Penny is an artist who uses her creative side and imagination to express herself. She’s now using this opportunity with ASDNext to not only do that through art, but also blogging. For much of her life, she felt like the “quirky sidekick” stereotype in a movie, always doing what others expected of her. When she was diagnosed with autism later in life, that all began to change. This news was life changing and she knew it was time to rewrite her story. She’s no longer on the sidelines of this so-called movie that is her life, she’s the director, leading-lady, or whatever other part she needs to play to figure out who she REALLY is! Every small step toward authenticity is now a victory for her in this new stage of life.
View all postsFaith, Hope, and Fur: A Pitbull Mast Cell Tumor Journey
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** TW: Dogs, Cancer, Mast Cell Tumor **
This autumn hasn’t been the easiest for me to navigate. A lot of my stress, anxiety, and uncertainty stems from my 9-year-old dog’s recent diagnosis of a “Mast Cell Tumor.” Nine years is getting up there in dog years, but I adopted Luna as a rescue about 1.5 years into her life. She is a short-haired blue-nose pocket Pitbull with broad shoulders, a blocky head, and a lean body, weighing about 57lbs total. With age, she has developed many “bumpies,” as I so lovingly call them, on her body. On her head, her tail, her side, her thigh, and even near her rump. Some have appeared only to mysteriously disappear. Others grow slowly and steadily. As much as I tell her to stop growing these extra bumpies, her natural biology persists in bonus lumps and bumps.
After receiving her annual vaccinations in October, I noticed a worrisome, fast-growing bumpy on her right shoulder. Assuming it was post-vaccination swelling, I put it out of my mind for a while. To the touch, it felt like a mosquito bite, but grew to the size of a fun-size Snickers. I called the vet, explaining the situation, and they were interested in seeing her sooner rather than later. Since the appointment was a high priority and squeezed in at the clinic, we were scheduled to see a doggy doctor we were unfamiliar with.
The day of the appointment arrived, and I couldn’t shake off my anxiety. My dog, always a bundle of energy, wrecked the joint as usual. Bouncing off counters, chairs, the scale, and any surface within her reach. In the exam room, I met with the veterinarian. The vet noted that the lump didn’t align with the site of her vaccinations. A sample had to be taken with a needle and placed on a slide that same day for microscopic examination. The wait was agonizing for me. My dog was unfazed, full of life, and attempting to get into everything as we sat in the exam room together.
Finally, the vet returned with the diagnosis. The bump was a “Mast Cell Tumor,” a low-grade malignant tumor that releases antihistamines when agitated. The best treatment would involve surgical removal of the tumor, with a wide margin of skin removed along with it. The vet scheduled surgery for a week and a half later, and prescribed antihistamines to keep the tumor in check and manage any symptoms in the meantime.
Receiving the news that my dog had cancer was devastating to say the least. I took it extremely hard; grieving for my best friend who remained happy, hyper, and unfazed by the
scary diagnosis. The thought of losing her was unbearable. I am a helicopter dog-mom and have always strived to provide the best care for my little girl. To cope, I kept her in long-sleeved doggie clothes to protect the tumor from the elements and shield both of us from the sight. Even glancing at it makes me sad and stressed! I shared the diagnosis with family and friends, who offered so many kind words and prayers. Socially, I withdrew and spent every moment possible with Luna, not wanting to take advantage of our time together ever again.
The day of surgery eventually came, and I continued to be a complete wreck. I dropped her off at the clinic and signed countless forms, with overwhelming sadness washing over me. The lonely ride home was full of emotion. Still, I had no choice but to trust that the veterinarian had her best interests in mind and continue with my daily life. Less than 45 minutes later, the surgeon called me with unexpected news; the antihistamines REALLY did their job in reducing the tumor to the size of a pea. My dog was no longer a candidate for surgery. Good news, I guess? I still don’t fully understand, but our new treatment plan was to continue with the medication and watch her condition closely, with an in-office follow-up in January. My brain could barely comprehend what was happening. My family was able to pick her up immediately.
While my dog still has a cancerous tumor, I am optimistic and ready to continue being the best dog mom I can be. Was it awkward and complicated to update all those who wished us well on a surgery day that didn’t even happen? Yes. Do I completely understand the change of plans? Not really. Are my emotions also STILL awkward and complicated? Yes. I’ve joined some really supportive Facebook groups for pet parents of dogs with mast cell tumors. It’s been a relief connecting with others who understand what we’re going through. Learning more about MSTs, picking up tips and tricks, dietary information, and inevitably grieving other pets who have since crossed the rainbow bridge. Luna is fortunate to have such a small, bumpy to deal with, and I ask for continued prayers that it stays pea-sized and not too gruesome. Sharing this story is just another way for me to process the experience. Luna means so much to me, and while I know our time together isn’t endless, I still hope she can continue to lead a happy and healthy life on this new path.
Penny
