From Desperation to Hope

When you decide to move your whole family to a place you’ve barely visited, it’s the perfect time for life to throw you a curveball, right? That’s exactly how it went down when we packed up and headed across the state after the pandemic. Picture it: fresh start, new house, unknown neighbors. Oh, and in the middle of it all, my dog—who had been a part of our family for years—decides to go from a minor limp to full-on immobile and in excruciating pain. Perfect timing, right?

We decided to try one more vet—one who actually seemed to know what she was doing. At this point, I wasn’t holding my breath, but we were running out of options. She put my dog under, took fresh X-rays, and made some adjustments. For the first time, it felt like we might be getting somewhere.

Then she woke up.

With every single step, there was a clicking noise. Not an occasional pop, not something subtle—this was loud, distinct, and happening every time she moved. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t something we could ignore.

We called the vet’s office immediately, but she had left the clinic. Just gone. Poof. And seeing someone else? A two-week wait. Two weeks might as well have been a lifetime. But there was nothing we could do.

At the same time, life wasn’t exactly waiting around for us to figure things out. We had just sold our house and were set to move across state lines to buy a new one. There were contracts, deadlines, a million moving pieces, and absolutely no wiggle room. We had to go. So, with no other options, we left, hoping this clicking sound wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

And then, two weeks later, everything fell apart.

She crashed. Hard.

One day, she could walk—maybe not perfectly, but she was managing. And then suddenly, she couldn’t move at all. Every time she was touched, she cried out in pain. It wasn’t just discomfort. This was something seriously wrong. And this? This was when the panic truly set in. What had started as an occasional limp had spiraled into something much, much worse.

And in the middle of all of this? We were still closing on a house. Still juggling all the logistical nightmares of moving. And now, I had a dog who was suffering and absolutely no idea what to do.

That’s when a friend’s wife, who happened to be a vet, finally gave me an answer that made sense: stem cell therapy. The problem? Finding a vet who did it. Oh, and affording it—because let’s be real, vet care is expensive on a good day. And when you’re closing on a house, your financial hands are tied. You can’t open a new line of credit. You can’t move large amounts of money. And pet insurance? That’s not actually insurance—it’s just another damn credit line dressed up as something helpful.

So now, not only were we scrambling to find a vet who could actually help, but we were also trying to figure out how to pay for it.

And this is where I have to acknowledge something important: the world isn’t all bad.

Yeah, corporate vets were absolutely trying to squeeze every dollar they could out of us. Yeah, they were pushing surgeries that, in hindsight, would have ruined her. But at the same time, good people exist. Friends stepped up. They donated. They helped us get her back across the state to the right vet. And that vet? He truly cared.

And thank everything for that—because he told us the truth. If we had gone through with those surgeries? She would have gotten worse. Maybe even wouldn’t have made it. That was a terrifying realization.