Friday the 13th, how ironic. This was the day I received the devastating news that shattered my world. I had clung to hope for good news, hoping for relief from the agony of the unknown, the dreaded “what if.” It all started three weeks earlier, also on a Friday, when I discovered a broken tooth in my beautiful Yorkshire Terrier, Odin’s, mouth. Concerned, I took him to the vet. He was scheduled for surgery the following Monday to remove the damaged tooth and clean his teeth.
When I went to pick him up after surgery, the vet showed me pictures of his mouth. There was something alarming—a lump on his gum. She tried to reassure me, saying it was likely just an infection.
"I’ll put him on antibiotics and anti-inflammatories to see if it clears up. Bring him back next Friday for a check-up."
Following her instructions, I gave Odin his medications daily, hopeful that the lump would shrink. Every morning, I checked, praying for improvement.
But when Friday arrived, the lump was still there. The vet scheduled another surgery to remove it and send the biopsy to the lab, with a more serious warning this time:
"It could be cancer." Yet she still offered hope.
"Maybe it is benign", she suggested.
I held onto that hope. I think she did too.
The surgery was performed, but they couldn’t remove the entire lump due to the risk of excessive bleeding. And then, on Friday the 13th, I got the call. My heart sank. The biopsy results were in, Malignant Melanoma—a very aggressive form of cancer. My entire world crumbled. I felt ice-cold from head to toe. How could this happen? Odin had always been healthy, aside from his little tooth issue.
The vet explained the next steps: we could see a specialist, and maybe try chemotherapy. But the thought of putting my sweet Odin through that seemed unbearable. I didn’t want him to suffer, not through treatments that might make him sicker. After much consideration, I made the difficult decision to keep him comfortable for as long as possible. And when the time comes, when his life is no longer comfortable, I’ll have to make the hardest decision of all—to let him go peacefully. That thought terrifies me.
I’ve said goodbye to too many furry family members, each loss months apart. And now, within a year or so, I must say goodbye to Odin too. I am beyond angry—angry at this cancer that has invaded my precious dog’s mouth, slowly stealing his life away. Since receiving the news, I’ve been crying on and off, feeling both heartbreak and helplessness.
I know I’m not alone. There are many other pet parents going through this same nightmare. All I can say is, be strong for your fur baby. Spoil them, love them a little extra, and make every moment count. They don’t understand what cancer is or why they’re sick. It’s up to us, as their guardians, to make their days easier, to comfort them, and to show them how deeply they are loved.
It’s hard. I know it all too well. Every day, I try not to let Odin see my sadness. I try not to cry in front of him because he wouldn’t understand why his mommy is so upset. This is a challenge I never asked for, but I know one thing for sure—I will see Odin through this, all the way to the end. He will not face this journey alone. I’ll be by his side until the very last moment.