Return to the Cancer Center

Last week, Ivy and I had a special visit. All of our visits are special, of course, but this one had special significance. We participated in Resource Day at The Helen Graham Cancer Center—the same center where I meet with my hematologist/oncologist, where I received chemotherapy, where I continue to have labs drawn. My home-away-from-home for the past 17 months.

When the opportunity became available to provide pet therapy for the event, I knew I had to do it, and I knew which dog I would bring. Ivy is a jet-black English lab who can be kind and gentle one moment and as strong as a bull the next. She enjoys people and plays hard with other dogs. But she is alert and attentive and rises to the occasion when it comes to therapy. I was just beginning to walk more and with less pain. I was still tired, and hoped my energy would hold up, but this event was too important not to attend. I hoped Ivy could help me through the 9:00am to 11:00am shift.

The event was held in a large room near the east entrance to the building. I usually enter at the west, so I didn’t see any familiar faces. I kept my diagnosis to myself. We sat near the Nurse Navigators display by a bank of windows overlooking a courtyard and a pond with a fountain. Among the other participants in the room, were nutritionists, nurses, and doctors. The goal was to present the patients and caregivers with available support from various departments as they walked through the cancer experience.

During our shift, most of our interactions were with staff—they needed the comfort as much as the patients and caregivers. As we were approaching the end of our time there, a woman, and a man I assumed to be her husband, entered the double room. Ivy and I were seated on the farthest side away from them, and yet Ivy immediately came to attention. She stood up, alert, staring at the couple. She did not take her eyes off them. I wondered why she was so attentive. We did not know the couple, yet she had a connection with them that was undeniable. They walked slowly, cautiously, looking at some of the displays. The man pushed a walker and the wife said, “This way, Lee,” in an effort to guide him to other tables. As they came closer, Ivy pulled me toward them.

I made eye contact with the woman who had been looking at Ivy. “She is a beautiful dog.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Her name is Ivy. Would you like to say hello?”

The woman slowly reached out her hand as Ivy sniffed it first, then licked it. We chatted a bit before the husband looked at us. Ivy pulled me right toward him, as though she couldn’t reach him soon enough. Her whole body shook with excitement as her back legs came off the ground. She essentially danced toward him like a bear cub. The man reached over the front of his walker to pet Ivy’s head playfully and strongly. It was as though the man had been energized by the moment. He spoke to Ivy while I looked back at the woman. She had tears in her eyes.

“She is very excited to be with you both,” I said.

“You mean she doesn’t do this with everyone?” she asked.

“No, she doesn’t,” I replied.

Something happened during that encounter. I don’t know who needed the comfort more—the husband or the wife. But, Ivy knew she was needed. She knew she had love to give and that her love was needed in return. She was not slow in her approach. She was excited, joyful, and direct. In return, they received her in a way that communicated their need.

As the couple left us to continue their walk around the room, I put my hand on Ivy and told her what a good job she had done. She allowed me to leave my hand on her for a while. Perhaps she knew that I needed her, too.