Angel on a Leash (7 page)

Coming from Seattle, we—the dogs and us—were a little spoiled. There, it was relatively easy to find places to turn the dogs loose and let them run to their hearts' content. In New York City, I had to work a little harder. We would head over to Carl Schurz (the park where the mayor's residence, Gracie Mansion, sits) in the early morning hours and turn Teigh and Belle loose when it looked like the coast was clear—no kids, no picnickers, no other dogs. They would chase squirrels in front of the mansion for about ten minutes, tops, and then we would quickly gather up and head for home. Occasionally, a park worker would say something mean to them or to me, but most of the time we didn't cause any issues.

One morning, we were running later than I liked, and there was a little more activity in the park than at our normal time, so I took the dogs down to the basketball/ hockey court, which was empty, and turned them loose. Suddenly, it was like a scene out of whatever television cop show you watch. Three official-looking park vehicles pulled up and slammed on their brakes, and people in uniform jumped out and headed right to me. I called the dogs back to me, but I didn't make any sudden moves.

Busted. I pleaded nolo contendere (no contest), accepted the ticket, and went on my way. The fine was $100. I figured that the per-outing cost, factoring in the times we hadn't been caught, was $10. I guess this wasn't documented in any of our permanent records, and we were cleared for volunteer visits.

Eventually, therapy dogs were visiting patients' rooms at Mount Sinai with everyone's blessing. It was great because a lot of patients couldn't get up and get to the therapy room, and we didn't want to leave anyone out.

Belle was my partner one night when we visited Alice, who was in the hospital because she had suffered a stroke. She was coherent and in good spirits when we popped in, but she didn't have total control over her body.

I put Belle on the bed with her. Alice's fingers were curled tightly, and it was difficult for her to move her arm, but she still very slowly got her hands on Belle. She was trying to pet her, but she was having a difficult time. Her petting was in the form of small blows to Belle's head—nothing damaging, just more like rough play.

“Oh, I'm trying … I just don't have control. Maybe you should just take her down.”

“No, she's staying right there,” I said, winking at Belle, who was looking at me quizzically. “How about if you try to pet her on the back of her neck instead?” I repositioned Alice's hand and arm.

“I don't want to hurt her.”

“We won't let that happen,” I assured her. I didn't want to cause Alice any anxiety over the fact that she had lost some control of her hand, as this was probably something new to her from the stroke. “We'll find a way to make it work. Belle gets this kinds of petting from kids sometimes, so she's used to it.”

I don't know if Belle understood what I had said, but I got a look from her that told me that she wasn't thrilled. “Belle, you're a good girl,” I told her. “Alice loves you.”

I put my hands on Alice's hand and helped her pet Belle. After a few minutes, both Alice and Belle were less stressed.

We chatted a bit, and Alice told me that she had a dog at home. “Good! We'll keep practicing here so you'll be ready for your own dog when you get back home.”

We didn't stay with Alice too long because I didn't want to push Belle. But Alice got a little better through the course of the visit, and I hoped that she would be prepared to deal with her own dog when she got home. Her own dog was going to have to take over the therapy work that Belle had begun.

This Is Why

I
n 2007, the world-famous Memorial Sloan-Kettering (MSK) Cancer Center in New York City decided that it would allow therapy dogs to visit certain parts of the hospital for the first time in its history. It had always puzzled me that the world-class leader didn't already have a program. Right across the street, at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital/Weill Cornell, there was a therapy dog program in place. And while I was never privy to any of the process behind finally creating a program at MSK, I knew that the great M.D. Anderson (MDA) Cancer Center in Houston had a thriving therapy dog program. MSK and MDA were always mentioned in the same breath as the international leaders in the field of cancer treatment. They battled in the
U.S. News & World Report
rankings every year for the top spot among cancer hospitals. Shortly after MDA took the top spot away from MSK one year, MSK decided that it should offer a therapy dog program for patients and their families.

Coincidence? Form your own opinion. I have mine.

However it got there, MSK approved a six-month pilot program that would bring therapy dog teams to the tenth floor, Women's Health. The goal, on our side anyway, was to eventually expand the program to other floors if all went well.

It was history in the making, and Teigh and Belle were right there to be a part of it in October 2007. Since the program was new to everyone at the hospital, there were many orientation meetings for the volunteers as well as for the staff. To begin, all of the potential dog handlers had to go through volunteer orientation, health procedures, and background checks, things that any volunteer at MSK had to do. The involvement of the four-legged volunteers required a new level of orientation and instruction, however, and because of our work with our therapy dogs elsewhere, Cheri and I were asked to share our experiences. I showed my Angel On A Leash slide show a few times to let everyone see the kind of impact we hoped to have at MSK with the dogs.

When everything was finally in place, the people in the security office got a kick out of placing each dog on a chair and adjusting the camera so that Teigh Frei and Belle Frei and all of the others could have their pictures taken for their groundbreaking ID cards.

We were ready to go. Among the initial teams approved at MSK, I was the only male handler. Given that we would be visiting the women's health floor, and the patients would be those dealing with female cancer issues, I asked if everyone would be okay with my presence and if there were any psychological barriers that it might create. The reality, of course, is that, male or female, we aren't supposed to talk about anything having to do with the patients' surgeries, treatments, prognoses, and the like. I thought that I could handle it; after all, I am just the guy on the other end of the leash who makes sure that the real stars and therapists —Teigh and Belle—got there. But I wanted to be sure that all concerned had considered that Teigh and Belle's handler was different from everyone else. I got an overwhelming yes, and off we went.

At MSK, a canvasser visits the patients early in the day and finds out if they are interested in a visit from a therapy dog team. The canvasser checks on allergies, fears, roommates, and more, but eventually needs to get a signed release form before adding someone to the list of people for us to visit. The list is a bit fluid because perhaps by the time we get there, certain patients won't be feeling up for a visit because of what they had been through during the day.

So Teigh and I, sporting our new ID badges, showed up, ready to go, on that first evening. We got our visit list from Volunteer Services and headed toward the tenth floor. Tara, the social worker who had designed the program, accompanied us to the tenth floor, but she wasn't going to follow us into the rooms. She was eager to get reports as quickly as we could share them with her, but she didn't want to complicate things by being in the rooms with us.

Teigh, as always, was ready for anything. A pet, a hug, a scratch, a smile, an encouraging word—that's what he lived for. Me, I was thinking that this was going to be productive, and I was excited about expanding our world with a target audience I had not visited before. But my job, as always, was to get Teigh or Belle there, make sure that they were safe, and make sure that they didn't get tangled in any tubes or step on any sutures. Let's get some smiles, have a little conversation, and then head on to the next patient. We'd been in a few hospitals in our time, so I thought that this wouldn't be too much different, even if it was one of the most famous hospitals in the world.

Tara had our first patient picked out and walked us to the room. “Good luck,” she said, and she sent us in to make history for MSK.

Generally speaking, we do not go into a room with any specific knowledge of what a patient is going through. We may get some ideas over the course of the visit as we position the dog for hugs and pets, but no one says, “They did this, this, and this to me…”

I was going to play it by the book for this first visit, and I used the same line that I had uttered hundreds of times over the years on my therapy dog visits in many different facilities.

“Hi, Karen. I'm David, and this is my therapy dog Teigh. Is this a good time for a visit?”

The “Hi, Karen” was barely out of my mouth when I looked at the patient, and my heart started to race. A beautiful young blonde woman, Karen was lying in bed, crying and in pain. The way she was holding her arms, I could tell that she was really hurting, and it gave me an idea of what kind of surgery she had just been through. She seemed scared, too, which was no surprise, all things considered.

Take a breath, I told myself. I have to be under control for both Teigh and the patient.

Before she could answer me, I asked another question: “Are you OK? Do you need a nurse or a social worker or a chaplain?”

“No!” she said emphatically through the tears. “I need you guys; just stay right here.”

“We're not going anywhere until you tell us to leave,” I said. I was fighting back tears, too, as I thought to myself, No crying, be strong, you're here to help.

Teigh was already at Karen's bedside, his muzzle on the bed. He always seemed to know when he was needed, and he got right to work. Karen reached down to pet him, slowly unfolding her arms and, I hoped, taking her mind off her pain.

I could see that there was room for him on the bed. “How about if we try to get him up there with you?” I asked. “Can we do that?”

“Yes, I'd love that.”

So I took the spare sheet that I always travel with and spread it out over her.

“What do I need to know about sutures and tubes and whatever else you have going on? I don't want him causing any problems.”

“I've got something up here,” she said, pointing to her chest. “Just be careful.”

That's one thing about Teigh. He can chase squirrels through Carl Schurz Park like a crazed hunting dog and tear through the apartment like one of them has gotten inside, but when he gets up on that hospital bed, he shuts down his physical side. He knows.

I lifted him up and put him on his back, along her side, with his head resting on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and, still crying, still in pain, broke into a little smile. Me, too.

Karen didn't say anything at that point; she didn't need to. I could hear Billy Matthews, my NBC producer, in my ear, saying, “Lay out, lay out…” (this is what he says to me through my headset when we are on the air and he wants me to let the moment being captured by the shot play itself out). So I kept quiet, too.

Teigh, God love him (one of my oft-uttered phrases when talking or thinking about Teigh), lay there like a rock. He looked her in the eye and occasionally closed his eyes. He was loving it, too.

“He's so good,” Karen said to finally break the quiet moment.

“He is very comfortable with you,” I told her. “He trusts you totally.”

“He's smiling,” she said.

“Well, why wouldn't he be?” I said. “You're smiling, too.”

“Yes, I guess I am,” she said. “The first time in a while. All because of him. And you.”

“He's doing all the work; I'm just sitting here, watching you both. It's a wonderful moment.”

Teigh and I were in there for probably half an hour. I usually try to move along after ten minutes, give or take. Thirty minutes is a long visit, but I saw no reason to leave her, as we were obviously doing something for Karen's physical pain and her psychological pain. Besides, I had promised her that we would stay there until she told us to leave.