Paw's On Therapy Stories

Goosebumps

I tell this story to let our soldiers with the invisible wounds know they are not alone and their service and sacrifices do not go unnoticed. And I tell it for you. So that when you go to sleep at night, you will remember Allen Hill and the price of freedom.

Sometimes things happen in our lives that cause us to stumble and temporarily be thrown off balance. We grumble about the heat and the inconveniences of a freeway traffic jam, and we worry about the unimportant and mundane occurrences in our everyday lives that appear to us to be so earthshaking and insurmountable.

And then sometimes things happen that allow us to reach the center of what is most important. We suddenly awaken to what people we have never met, in a place we have never heard of, endured and will endure for the remainder of their lives to keep us free. Everyday, in every way, these American heroes lay their lives on the line to protect us. I find that extraordinarily humbling. And I find it remorseful that they aren’t appreciated more for their service and sacrifices.

It was a late 107 degree July Monday afternoon in San Antonio. I drove to a psych hospital where twenty soldiers are undergoing treatment for the invisible wound called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD.) I had met many, many soldiers at Walter Reed and Brooke Army Medical Center with this injury, but none had effected me quite like Allen. Allen’s story first captured the heart of America when he and his wife were on a national television program focusing on the devastating effects of PTSD and how his service dog, Frankie, from Puppies Behind Bars in New York alerts him to his debilitating and reoccurring flashbacks by jumping on his lap and licking his face until he focuses on the present once again and the unspeakable horrors of war are temporarily released, at least for a few minutes before striking again.

I had had the opportunity of spending some time with Allen’s wife Gina and their two kids the day before. She kindly invited me to visit her husband the next day. Little did I know the impact simply meeting him would have on my life.

As Allen approached the large found dining table in the cafeteria at the hospital, I noticed we were surrounded by families visiting loved ones, small children who had been horrifically sexually abused, and gang members looking somewhat lost. As soon as Allen entered the room, Frankie became alert, tail wagging. You could almost hear her saying, “Finally, there you are.”

Allen sat down with his dinner tray of beef and rice and mixed vegetables. Frankie was in position, under the dining room table with both paws and head resting on Allen’s big red shoes. She waited! She waited for the man she listened to. Listening for that moment when she needed to alert him back to the real world once again.

I introduced myself and spoke with this soldier who had sacrificed his future for me and others like me. With a lump in my throat, I extended my hand which he shook with a handshake that told me a lot about this man. I told him what wonderful sons he had and that he should be very proud. This seemed to please him. I mentioned I hoped he was a little better every day and that therapy was helping. We talked about ‘baby steps’ and how talking to a counselor would help him release the horrors of war and that while they would never go away they would lessen to a degree and he would grow to recognize the triggers to these flashbacks easing their intensity somewhat. He told me that he had not shared everything with his therapist. I asked why and he simply said, “It is more than she could take. There were days I didn’t think I would live.” I told him, “She can take it, she can take it. She is trained to.” His eyes told me that those words feel on deaf ears. He wanted to spare her the pain of what he endured. This is the kind of man Allen is or maybe he couldn’t relive it one more time.

Gina and I talked for a while as Allen silently ate his dinner. But her eyes kept moving from my face to his. Ever vigilant, Gina quietly said, “He is beginning to have a flashback.” I turned and looked at an American hero who was staring blankly into space. A space filled with unspeakable horrors that come back to him without warning, blacking out all reality of the present. Gina stood and went to stand beside him. Allen is never combative in these flashbacks but his eyes and face tell the story. First his eye lids started to quiver and then twitch. His eyes never off of the horizon of a place and time we will never know. Then his face contorted somewhat. Gina, patting his cheeks and calling his name realized she needed help from a dog that knew exactly what to do.

Frankie was given one of eighty commands she learned at Puppies Behind Bars and placed both front paws on Allen’s chest and began licking and nudging his face. Literally in two to three seconds, Allen blinked and returned to us for a brief time, until it happened about ten minutes later.

This is his life. This is Gina’s life. This is the price of freedom, the freedom that allowed Allen to get up and bring back three pieces of strawberry cheesecake, one for each son and one for himself.

Allen may not be perfect, but in his imperfections, he taught me that the bottom line is how we deal with the tough stuff, what and who we passionately and truly love, and that people are not defined by their limitations. In Allen’s beautiful black eyes, I saw my own life reflected and wondered on the way home how I would cope in similar circumstances. I was keenly aware of those times in my life when I have needed to be carried – when I just couldn’t do it anymore – and who was there for me.

Allen’s story is not so unique. Thousands of our wounded heroes are returning from combat with the same injury. Glimpses into their lives are full of struggles and coping and agony and despair. They feel excluded, isolated, and face unspeakable terrors at every corner at every moment of the day.

We all need someone willing to go looking for us when we’re lost. We all want to find our way home again and sometimes it just isn’t that easy. “When I came home, I had to learn to be an American again.” Occasionally the flashbacks cause him to search his house for insurgents. It is then that Frankie takes Allen outside of his flashbacks and panic attacks into the here and now in a matter of seconds. Without Frankie the flashbacks could last hours.

At the end of the day what I write about turns out to deal with my deepest concerns and values. The important part is making the story powerful by expressing my authentic emotions. I write from my heart. Tonight I write about Allen.

Charles M. Schultz said, “A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.” For Allen and Gina and the kids, I have hope. And Frankie - well Frankie gives me Goosebumps. Observant and vigilant Frankie teaches us that nuzzling can make a huge difference. So with Frankie the story is just beginning. This dog provides a new meaning to ‘rest in peace.’ With this dog under his arm Allen can find rest, and peace and sleep and perhaps life again. Not the same life, but life.

Frankie can convey encouragement, support, empathy, affection, humor and can elicit it in Allen. The abilities of both are enhanced by the presence of the other. Frankie is not there to talk about how Allen got in this predicament, but to focus on hope and the future.

So I ask you to remember Allen and Frankie. Hear what life is telling you. Let your heart guide you. It whispers - so listen closely. By risk there is more to be gained than lost. Allen risks life minute by minute every day. With Frankie and Allen’s courageous companionship and allegiance to each other they just might be kindred spirits. Observing, I have learned to acknowledge that your soul mate helps you be your best self…so that your soul can do the most for the world. And sometimes your soul mate just might be a yellow lab named Frankie.

Allen has already done his best for the world. I like to think that what happened to Allen happened for us. For us to learn to appreciate our freedom and all the young men and women like him who sacrifice for us as we go about our daily duties completely unaware of their existence.

Allen and Frankie showed me that waiting for the ‘right time’ we spend much of our lives waiting. Allen fought so that we have this freedom to make a choice, to make a stand, to make our lives brilliant with joy and happiness, to make our lives count. For this I will be eternally grateful to this man I met today. I would miss him had we never met.

On the way home I realized that whatever comes from my heart has been given to me as a gift. I must give it honor. Allen will eventually heal to some degree from the past and I believe people who are fortunate enough to meet him will accept the gifts he has to offer their futures. Allen may not know it but our lives are now woven together, for on this hot Texas afternoon our dreams collided. For him the battle will never end. War ends but the battles don’t. For Gina and Allen love doesn’t fit into a nice shiny mold. But it fits.

Full Circle

It was about 5:30 am. I must have been exceptionally tired as I filled Gracie’s water dish for the day and promptly put it into the refrigerator. Quite like the time I put the coffee grounds in the water receptacle of the coffee pot. But there must be an excuse. Perhaps it was because it was Friday and the week had been a long and emotionally stressful one.

But I knew I was to take Gracie to the hospital and this always brightens my mood. This time was no exception. Once we made it past the long line of admirers on our way to the rehab gym, we found the room packed with people. There were patients lying on the elevated mats working with their therapists, patients in wheelchairs placed in circles doing exercises, and patients walking with the help of new crutches, walkers, or limbs. We went from person to person for a while, always observing people’s eyes to look for those that were mesmerized by this rambunctious little dog and might want a visit.

I listened to loving stories of pets these people once adored. I answered for the thousandth time ’what kind of a dog is she?’ And I lifted Gracie onto mats to snuggle away the pain.

One patient told me of his ‘sad little’ dog waiting at home for him. I asked her name and he proudly said “she is Pink Ethel.” It seems she is an English bulldog, and was all pink when she was born. As for Ethel, well he just liked the name.

Ann, another patient in the circle told me she was very afraid of dogs and didn’t want to touch Gracie. With a smile, I said that was fine and continued Gracie’s journey from patient to patient in the circle. Ann watched closely as each person in the circle greeted Gracie and found that a few moments had been made extra special by her visit. Coming full circle Gracie decided to give it one more try. As Gracie approached, Ann reached down and held out her hands. As her eyes sparkled brightly, she enveloped Gracie’s little head in her hands. This four footed comedian stood on her back legs, threw her head back, ears flying and let out her famous Arrrooo, as if to say ‘mission accomplished.’

Erik, a physical therapist, came and told me there were some patients on the other side of the gym that wanted to see Gracie. As we got to the group, we were greeted by a lovely lady, obviously wanted to visit with Gracie, but instead insisting we visit with the gentleman sitting in the wheelchair next to her. Joe’s silver white hair gave away his age and his face his stroke. But his eyes gleamed with excitement just to be in the presence of this little dog. I told Gracie ‘touch’ and she put her front paws on the side of his wheelchair. His hand reached over to the top of her head and you could sense the excitement. He was almost trembling.

I thought of the childlike wonder of Christmas morning and opening that first gift. I suddenly felt sad that we take so much in life for granted. After barely three or four minutes Joe thanked us for the visit and said that he didn’t want to take time away from anyone else’s visit with Gracie. We talked just a little while longer, until I noticed he was tiring. We said our goodbyes and backed up to go. As we did the lady that asked us to visit with him grabbed my arm and looked into my eyes and whispered, “You have just made someone’s life.”

These words were an awakening, they always are. To spend just a few moments with a stranger is often huge for them. Sometimes we never know how much and then sometimes we do. Certainly puts lots into perspective.

Feeling good deep down inside, I arrived home and decided to treat myself to a small Dove wrapped candy. I opened the candy wrapper, and noticed inside the foil paper liner it said, “Sometimes a smile means more than a dozen roses.” Yes it does. The ‘smile’ melted at my feet, eyes closed, breathing softly and content with her angel wings for another day.

The Day Before Father's Day

It seemed like a typical relaxed Saturday morning. The aroma of sausage and eggs wafted and tantalized from the busy kitchen, waking up sleepy appetites. Coffee and orange juice was placed on the table, while the television told us of another attack in Iraq and more U.S. casualties.

In the family room, children played on the floor, a young father cradled his three week old baby in his arms, and mothers of young children chatted about things young mothers chat about. Another father crawled around the floor on his knees playing with his son who was just starting to crawl himself. The only thing different was that the father had no legs. Once in a while the baby would pull himself up by grabbing his daddy’s prosthetics.

Gracie and I, and another therapy dog, Hunter, arrived at the Fisher House with gift bags of homemade cookies to be placed in each of the sixty soldier’s rooms for a Father’s Day remembrance. Volunteers were busy chopping and slicing in the kitchen for a special brunch for these young families at their temporary home away from home.

Dogs and kids together are endearing and captivating. This was no exception. Together Gracie and Hunter just seemed to add that one missing piece to complete the scene.

One soldier’s daughter, Ashley, was dressed in a pink Barbie dress ‘with sparkles’ she proudly told Gracie all about. Connor was just starting to walk on wobbly legs that would get going too fast. He would plop down, pick himself up and crawl into my lap, or whatever lap was convenient. Then he would snuggle up to Gracie or Hunter and seriously study these strange looking fuzzy toys. You see Conner has been at the Fisher House for most of his life. He hadn’t seen too many dogs. His dad was injured in Iraq and lost both legs. With his new prosthetics, it was as if he and Conner were learning to walk together.

The sounds and smells of sausage and bacon sizzling and the soldier’s children laughing and playing with the dogs reminded me that all of our most powerful memories are sensual – touch and smell. It was this Saturday morning before Father’s Day at the Fisher House that I realized that love has its own smell and remembering is an act of grace. I will remember this morning for a very long time.

“What is your dog’s name?” “Gracie.” “Oh Gracie you are so beautiful. Daddy can I have a dog like Gracie some day?” “Someday, sweetheart, when we can go home. Someday.”

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF LOTTIE’S LIFE

It is said that we only have once to make a first impression. Never was that more true than with the introduction of a new pet therapy team to HEALTHSOUTH RIOSA. Angela, a veterinary technician, and Lottie, a seven year old, mostly black lab, burst into the lives and hearts of this hospital with their own unique kind of inspired love.

At the front door of the hospital, Lottie got her final grooming, put on her red, white and blue bandana and the Penny’s From Heaven official royal blue vest identifying her as a “Therapy Dog” and calmly she and Angela walked through two sets of automatic sliding doors to a new life. A life that will ultimately brighten days of patients and staff alike.

Lottie was born for this job. She had breezed through the initial evaluation and passed her Canine Good Citizen’s Certification for the American Kennel Club with the same ease. This day she walked happily down the hallways, not straining at the leash or nervous, in the least. Her tail never stopped wagging. You could almost see her smiling from the inside out.

As their mentor, I was there to critique, observe and make comments and perhaps suggestions, but it was instantly apparent that this was a true team in every sense of the word. If you could see into the heart and soul of Lottie, she would have been saying, “It’s about time. No more couch potato for me.” And Angela, who cares for injured, sick and geriatric dogs with the same love and concern she would her own pets, was as compassionate and caring with a wide variety of ages and illnesses in this rehab hospital. I couldn’t have been more proud.

This beautiful sleek dog had been rescued at an early age by a veterinarian. She moved into his home that she now shares with two other ‘mostly’ black labs, and a ‘mom’ who just happens to be a veterinarian too. Angela is the vet tech at the animal hospital and also has been the pet sitter (I like to say Nanny) for their family of dogs in the country.

Knowing my passion for pet therapy, Angela approached me and told me she thought Lottie would be perfect as one of our pet therapy teams. Was she ever right! If ever there were a poster child for pet assisted therapy, Lottie would be on the billboard.

Once inside the hospital, Lottie’s first stop was at the front desk to sign in. It was quite clear that Lottie took control of the entire hospital in just a matter of minutes. On our way to Case Management to meet the first members of her fan club, Lottie did an official ‘meet and greet’ with dozens of patients, family members and staff along the hallways. It is in Case Management that she will be assigned specific patients that have requested pet therapy. Hearts here were won over at first sight.

The next stop was to see if the hospital CEO was available. She was. In no less than three seconds the woman who carries the weight of this hospital on her shoulders, was on the floor with Miss Lottie’s head in her lap, apologizing for not having any peanut butter pretzels to share with her. It doesn’t take long to realize that the CEO of this busy hospital is also deeply convinced and aware that pet assisted therapy is viable, valid and a very important part of recovery and rehabilitation for many patients.

Next a quick stop at the Comptroller’s office. Looking at numbers all day, Larry is always ready for a little pet therapy himself and is another staunch advocate of this unique, or maybe not so unique, kind of medicine.

Each person introduced to Lottie, was greeted with grace. There was a sense of what was needed from her and she willingly provided it. As always, I observed and wondered how in the world do dogs know this?

Janie was at the nurse’s station. Her responsibilities are heavy and her work load great, but after a few moments with this different kind of nurse, Janie appeared more relaxed, was smiling from ear to ear, laughing, and unable to take her hands off of Lottie. Mission accomplished! Lottie hadn’t even met a patient yet and her job obviously was secure.

Next stop was the Recreation Therapy room. It was here that Lottie met Joshua, the six year old son of one of the therapists. Joshua fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Lottie’s neck and held onto her like she was a treasured Christmas gift. Lottie, sitting like a large stuffed animal, was stroked and admired by this little boy who seemed to have become a gift to her as well.

I had never seen a dog so calm in any situation, so willing to accommodate anyone at anytime and enjoy each and every second of it. The vision of a child in a candy store came to me. It was as if Lottie, at every turn in this big hospital, found a new treat to be savored and lovingly cherished. It was obvious that she was giving therapy and a recipient as well.

Then the real test came. Kobe, a young man, in a motorized wheelchair and his therapist approached us in the ‘rec room.’ The therapist asked if Lottie would get on a chair next to him so that Kobe could reach to pet her head and back. I had no idea, but Angela said Lottie was up to the task. I got a padded chair and positioned it next to Kobe’s wheelchair. Angela told Lottie ‘up’ and up she went. She sat in the chair facing this young patient, waiting for the hand on her head. I reached over and took Kobe’s arm and supporting his elbow, placed his hand on top of Lottie’s head. His fingers started slowly scratching her head and rested there for a few minutes. Exhausted, Kobe’s arm then slipped and fell onto her back.

Angela asked Kobe if he liked Lottie. It was then that I remembered why I do this. Why I spend hours and hours of work at the computer, bathing dogs, readjusting my schedule and work, fighting uphill battles, traveling, writing, speaking engagements and exhaustion was brought into focus once again as one word and one word alone was said, “Love, love.” Kobe then winked at me and said, “I love you too.” I smiled and told him he was a flirt. It was then that I learned another very important lesson.

I have read the books, studied and applied the principal to some degree, but to have a young paralyzed man look me in the eyes and tell me ‘life is short, you have to make each moment count,’ was that ah ha moment that awakens you to life.

It had been a really rough week for me. Why and what doesn’t matter. Then here, once again in the presence of an amazing furry therapist and a patient struggling to heal, I was brought back to that which really matters. The moment had become almost sacred as I remembered that there are no guarantees, that this moment is all we have. And yes, each moment has to count. This is why I do what I do.

Our final stop on this breathtaking day was to get Lottie’s photo taken for her own hospital ID badge. It was official. Lottie and Angela were a team. They can now solo. Together they will make a difference, one day at a time and one patient at a time. Lottie is happily off the sofa, Angela at twenty five is and will be, an inspiration to others her age, who sadly are all too often totally self absorbed.

This little corner of the world will be better because of Lottie and Angela. What more could I ask for?