When Joy and Fear Collide

 

Last week, I wrote about how life requires both the highs and the lows because without grief, we wouldn’t understand joy. Without sadness, we wouldn’t fully recognize happiness.

What I didn’t expect was to be living those very words just days later.

A few weeks ago, our dog Bailey was diagnosed with pneumonia. She wasn’t eating, her breathing was labored, and when we brought her to the vet, her temperature was dangerously high. X-rays confirmed the infection, and she was immediately started on two antibiotics.

We were hopeful.

But at her follow-up appointment, everything had gotten worse. Her breathing was more strained, her fever had climbed even higher, and the X-rays showed progression instead of healing.

The veterinarians began testing for fungal pneumonia, a process that takes 7–10 days for results and started her on antifungal medication while we waited.

Then came the longest 48 hours.

She deteriorated quickly. One night, she kept me awake with what I can only describe as “please help me” eyes. Her breathing became more desperate, and by Friday morning I knew something was very wrong.

Back to the vet we went.

Her temperature had spiked again, and we were told she needed to be hospitalized immediately.

After the emergency doctor evaluated her, we were given the kind of news no pet owner ever wants to hear:

It was likely either Blastomycosis (a severe fungal pneumonia) or cancer. (4 days later it was confirmed Blastomycosis)

If it was fungal, there was about a 50/50 chance she could respond to treatment. If she didn’t improve within 48 hours, she likely wouldn’t. And if it was cancer… there would be no improvement at all.

If you have ever loved a pet, you know they are not “just animals.” They are family. They are woven into the rhythm of your everyday life.

And suddenly we were facing the possibility of losing her at only eight years old.

Alongside the emotional weight was another reality many pet owners understand lifesaving care comes with a significant financial cost. Thousands of dollars. Decisions no one is ever prepared to make.

But for us, the decision was simple.

We had to try.

Bailey was placed on 24-hour oxygen, given a feeding tube, IV steroids, and strong medications. She could barely sit up. She was exhausted… and honestly, so were we.

When the boys came home that afternoon, their first question was, “Where is Bailey?”

No parent wants to have that conversation. Explaining how sick she was and that she might not come home was heartbreaking.

Yet even in the fear, we held onto hope. Because sometimes hope is the only thing strong enough to carry you through uncertainty.

That weekend, one thought kept replaying in my mind:

The hardest part of loving a pet is we never get enough time with them.

Eight years is not enough.
It’s never enough.

But through the worry and the pain, another realization quietly surfaced…

For eight years, Bailey has filled our home with laughter and personality. She is sassy and a little bougie. She loves her walks, demands cuddles, and firmly believes every snack should be shared.

She has been there for ordinary days and big moments alike, offering the kind of unconditional love only a dog can give.

And it brought me right back to what I wrote last week.

The reason the thought of losing her hurt so deeply is because the love we have for her is so profound. The grief felt overwhelming because the joy she brings into our lives is unmatched.

We cannot experience great joy without also making ourselves vulnerable to great pain.

Love asks us to be brave like that.

The next day, we went to visit Bailey, and there was no change. Waiting and not knowing felt incredibly heavy.

 

But I am someone who believes in signs.

 

When we arrived, they placed us in Room #9. The number nine has always been a sign from heaven for me, a reminder that my friend Ally is watching over me. Ally loved beagles, and since Bailey is a beagle/boxer mix, I couldn’t help but feel that she was watching over her too.

Another thought quietly settled into my heart. My step-nephew Ryan passed away at the age of nine, and he was a lover of all animals. In that moment, I found comfort in imagining the two of them together working in ways we cannot see, helping Bailey, protecting her, surrounding her with love.

Then, on the drive home, it began to snow. Not the harsh kind of snow, but the kind with big, soft flakes that seem to fall almost in slow motion.

As we pulled into our neighborhood, two beautiful cardinal birds flew right alongside the car, in the snow.

And suddenly… a deep sense of peace came over me.

It was the kind of peace that quiets your fears without needing to explain why. In that moment, I felt it with certainty:

Everything was going to be okay.

And then… something incredible happened.

After 48 long, emotional hours, Bailey began to show signs of improvement. On Sunday she was able to walk into the visiting room on her oxygen.

By Monday, I went to visit her again and we received the best news, she was strong enough to come home.

There truly are no words to describe the feeling of walking back through our front door with her. Relief washed over us. Gratitude filled every corner of my heart.

We are incredibly thankful for the amazing doctors, nurses, and staff who cared for her around the clock. Their compassion, expertise, and dedication quite possibly saved her life, and I will never forget the way they showed up for our family during such a frightening time.

Bailey still has a long road ahead. She will need about six more months of medication and close monitoring but she is home, she is healing, and she is already showing glimpses of her sassy personality again.

And let me tell you… our house feels whole.

This experience reinforced something I hope I never forget:

Joy is not the absence of hardship; it is the deep appreciation of what we still have.

Hold your loved ones a little closer.
Take the extra walk.
Pause for the cuddle.
Share the snack.

Because what feels ordinary today can become priceless in an instant.

Choose joy not because life is perfect, but because even in life’s hardest moments, there is always something worth holding onto.

And today, we are holding onto Bailey, with incredibly grateful hearts.