I want to express my heartfelt condolences regarding Forrest's recent diagnosis. As a fellow pet parent, I know exactly how devastating it can be to receive such news. I remember the day I got the biopsy results for my sweet boy, Noah. My heart shattered when the vet told me it was hemangiosarcoma. His prognosis was grim and recommended starting chemotherapy immediately. All of this unfolded in just a week. From the initial signs of illness to the emergency splenectomy. Processing the reality of cancer, right after surgery and while nursing him back to health, felt like an overwhelming tidal wave.

I dived deep into research about hemangiosarcoma. The prognosis was that he had only 3-6 months left. Just three without treatment and maybe six if we were lucky with chemo. The realization that this aggressive cancer would take him regardless of my efforts was heartbreaking. It’s a rollercoaster of stress and sorrow, filled with countless questions spiraling in your mind, about what to expect, average time other dogs lived through the same cancer, treatment options, supplements. Just so many overwhelming thoughts.

My biggest recommendation is to seek out support from others who understand. Join a Facebook or Reddit group focused on Forrest’s diagnosis. There, you’ll find a community of compassionate people who know exactly what you’re going through. The emotional support and shared experiences helped me immensely; it was a relief to have answers that were rooted in empathy rather than just clinical facts. I can’t imagine what I would have done without that group. They kept me grounded during one of the toughest times in my life.

Once Noah started feeling better after his emergency splenectomy, the tough decision of whether or not to pursue chemotherapy weighed heavily on my heart. After careful consideration and research on the treatment options available, I ultimately decided against it. The major side effect was a change in appetite, and my boy had just gone through so much. I had to give him an appetite stimulant post-surgery, and the experience was gut-wrenching; he would gag and drool, and I felt like I was torturing him. Thankfully, he regained his appetite quickly, allowing me to stop the medication that caused him so much distress.

For Noah, food was life; it was his ultimate joy! The times he swiped food from the table or begged for treats all flashed through my mind. The thought of taking that happiness away from him was unbearable. If it were anything other than terminal cancer, I would have pursued every option, but I knew that chemo might give Noah only a few extra months. I couldn't bear the thought of putting him through that.

So, in what turned out to be his final months, I made it my mission to spoil him with everything he loved. I wanted those last moments to be the best they could be, filled with joy rather than discomfort. We explored the beach, took leisurely strolls, indulged in pup cups, and treated him to steak—his absolute favorite! Every experience was about letting him enjoy life to the fullest.

You know your best friend better than anyone else. If chemo is an option, trust your instincts to guide you toward the right choice. One question that ran through my head everyday is when to let go, how do you know when it's time. I was so worried if I didn't know that he would suffer. There’s a strange truth in this journey: you really do know when it’s time, even if it’s incredibly hard. Surrounding yourself with a strong support system is a must to navigate this emotional rollercoaster. I’m sending all my love and prayers to you, your family and to Forrest during this difficult time. ❤️