do whatever we would do for any family member. We will give him the best healthcare we can give while also ensuring a high quality of life, so he has the best life possible.”
“I’ve loved that little guy since he was a puppy,” he added, “and I’m going to do everything in my power to help him the best I can.”
My heart was lifted by my father’s encouragement and wisdom, but our grief was still there as we hung up. I was still crying, and I found myself asking for help and guidance for our dog.
It’s the Little Things
Bruce has always been a very emotionally attached dog, and he clearly sensed my heartache. When we arrived at home, he immediately curled up on my lap and nestled against me. I didn’t want to upset him, but my emotions were too much to contain — the tears cascaded down my cheeks as I snuggled him. But Bruce knew how to help: He stood up on my lap and gently licked away the tears, comforting me as I grieved for him.
I decided the best thing for everyone would be to focus our energy on an activity Brucie loved, so I leashed both Pugs, and we set out on a walk. Doing this simple, everyday thing reminded me just how special these ordinary moments — training, walks, playtime, snuggling— have always been, for Bruce and for me.
Despite my grief, I feel so grateful for the time I’ve had with my precious Bruce. I have been blessed to share my life with this devoted dog. He is much more to me than a mere pet — Bruce is my furry family member and my four-legged child.
That night, despite the bad news, our home felt peaceful, as though we were covered with a blanket of love. So many people had reached out with kind words and prayers.A Dream — and a Realization
I awoke early the next morning from a vivid dream: I was walking with Bruce, but I was moving slowly and was hunched forward as if carrying a very heavy load in my arms. Bruce turned and looked at me. He told me I needed to let go of the weight I was carrying and play with him instead. I stared down at the ball in my hands and felt the weight slide away.
The dream felt prophetic. I realized that no matter how Bruce’s path unfolds as we seek further diagnosis and treatment, I can’t let myself be overwhelmed by worry, sorrow and anxiety. Bruce needs me to be present for him, enjoying the moments of happiness and love we have together.
I know that whatever treatments we choose, one of the best ways I can help Bruce — whose heart is always in a good game of fetch — is by simply letting go, enjoying my time with him and throwing that ball.
More on Vetstreet:
The Bad News
What I saw on Bruce’s radiographs made my heart drop. He has a tumor in his chest that is pressing down on his heart and lungs. I stood in the vet’s office and faced the very real possibility that my beloved Pug may have cancer. As I listened to the vet explain his findings, my mind was already spiraling forward. I immediately began to think about who to call and what appointments I would need to schedule in order to get a more specific diagnosis. I was thinking about treatment options and potential cures, and fretting about side effects and associated risks. And through it all, I was wondering exactly how my family — including our other Pug, Willy — would live without Bruce, our furry ball of joy.
I was able to hold myself together until I left the vet’s office. But as I lifted Bruce into my car, he licked my hand and wagged his tail and looked up at me with his sweet face, and I immediately teared up. “I love you Bruce,” I told him. “You mean so much to me.”
"Our Little Brucie"
On the drive home, I called my father. My attempts to be strong and factual as I told him what the vet had found lasted about 10 seconds, and then I burst into sobs. In that moment, he went from being Dr. Marty Becker, America’s veterinarian, to being my wonderful daddy and a sad and grieving Pug grandparent.“I can’t imagine anything ever happening to our beloved little Brucie,” he told me. “There’s a lot that’s unknown, but I’ll tell you what I do know: Bruce is family. And for him, we’ll do whatever we would do for any family member. We will give him the best healthcare we can give while also ensuring a high quality of life, so he has the best life possible.”
“I’ve loved that little guy since he was a puppy,” he added, “and I’m going to do everything in my power to help him the best I can.”
My heart was lifted by my father’s encouragement and wisdom, but our grief was still there as we hung up. I was still crying, and I found myself asking for help and guidance for our dog.
It’s the Little Things
Bruce has always been a very emotionally attached dog, and he clearly sensed my heartache. When we arrived at home, he immediately curled up on my lap and nestled against me. I didn’t want to upset him, but my emotions were too much to contain — the tears cascaded down my cheeks as I snuggled him. But Bruce knew how to help: He stood up on my lap and gently licked away the tears, comforting me as I grieved for him.I decided the best thing for everyone would be to focus our energy on an activity Brucie loved, so I leashed both Pugs, and we set out on a walk. Doing this simple, everyday thing reminded me just how special these ordinary moments — training, walks, playtime, snuggling— have always been, for Bruce and for me.
Despite my grief, I feel so grateful for the time I’ve had with my precious Bruce. I have been blessed to share my life with this devoted dog. He is much more to me than a mere pet — Bruce is my furry family member and my four-legged child.
That night, despite the bad news, our home felt peaceful, as though we were covered with a blanket of love. So many people had reached out with kind words and prayers.
A Dream — and a Realization
I awoke early the next morning from a vivid dream: I was walking with Bruce, but I was moving slowly and was hunched forward as if carrying a very heavy load in my arms. Bruce turned and looked at me. He told me I needed to let go of the weight I was carrying and play with him instead. I stared down at the ball in my hands and felt the weight slide away.The dream felt prophetic. I realized that no matter how Bruce’s path unfolds as we seek further diagnosis and treatment, I can’t let myself be overwhelmed by worry, sorrow and anxiety. Bruce needs me to be present for him, enjoying the moments of happiness and love we have together.
I know that whatever treatments we choose, one of the best ways I can help Bruce — whose heart is always in a good game of fetch — is by simply letting go, enjoying my time with him and throwing that ball.
More on Vetstreet: