In October 2025, when he was only 9 months old, Cedar was diagnosed with Steroid Responsive Meningitis Arteritis (SRMA) — an autoimmune disease that primarily affects the spine and, heartbreakingly, mostly impacts puppies. Boxers, beagles, and (much to his ancestry’s chagrin) Bernese Mountain Dogs are especially prone.

As scary as the diagnosis was, it was also a relief. Suddenly all the “off days,” the tenderness, the unexplained pain made sense. We finally knew what we were fighting — and we were ready to fight it with him.

From the day we brought Cedar home, we believed in him. He’s been training to become a psychiatric service dog, helping with ADHD and anxiety. His training has focused on his public access skills, while also honing the basics of deep pressure therapy, medicine retrieval, and alerting for executive dysfunction freezes. Along the way, he also became an expert car rider, intuitive puzzle solver, enthusiastic super-sniffer, and—most importantly—our family’s best friend and baby boy.

Even through medication trials, relapses, and the normal chaos of puppy life, Cedar kept moving forward like a champion.

Then, exactly one week after his first birthday, everything changed.

Cedar suddenly refused food, struggled to stand or walk, and began passing dark, tar-like stool. We rushed him to the vet and learned he was dangerously anemic. Things moved fast — oxygen tanks, stretchers, urgent transfers — and suddenly we were at the emergency hospital facing a decision no pet parent ever wants to face: attempt costly blood transfusions, or say goodbye.

At that point, Cedar was already on three aggressive medications for SRMA. One likely caused a bleeding ulcer. Another may have suppressed his bone marrow and blood production. He’d already had a relapse. The odds felt heavy.

I remember thinking the message felt painfully clear… until my husband, Thomas quietly said:

“When Cedar was diagnosed, I promised God I wouldn’t let money be the deciding factor. Let’s leave room for a miracle.”

So we did.

Even though the doctors weren’t sure Cedar would survive the night, we approved the transfusion and placed him on DNR status in case things took a turn. We kissed his forehead, told him how loved he was, and tried to sleep.

That night, Cedar surprised everyone. His vitals strengthened. He devoured the hospital’s canned chicken (apparently “ravenous” is the medical term). The next day we brought him home. Follow-up bloodwork the next day showed his red blood cell count had not only stabilized — it had improved. He is now home with us, happily eating chicken, sniffing the park, and reminding us daily how resilient he is.

We know not everyone would make the choices we’ve made — and that’s okay. For us, loving Cedar means doing everything we reasonably can to give him a good life and a fighting chance. That includes taking on more work, seeking relief programs, leaning into our support system… and humbly asking for help.

If you’re able to contribute, we are deeply grateful. If you’re not, sharing Cedar’s story helps just as much. And if all you can offer is good thoughts, prayers, or encouragement — we welcome those too.

However this journey unfolds, this is us choosing hope and leaving room for another miracle in Cedar’s life. Thank you for loving our sweet boy alongside us.

TLDR (I see you, my fellow ADHDers); Cedar, our one-year-old Bernedoodle and service dog in training, has SRMA — a serious autoimmune disease. After a life-threatening complication and emergency blood transfusion, he’s now home and recovering. We’re asking our community for support with medical costs and for continued good thoughts as Cedar keeps fighting. Thank you for being part of his journey.