Providence Tarzana Hospital – Page 3

Pandemics, Protests and Positivity

With the COVID-19 pandemic continuing and black lives matter protests taking place around the world, I once again questioned if I should be striking a more serious note. I mentioned my concern to a few friends who immediately said “absolutely not.” They wanted my posts to be about love and positivity, not conflict and negativity.

ELBEE At least she’s not giving people heartburn with their morning coffee.

A lot of the credit goes to Gus and Stanley for helping me keep it together in these difficult days. They have been incredibly patient.

ELBEE That’s obvious.

It’s widely accepted that 10 minutes of petting a dog lowers your blood pressure, releases relaxing hormones and reduces psychic stress. Now studies show that cuddling with us may lower dogs’ blood pressure and cause them to release relaxing hormones. That made me feel so much better.

ELBEE Where does she come up with this stuff?

On another positive note, I’ve seen lots of UCLA signs popping up for the class of 2020. Every time I see one, I’m tempted to pose Gus and Stanley in front, because, after all, they are honorary Bruins. The signs make me think about the many patients, families and staff who are benefiting from the Zoom visits that the People Animal Connection teams are continuing to do.

ELBEE She forgot to mention that most of the signs were put up by UCLA alumni. That would include me.

To be honest, the virtual visits still seem odd to me. Yet how can I argue with the people who say that simply seeing the dogs and hearing about them, makes them smile.

I was given another gift of love from Marsha, the groomer, when I went to pick up the dogs at the “spa,” in itself a wonderful moment. You try drying Gus and Stanley.

GUS & STANLEY Hey, fabulous takes upkeep.

She told me that a woman, seeing Gus from the doorway, said he looked just like a dog that had visited her mother when she was a patient at Providence Tarzana Hospital. Turns out it was Gus. Her daughter said that the timing was perfect. Her mom had been so cheered up that she’d gotten out of bed and dropped down on the floor with him. Knowing how the visits still resonate is so comforting.

I had another beautiful encounter with a woman who was drawn to Stanley as soon as she met him. Knowing that he was a therapy dog and that I’d had others, she looked me in the eye and very quietly and sincerely said, “Thank you so much for what you do. I can tell you from personal experience that it works. It saved me.”

I truly hope these Dood moments that help me can help you too. I hope they can make these dark times a little brighter by chasing away stress and anxiety, even for a few moments.

The Universe Is Knocking

The universe truly seems to have gone crazy this week. Covid-19 is causing fear, chaos and plain old stress. People are in masks. Market shelves are empty. Restaurants are closed. Then, after a prolonged dry spell, it rained for almost 24 hours in Los Angeles. What better time to share a more positive message from the universe.

A few weeks ago, before the virus reared it’s ugly head, I was visiting at Providence Tarzana with Stanley. I was about to knock on the door of a patient’s room when it suddenly flew open. The hospital rabbi, who was just leaving, saw me and Stanley and burst out laughing.

About to end her visit with the teenage patient and his mom, she had asked if there was anything else she could do for them. Simultaneously they’d answered that they’d love a dog visit. A moment later, there we were.

The patient seemed quite ill and I believe had gone through many hospitalizations, but when he met Stanley all I saw was total joy. At his request, I positioned Stanley next to him on the bed. The boy was suddenly so relaxed and at ease with my huge puppy cuddled at his side. Somehow the topic turned to sports and we were off and running.

We talked about the baseball scandal, agreeing that the title should be taken away from the Astros but not awarded to our beloved Dodgers. We shared our adoration for former Dodger announcer Vin Scully who, coincidentally, attends a church across from the patient’s grandma’s house. We both thought that Joe Davis and Orel Hershiser were excellent replacement choices when Vin retired.

Next we moved on to basketball. That’s when the mom, not really a sports fanatic, joined in. She said that she’d seen a tie-dyed Bill Walton at a Grateful Dead concert. Then she went back to what she was doing. Both Laker fans but also amazed at what the Clippers were doing, the patient and I applauded the season. Next it was UCLA basketball, men’s and women’s. We shared our excitement over a game winning buzzer beater the night before.

Looking back at our conversation, it’s hard to believe what has happened in the interim. Baseball and basketball seasons are on hold. March Madness has been cancelled. I am just grateful that on that particular day, all was well in the sports world and we were able to bond. Talking sports while petting Stanley had transported the boy away from his hospital room and his pain. We were simply two overzealous fans that the universe had brought together.

A Bittersweet Circle of Coincidence

About a month ago I was walking the dogs in the neighborhood and ran into the rabbi from Providence Tarzana Hospital and his wife. When they stopped to pet Gus and Stanley, the rabbi, a fan of animal therapy, began telling his wife about things the Doods had accomplished. Some I didn’t even know about.

One story really stuck with me. A couple of years ago, the rabbi had seen me in the hall, I believe with Elbee and Gus, and asked us to go in to see a critically ill young woman. He shared how much peace and comfort the visit with the dogs had brought to her. Unbeknownst to me, a short time later she passed away.

This week I was at the hospital with Gus when a nurse told us that someone really wanted to see him. We walked into the room to find the patient waiting to go to surgery but alert and upbeat. Her two adult daughters, one a veterinarian and the other a sports trainer, were with her.

We immediately bonded over our love of dogs, the Dodgers and the Lakers. We were so sad about the loss of Kobe Bryant and mad about the baseball cheating scandal. The trainer daughter had worked with UCLA athletes so we cheered the great year the women’s basketball team was having. I showed them silly Christmas and New Years photos of Gus and Stanley which got a laugh from everyone.

Suddenly one of the daughters turned to me and thanked me for a visit we had done with her sister a few years before. Her sister had been so happy to see the dogs and so comforted by them. It turned out to be the very same woman the rabbi had been talking about.

After a few minutes of serious conversation, I shared with them that Stanley was my late brother’s namesake. That simple act of confiding spoke volumes. The experience of losing a sibling is different for everyone but there is a mutual understanding. I told them how warm and funny my brother was and that I was sure he was making their sister laugh.

He Reached Out for a Hand

There are some hospital visits that are so stunningly visual that I wish I could share photos but with respect for patient confidentiality that’s impossible. Gus recently had an encounter just like that.

We were on the pediatric floor at Providence Tarzana Regional Medical Center when a young girl who loved dogs saw us walk by and requested a visit. The only problem was that the six year old boy in the bed closest to the door was afraid of dogs.

After the nurse checked and got the okay from him and his mom, we went into the room. The fact that Gus, one of the most non-intimidating dogs around, looks like cotton candy may have helped.

We walked past his bed to visit the other patient. When I put Gus on her bed so that she could pet him and brush him, the boy watched silently and reached out for his mother’s hand.

Then the girl gave a very enthusiastic “yes” when I asked if she’d like to see Gus do some tricks. She laughed and clapped as Gus danced, played peek-a-boo and rolled over.

The tricks must have done the trick. Almost in spite of himself, the boy was drawn in.

ELBEE Please tell me she didn’t say that.

I could sense him relaxing as he let go of his mother’s hand. Then I saw the flicker of a smile on his face. When we were getting ready to leave I asked, “Would you like me to bring him closer?” He nodded yes so I took one step closer. Then I asked again and took another step toward him. He started giggling as it became a game.

When we reached the side of his bed, he seemed hesitant so I picked Gus up and held him away. Then, I’m not quite sure how it happened, but at the boy’s urging Gus ended up sitting on his bed. Then he tentatively began petting him.

When I glanced over at his mom she looked shocked. She shared that a few years back her son had been bitten by a dog. He’d become so afraid that he hadn’t touched one since.

The whole interaction with the six year old letting go of his mom and playing with Gus brought to mind a beautiful expression. “I reached out for a hand and found a paw.”

There is an amazing PS to this story. The next time I went to the hospital, the child life specialist told me that the little boy had asked his mom if he could get a dog.

Doodles Are Different

This week once again, but sadly without Elbee, Gus joined the holiday festivities at Providence Tarzana Medical Center.

ELBEE I was there in “spirit.”

As part of the Adopt a Family program, the hospital staff helps less fortunate people fill their wish lists. Representatives from One Generation and Reseda High School were on hand to collect the gifts for distribution.

Coincidentally, I worked at Reseda High for several years as the fitness trainer for the Police Academy Magnet Program. Running into people from the school brought back so many memories.

ELBEE At least it’s not one of her infamous bodybuilding photos. That would have been so tacky in this context.

After the gifts were loaded up for delivery, Gus and I met none other than Santa.

ELBEE Why does it look like she’s in prison with Santa?

We headed up to Pediatrics where we were joined by Tahoe, the sweetest Golden Retriever, another therapy dog at the hospital. Gus and Tahoe, both wearing Christmas antlers, seemed to commiserate with each other. The look on Tahoe’s face says it all

The dogs accompanied Santa from room to room as he handed out toys. The mood quickly shifted from sadness to joy. Knowing how difficult it is to have a child in the hospital, especially at Christmas, the smiles from the young patients and their parents were the most priceless gifts.

As we walked through the halls, Staci, Tahoe’s person, confirmed something that I’ve suspected for years. Staci and her daughter have trained service dogs, including a Black Lab, a German Shepherd and a Great Dane. Currently training her first Golden Doodle, she totally agreed that Doodles are a whole different story.

For one thing, they’re very agile and can counter surf like pros. Nothing is safe. Friendly as her other dogs were, when they put on their working vests, they focused. The Doodle still wants to visit everyone she sees. Staci’s other trainees developed a certain independence. The Doodle sticks like glue. I was so happy because her stories validated every crazy thing the Doods have done. It wasn’t my fault. It was theirs.

ELBEE Seriously?

I shared a Stanley story with her that sums it up. In the kitchen we have a black throw rug by the sink plus two smaller rugs where the dogs eat. Stanley constantly takes the black rug and drops it in the living room. He takes the other two and deposits them in the family room or the yard. He doesn’t sit on them, destroy them or play with them. He simply deposits them.

Even stranger, this morning I couldn’t find “his” rug, forgetting that I had put it in the wash. When I had the nerve to set his bowl on the floor, he started barking and refused to eat. He wouldn’t touch his breakfast until I retrieved his rug from the dryer. Not even Elbee was that eccentric.

ELBEE Excuse me?

We’ll Be Here All Week

I started this post before Elbee passed and then, in the pain of losing him, put it aside. I decided to share it this week including the last Elbee remarks from when he was next to me instead of keeping an eye on me from above.

After Stanley somehow made it through intermediate obedience (okay we took it twice), I signed him up for a beginning tricks class. The tricks, like shake, crawl and spin, are useful tools in the hospital. For instance, the dogs don’t go in to see patients who are in isolation so instead of just passing by, Gus can dance in the doorway and Elbee and Stanley can wave. You’d be amazed how that brings out the smiles and the laughter.

ELBEE There’s a little more to it than being a useful “tool.” Someone likes to get in on the act.

He may have a point. I’ve shared that my father and my brother Stanley were hams in the best sense of the word. At my grandparent’s Catskill Hotel, my dad was “that guy” like in the movie Dirty Dancing. He emceed the shows, told all the jokes and sang while he and my mother were on the dance floor, not easy to pull off.

He was so charming and charismatic that it sometimes got him into trouble. My aunt was getting married and my dad was part of the wedding party. As he sauntered down the aisle in tophat and tails, the guests at the wedding began applauding and shouting “It’s Lester the entertainer.” Not the best thing before Here Comes the Bride.

As a kid, I was incredibly shy and would cringe when my dad tried to have me come out on stage with him. It took years and my recovery from a near-fatal car crash to bring me out of my shell…way out. I guess I inherited the recessive ham gene. It just took a lot longer to show itself.

ELBEE Apparently she also inherited the flexing gene.

Stanley Who are these people? I’m so confused.

The other day Gus and I were entertaining a group of people in a waiting room at Providence Tarzana, milking the applause, when someone suddenly said “You should be on America’s Got Talent.” What a great idea. I can’t believe I’d never thought of that.

ELBEE And I’ve never peed on the carpet.

What I can’t believe is that she chose to use that as my last earthly comment.

A Gift of Remembrance

Friday morning the husband sent a cryptic text, “You need to come to the wound care center today.” Even for someone who sends short messages with no emojis, that was brief. When I asked which dog, he replied, “Either.”

I was taking Gus to Providence Tarzana to visit and figured, since the center is just next door, that he’d be the logical choice. Gus has still been mourning Elbee so I hoped that going to work would help to cheer him up just like it did Stanley.

From the moment we entered the lobby, he was on. His tail started wagging. The Gus “smile,” that we’ve seen very little of lately, was back. By then, the staff knew about Elbee so they all made a special effort for Gus. It was mutual therapy.

One patient visit really stood out. An adorable toddler, carrying her special stuffed animal, was in the Pediatrics hallway with her parents. Seeing the delighted look on her face at the sight of Gus, I had him dance for her, wave and play peek-a-boo. All of a sudden, giggling, she tried to give him her toy. The parents were amazed because she never shares it with anyone!

Of course there was the other patient who was happily petting Gus and taking pictures when suddenly she looked at me and asked if he was straight. I could only imagine what Elbee would have had to say about that one!

As we left the hospital and headed over to the wound care center, I assumed it must just be a hectic day when they needed a little dog love. Instead, after warm greetings and condolences about Elbee, the staff gathered around us as someone carried out a huge basket. At first I thought it must be a cake or maybe flowers, but when I saw what was inside, I started to cry.

There was a stone plaque with a poem that read:

“Missing your unconditional love and playful paws, we are now apart. You’re gone from our lives, but never from our heart.”

There were also three smaller stones. Each had paw prints and a date of passing. One said “Charley.” One said “Riley,” and one said Elbee. They were hoping we would put them in the yard near Charley’s bushes.

Charley burrowed under the purple flowering bushes on the morning that he left us. I knew the end was near for Elbee when he wanted to lay in the same place. As with the stones, there is beauty, peace and sadness in Charley’s bushes. There is also the immeasurable comfort of remembrance.

By the way, I just heard from Elbee informing me that the sentence above should have read “there are beauty, peace and sadness.”

The House Is Strangely Quiet

When I’m upset, I often go up into the mountains to work things through. Climbing the steep trails gives me a sense of peace, a sense of clarity. This week, however, was different. After losing Elbee, I found solace in the support of family, friends and countless people who had interacted with him at work. There was an outpouring of love. There was also a sharing of Elbee memories that made me happy and sad at the same time.

A therapist at UCLA commented that “he did things that none of us can do.” A friend who had seen him working in the ICU was amazed by his “understanding.” With tears in her eyes, a nurse said that she would miss the special moments when Elbee would come directly over to her as if to say hello.

Unfortunately, Gus and Stanley can’t share stories or express their feelings but it’s obvious that they’re both grieving. There are no games of tug or races around the yard.

The house is strangely quiet without Elbee. It’s not that the other two don’t bark, but Elbee was like the bark leader. He always had a lot to say. Gus and Stanley are moping around without him. They miss his voice and his presence.

Stanley is taking it particularly hard. He seems lost. Elbee, in a dog way, was his mentor. He taught him to heel and to do a perfect stay. He would tolerate the puppy behavior as Stanley pulled him around by his ear.

When I took Stanley to the groomer this week, everyone there said that they could feel his sadness. It was like an aura around him. We decided that taking him to the hospitals might help. He’d get lots of attention and would be distracted.

At UCLA most of the people we interact with were aware of what had happened. They were saddened by the loss but they’d had some time to process it. They were kind and caring. They showered Stanley with affection.

Going into Providence Tarzana was more difficult because many on the staff hadn’t heard about Elbee. They were learning about it from me. Several burst into tears. I was on the verge of losing it myself. Focusing on Stanley gave me room to breathe.

One of the other things that touched me this week was how many people were fans of the Elbee of my blog and how funny they thought he was. They didn’t want his voice to disappear. I suddenly asked myself, “Is it any stranger to hear him talking to me from above rather than from the couch in my office?” The oldest daughter does not need to answer that question.

Earlier in this post I was about to write that the past several days felt like an emotional cocktail. I immediately thought “Oh, Elbee would have had a field day with that one.” I promise he’ll be back when the time is right.

Goodbye Elbee and Thank You

On Sunday, Elbee was his usual, energetic, over the top barking self. Suddenly, on Monday, he was lethargic and not eating, usually one of his favorite activities. After visits back and forth to the vet, he had surgery on Thursday night and they found an inoperable tumor. Sadly we had to let him go.

I had a weird virus when he was a puppy and couldn’t start training him as early as I’d hoped. Missing some of the crucial stages, there were times I was about to give up but friends encouraged me to stick with it. I’m glad I did.

Elbee was that crazy, full of life character who seemed as if he’d live forever. His unique personality made him a favorite of so many. Once you met Elbee, you couldn’t forget him. My fifteen year old grandson said, “He’s my favorite animal to have ever lived.”

Elbee leaves a legacy of special moments. For instance, there was the little girl that he visited in the neuropsych unit. Within minutes she went from being out of control, smashing her head on the wall and crying, to sitting on the floor with Elbee, teaching him how to take a bow after he won her over with his tricks.

There was the teenage boy in another psych unit who was disruptive and yelling, not wanting to join the group gathered around Elbee. After some time, he actually lay down on the floor and hugged Elbee. Then I heard him whisper, “I love you.”

At an adult health center, a man with severe depression who only smiles when the dogs are there, fell in love with Elbee. When Elbee would put his paws on a chair and bend his head as if “saying his prayers,” the man always felt as if the prayers were just for him.

Somehow Elbee’s alter ego developed a life of its own in my blog. He inspired my writing. I could hear his voice and knew what he was going to say. In the strangest way I felt as if I was channeling him. It gave me such artistic freedom.

His sarcastic remarks kept me in check. His honesty was refreshing. His thoughts made me and other people laugh. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Elbee is so funny.”

Now I have to day goodbye to the real Elbee and the Elbee of my imagination. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Thank you Elbee for being a larger than life character, for inspiring me and others and for making us laugh. Thank you for all of the amazing work and the healing that you did so selflessly.

Stanley and Gus are lost without you and keep waiting for you to come home. I take comfort in knowing that you’re home with your brother Charley and with your dear buddy Riley.

Training a Therapy Dog…Marathon or Sprint?

Last Sunday when I was hiking, there was a trail race going on in the Santa Monica Mountains. Entrants had a choice of a 5K or a half marathon. I watched from the top of a hill but, being a devout non-runner, would have chosen neither. If for some weird reason I ever get inspired to run, I just break into a 50 yard jog and that takes care of the urge.

Hearing that, it may be shocking to find out that I ran the L.A. Marathon. Yes, the L.A. Marathon. Okay, it was years ago and I walked most of it but it was still one of most challenging things that I’ve ever done, other than training Elbee. Just kidding.

ELBEE Not funny.

But I finished before dark and even have the medal hanging on my desk chair.

ELBEE That’s a marathon medal? I thought it was a piece of cheap costume jewelry.

It also made me think that training a therapy dog really is a marathon. Initially it’s a puppy sprint. You have to get through the peeing everywhere, the not sleeping, the chewing shoes and in some cases furniture. Then after a few months, it’s time for obedience training.

ELBEE Is it just me or is going from a mountain race to the marathon to training a puppy the most convoluted reasoning you’ve ever heard?

Once Stanley mastered sit, stay and down, the real endurance run began. Just like cheering crowds offer support along the marathon route, I’ve had lots of support along the way with people cheering us on, hoping that he’ll follow in his big brothers’ paw prints.

There is one group in particular that has gone above and beyond…the staff at Providence Tarzana Wound Care Center. Most of them knew Elbee and Gus from the hospital and had heard lots about the “huge puppy.”

Then on a day that my husband was working there, he called to ask me to bring Stanley down. A patient had heard about him and was really anxious to meet him. From the moment we walked into the waiting room, it was like training central. As a bonus, Stanley had his first elevator ride on the way up to the office.

It was so much fun and he was such a hit with the staff, and with the patient, that we’ve gone back again. One of the nurses even went so far as to borrow a walker so that he would be used to it for testing. I’m not saying he was perfect, that’s him “signing in” at the desk, but I couldn’t ask for more enthusiasm and for better practice conditions.

When, fingers crossed, the day comes that Stanley and I cross the testing finish line, they will have helped us get there. Hopefully I can repay their kindness by bringing him in to comfort patients as an official therapy dog.