UCLA – Page 7 – Me and the Doods.com

The Power of Connection

Surprisingly, even after this year of Zoom and FaceTime, I’m still struggling with social media. The dogs are better at it than I am. My dreams of being a grandma influencer are history.

ELBEE She can’t tell a hashtag from a hash brown and thinks that tweeting is something birds do.

My tech support team which consists of Ryder and Bella, my five and seven year old grandchildren, has threatened to quit.

Samantha, my twelve year old granddaughter, who can make a Tik Tok video as easily as I can blow my nose, has patiently tried to help.

ELBEE That is a horrible analogy. Speaking of noses, the only time she’s gone viral is when she’s had a cold.

What I do appreciate, even with my limited presence and expertise on social media, is the opportunity it provides to connect with one another. Through Facebook, I’ve reconnected with cousins that I haven’t seen in years, even ones who live across the world. I’ve heard from college friends and from hospital people who miss the dogs.

The most gratifying part of writing my blog is the response from friends who express how much they relate to what I’ve overshared. They tell me they feel the same way or that I’ve made them laugh. Over the past several months, we may not have been able to share a hug but we’ve stayed together.

The Zoom calls have kept the kids in the neuropsych units connected with Gus and Stanley. When they applaud the dogs’ tricks or tell me about their own pets, I know it’s working. The calls will never replace in-person visits, but they do fill a void.

Last week, more that ever, I realized that social media can offer a very special form of connection. With her blessing, I reached out to let others know how my daughter Nicole, an ICU nurse, was dealing with the aftermath of COVID. She wanted her fellow front line workers to know that they were not alone.

It was touching to see how people responded. They sent messages of love and support. They expressed gratitude for the work that she’d done. They asked if there was any way that they could help. It meant so much to her and to me.

Connection is always important but during difficult times it is crucial, whether in person or on social media. People cope differently, but reaching out to each other is one way to heal and move forward

It is also at the heart of what our therapy dogs do. Whether snuggling, rolling over for a belly rub or sitting quietly by our sides, their simple presence speaks to the power of connection.

A Morning of Love and Gratitude

Wednesday, for nurse appreciation day, six of the PAC dogs, three in Santa Monica and three in Westwood, did in person hospital visits. Normally, it would have been considered a special event, but since it was the first time the dogs had been back in over a year, it was a cause for celebration.

From the moment I checked in with Stanley and met up with his “co-workers,” Kennedy and Oliver, in the outdoor courtyard, there was a pervasive feeling of joy. The dogs were just as excited to be back as everyone was to have them back.

I spoke with several of the nurses and no matter their specialty, they shared how difficult the pandemic has been. It was even apparent from their tone of voice. Hard working and dedicated, nurses have always been heroes but this past year they have become super heroes. They were grateful to have us there. I felt gratitude at having the opportunity to say thank you.

As one person after another interacted with the dogs, I saw pure delight. They all smiled as they took photos, petted and hugged the dogs. The stress temporarily melted away. Over the last several months I’ve written about the dogs doing Zoom visits, but that morning I was overwhelmed as I was reminded of their simple in-person power.

Stanley also had a touching moment with a patient. A young man, who, I believe, was going through extensive cancer treatment, and his dad walked outside to see the dogs. Total dog lovers, we all laughed when the boy said he’d really question a relationship if his sweet dog growled at the girl. Despite the light conversation, Stanley sensed what the boy was going through physically and spent the whole time giving him the “lean.”

Later in the day, I was telling Nicole, my middle daughter who is an ICU nurse, about the visit. After an incredibly trying year taking care of innumerable COVID patients, she truly understood the emotion of the morning.

Going through a rough time herself, she asked me to share this message. She wants to reach out to others who are coping with the aftermath of the past year. She’d like them to know that what they are going through is real. There is no shame in reaching out for help.

Last weekend, after a few particularly difficult days with multiple unexplainable symptoms, she came to sleep over. As she, my husband and I put it all together, it became clear that she has a form of PTSD. It was almost a relief to have figured it out.

Acknowledging what she is dealing with, she is getting help and has developed coping mechanisms. She wants her fellow nurses and other front line workers to know that they are not alone. Offering each other love, support and understanding is an important step in moving forward.

Baby Steps

This week we did our routine Zoom call with the under twelves and the teens in the neuropsych units at UCLA.

ELBEE Routine if you consider sitting on the floor in front of a computer with Gus & Stanley in hats and sunglasses to be routine

Seeing the dogs dressed up caught the kids’ attention. It took some coaxing, a bit of singing and a few tricks from Gus and Stanley to get them fully engaged. It suddenly struck me just how much we all miss the in person visits.

The next day, for the first time in well over a year, I walked through the front door of the hospital. UCLA is in the process of bringing the volunteers back in so I was there to help things along. I brought Stanley with me by request.

Being back at the hospital felt so familiar and yet so strange at the same time. Usually when any of us walk in with one of the PAC dogs there is a ripple of excitement. People approach with big smiles.

Thursday the lobby was almost empty. There were COVID restrictions. There was a check in table as we entered. The guard looked a little surprised to see Stanley. Once a familiar sight, the dogs are now unexpected.

The best part of the morning was when we made our way downstairs to the volunteer office. There were only a few people there but the atmosphere was so welcoming. It was like a homecoming. They seemed glad to see me but Stanley made their day.

I have known Carey, the director of volunteer services, since the beginning of my journey. All of my dogs have loved visiting Carey and relaxing in her office. Stanley is no exception.

While I was doing paperwork with Sandra, Stanley made sure to give her some extra attention and to get some in return.

ELBEE He was working the system.

Stanley is turning three this month. There has been a lot of change in his appearance and in his demeanor since they last saw him. As I shared last week, he has developed such a resemblance to Charley, whom the women in the office all knew and loved. I think that brought them some extra comfort.

Things are still so difficult and uncertain. There is a long way to go to the new normal but spending the morning in the volunteer office made me hopeful. We are taking baby steps toward that special time when Gus, Stanley and all of the other PAC dogs can bring their close up magic back into the hospital.

There’s Something About Stanley

Charley, my first therapy dog, passed away four years ago. After charming everyone at a UCLA student athlete event, he spent a restless night. In the morning he lay down under some purple flowering bushes and was gone in twenty minutes. He had such grace and dignity.

Charley was my canine mentor. He was by my side when I began my therapy dog journey fifteen years ago. He really showed me the way. He was such a kind empathetic creature, the epitome of the gentle giant. No one who met Charley ever forgot him.

About to turn three, Stanley, has developed a strong resemblance to Charley, not only in appearance but in his demeanor. I’ve lost count of how many people have mistakenly called him Charley. It has struck such an emotional chord in me.

I took him to the bank recently and he stayed calmly by my side, walking a few steps at a time as we socially distanced. One of the tellers, who has known all of the Doods, forgot how many years have gone by and called out “Look it’s Charley.”

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of hiking with Stanley. It’s in the mountains that I truly appreciate his comforting presence. It reminds me of the sense of freedom that I had with Charley.

As another big shaggy dog, Stanley also draws a lot of attention. I have had so many conversations with people who would have said “hi” and walked on by if I’d been alone.

Two women, who were laughing because our hair looked the same blowing in the wind, stopped to chat. Of course I told them about being in I Love You Man with Charley because we looked so much alike.

ELBEE She just can’t help herself. I think she’s still hoping for a sequel with her blink and you missed it cameo.

What really impressed them was the way that Stanley calmly and protectively leaned against me as we were talking, something that Charley used to do. They fell in love with him and shared how much he had cheered them up. I have always treasured the “lean.”

In this time of uncertainty, not knowing what the new normal is going to bring, there is a change in mood. Following months of isolation, people are reaching out to each other. Stanley has become a bridge to reconnection.

This week he surprised me again by giving me a “hand shake,” something that I thought was unique to Charley. When I reached for his paw, he curled it around my hand and squeezed gently. It was as if it was a message from my first gentle giant.

Snakes, Bikes and Unrelated Coincidences

On one of the first warm days this spring I was hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains with Shelli and Ann Marie, two of my slightly younger friends.

ELBEE She could be their mother.

All of a sudden, when we were almost at the top of a steep, single-track trail, we heard a very loud, unmistakable rattle in the brush. I am not a fan of rattle snakes but I’ve encountered so many over the years that I don’t freak out. I’ve even forgiven the one that bit me on the ankle.

ELBEE Unlike the first time when she screamed and ran a half mile in the other direction.

My friends, on the other hand, basically freaked out. To give you an idea, at the end of the hike Shelli’s Fitbit showed that her heart rate was the highest for the three minutes post rattle.

They were ready to turn around and run back down. As senior hiker and self-appointed hike leader, I told them that wasn’t an option. It was too far, too rocky and the snake had relatives.

Promising that we’d stay on wide trails, I convinced them to follow me up to dirt Mulholland which is so open that the snakes can’t really hide. That’s when the bikers started flying by without bells. Unlike the snakes, who are very polite, they don’t give you a warning. (You know who you are.)

ELBEE She has such bike issues.

Shelli and Ann Marie, still in fear of seeing another rattling reptile, had no problems with the speeding lunatics and thought I was overreacting. That changed after our encounter with a visibly distraught woman coming up a narrow side trail.

When we stopped to see if she needed help, she said that a bell-less bike rider had flown past her, scaring her and almost causing her to fall. As we chatted and she calmed down, my friends were very sympathetic and I seemed like much less of a curmudgeon.

ELBEE Maybe.

Fortunately, thanks to the dogs, who weren’t even there, the hike ended on a very positive note. As were heading down to our cars, a young woman walking by stared at me for a moment and then asked, “Do you have two big fluffy white dogs?” My friends started laughing.

It turned out that years ago, when she’d had been seriously ill, I’d brought Charley and Elbee to see her at Tarzana Hospital. She’d never forgotten them. Of course, I had to tell her about Gus and Stanley and just happened to have their trading cards with me.

In another coincidence, when she saw UCLA Health on the cards she said she that she was going to be starting a job there. She’d recently completed her PhD in psychology and was going to be working in neuropsych at the hospital…our regular units!

ELBEE What are the chances?

And speaking of coincidences, a few days later, hiking with Stanley, I saw this poor snake that had been run over by a bike!

ELBEE Now that’s ironic, sad, but ironic.

A Special Virtual Visit

I started a different post a few days ago but then had an experience that I really wanted to share. I learned that the dogs can work “virtual” magic.

It’s hard to believe but it’s been a year since the Doods and I began doing Zoom calls with the kids in the neuropsych units at UCLA. The visits were initially pretty challenging as we all adjusted to the technology and the distance. Then, little by little, they developed a certain rhythm.

This week was no exception. Gus and Stanley were ready to Zoom, dressed in the finest that the Dollar Store has to offer.

ELBEE She has started wearing some of their accessories.

CHARLEY I’m concerned.

Once the patients were engaged, laughing and asking questions, I had the dogs do some of their tricks. I asked the kids to sing along when Gus was dancing and when Stanley was dancing with me. Since they really miss hugging the dogs, I’ve learned the sillier the better to capture their attention. It touched my heart when one of the boys asked if I could bring them in to see him.

Then Gus and Stanley started showing off and stealing screen time from each other. They have it all figured out. From the moment they see my laptop on the floor, their inner divas come out. It’s a little chaotic but seeing them wrestle is probably more interesting than watching them do a perfect sit.

ELBEE I would have been such a Zoom influencer.

After the groups, Robbie, the wonderful therapist whom I’ve known since starting with Charley, asked if we would do an individual visit. It was with a teenage girl who wouldn’t participate in the group calls but had a passion for rescuing dogs. When the patient was told that I truly wanted to hear about her rescues, she agreed to an iPad visit.

Although she generally distances from others and barely engages, seeing me sitting with Gus and Stanley, somehow encouraged her to open up. For the next ten minutes she shared very personal stories of dogs that she’d rescued.

Not until we’d said our on-line goodbyes did I find out just how special the visit had been. I learned that the teen has severe issues and can be very aggressive. She has a one on one aide with her in the hospital.

I had seen none of that as she talked so sincerely to me and to Gus and Stanley too. It reminded me of what our therapy dogs can accomplish, even remotely. For a few minutes, a troubled teen who loves animals saw mine on the screen and forgot her problems as she told me about the dogs in her life.

Confessions of a Stage Mom

In the spirit of honesty, I admit that this post is a blatant attempt to get votes for Gus in L.A.Magazine‘s cutest pet contest.

https://www.lamag.com/petfest/

ELBEE I would say desperate attempt.

Surprisingly, the oldest daughter, not the biggest fan of the Doods, texted me an article about the contest. I wondered if she was developing a soft spot for them.

ELBEE No. She bet a friend that her mother would be all over it.

When the daughters were growing up, I was more of a yelling from the sidelines kind of mom than a stage mom. Being an uncoordinated nerd who never played a sport, I loved cheering them on.

ELBEE She’s lucky she never got red carded at a soccer game.

When they were taking gymnastics, I got so carried away that I signed up for a class they were offering to delusional over-involved moms. To tell you how badly it went, I gave myself a black eye jumping off a mini-trampoline.

Technically I guess you could say that I first became a stage mom when I started bodybuilding. I brought the daughters to all the competitions, hoping they’d become my stage children and give me an extra push.

ELBEE Is she kidding? That’s a mom on stage not a stage mom. Those poor daughters.

It was only after the Doods came into my life that I became a true stage mom. I remember the exact day that it happened. I was walking with Charley, the gentle giant, my first therapy dog.

We passed a small crew that was filming random dogs and their owners for movie trailers. They asked if they could film me and Charley crossing the street. After thinking about it for two seconds I said “sure.” When we finished they gave me an envelope with fifty dollars. I still have it. Dog stage mom was born.

Among other things, Charley went on to do a featured cameo in I Love You Man, an appearance on Pit Bulls and Parolees, and an ad for Bedhead Pajamas. Somehow I even found him an agent.

I never got an agent for the others but have jumped at every opportunity for them to be in magazines, the news or on TV. Stanley, at not even two, filmed a show to be aired on Animal Planet. When they have photo shoots at UCLA, I am totally stage mom, primping and preening them.

This week I realized I’d really gone to the dark side. I received a spam call saying that I was going to be served an arrest warrant the next day whatever that meant. The creepy recording added that if I wasn’t served then, I’d be served at the sheriff’s station with law enforcement and media present. My first thought was,” wonder if I can bring Gus and Stanley.”

VOTE FOR GUS EVERY DAY TO MAKE THIS STAGE MOM GO AWAY

https://www.lamag.com/petfest/

ELBEE I am actually embarrassed for her.

Cautiously Optimistic

I’m almost embarrassed by the title of this post because it’s become such a cliché right now.

ELBEE Apparently not embarrassed enough not to use it.

We’ve all gone through so much together, from pandemic brain to pandemic fatigue to being so over it. Sharing with friends and family has been a saving grace. We have found ways to connect with each other and to comfort. Now we are looking for the way back.

On Wednesday the Doods did a Zoom call with a little girl at UCLA Medical Center. Ironically, the date marked a year since Gus or Stanley has done any in person visits.

ELBEE I would have been devastated to have had my illustrious therapy dog career put on hold.

On March 11, 2020 Gus did his recertification testing and soaked up all of the attention walking through the hospital. It was also the day that the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 an international pandemic.

Zoom calls, which were a technological nightmare for some people, have become routine and sometimes even fun.

ELBEE She used to ask her grandkids for help.

The patient we visited on the eleventh seemed a bit shy but having her mom there gave her the ease to open up.

They were both delighted with Gus and Stanley’s antics. They laughed at their dancing, applauded the tricks. told me about their dogs. We even sang an early Happy Birthday to Gus.

The only thing missing was the physical contact with the dogs. There was no hugging or petting. There were no belly rubs.

An impromptu visit that the dogs did on one of our walks really put it in perspective. I was fortunate enough to be vaccinated, so although I’ve been cautious, I have let more people approach. I also carry Purell.

ELBEE By the way, “fortunate” means “old.”

A man out with his two young sons asked if they could pet the dogs. When I gave the okay, the boys were so excited. Gus and Stanley were almost giddy and immediately began showing off. They have been very confused by social distancing.

After the dogs calmed down enough to pose for a photo, I handed the boys their UCLA trading cards. Before we went our separate ways, the dad looked me in the eye and said “you just made their day.” I realized how much I’ve missed that simple phrase that therapy dogs and their handlers so often hear in the hospital.

It made me think that Zoom visits are like television shows with a remote audience while in-person hospital visits are like live theater. There is a priceless interaction when a dog walks into a patient’s room. I am cautiously optimistic that we will find our way back.

This One’s for You Stan

On one of my Ventura Blvd walks with Gus and Stanley, we passed a store window that was filled with origami cranes. The shop had been vacant for months and then had housed a temporary exhibit for local artists. Now these ethereal paper birds were hanging on copper chains.

It was part of the Memorial Crane Project started by artist Karla Funderburk. She created the art installations for the purpose of honoring loved ones lost to COVID-19.

In the Japanese culture, the crane is a symbol of good fortune and longevity, but also of hope and healing during difficult times. These hand made birds are her way to commemorate those lives and to help us mourn and heal collectively.

ELBEE Someone has been busy on Google.

The delicate birds, as well as a wall of remembrance, are in the windows of well-trafficked locations. At first the artist was making the cranes on her own, but as word spread, more and more people joined in. Her goal is to have a memorial display in each state. Sadly, it would take years and years to make a bird for each life that has been lost.

ELBEE I’m sorry to break the mood but I love the name Funderburk.

On a more personal note of remembrance, my brother Stan’s birthday was March third. I’ve written about him often since he was one of the most special people in my life and one of the funniest.

He has been gone almost twenty five years but I still light a candle on his birthday. After being so moved by the window display, I considered changing things up and folding some paper cranes in his honor.

ELBEE Origami is not in her skill set.

Instead, on his birthday, Gus, Stanley and I did a Zoom call with the kids and the teens in the neuropsych units at UCLA. Although you never know how it’s going to go, this one turned out to be so much fun.

It was just one of those visits where the patients were engaged and having a good time. They laughed at the dogs’ outfits. They were great sports. They agreed to sing for Gus’s dance and my silly “dance” with Stanley. They applauded. Okay, I milked the applause. It felt as if my brother’s spirit was with me, as if he was smiling down.

Recently, going through some old boxes, I found a poem that a friend had written for him when he was waging his battle with cancer. I want to share the closing lines.

“Why this has happened to you many people have contemplated, But one thing is for sure, your life will always be celebrated.”

Happy birthday Stan. I celebrate you.

Sequins & Schmatas

As the pandemic has gone on and on, a lot of us have gotten very comfortable in sweats, schmata’s and minimal makeup.

CHARLEY It’s concerning.

On the other hand, our dogs look fabulous. We’ve been spending so much time together, there’s lots of brushing and pampering going on.

My cousin Janet, the one who inherited the sewing and crafting gene from my grandmother, made this personalized sweater for her “granddog” Leon. If I could knit I would have done the same thing.

ELBEE Knit? I saw her try to sew on a button. It was painful.

I’ve never hesitated to dress the Doods up for holidays or special events at the hospital. Now every Zoom call is an excuse. When we do virtual visits, it’s all about Gus and Stanley in their ties and tiaras. The patients are so taken with the sequins and feathers, I don’t think they even notice me in my sweats.

ELBEE Excuse me, those are pajamas.

It reminds me of the time I knocked on a patient’s door at Providence Tarzana Hospital and asked her if she’d like a visit. A little confused, she looked at me and answered “not really,” Then, seeing Gus at my feet, she smiled and said “please come in.”

I confess, Gus and Stanley’s wardrobe comes from the Dollar Store or from my closet. My kids were never that easy to dress. I remember a shopping trip when one of the daughters asked why there was a little “x” sticker on a shirt. When I explained that it meant there was a tiny imperfection, her response was, “you’re buying me rejects?” Neither Gus nor Stanley has ever complained about rejects.

Actually, I was feeling so good about the outfits I was putting together, I thought dog stylist might be in my future. Then the people on our UCLA PAC Zoom calls began sharing about all of the shopping they’d been doing. They’d been buying fancy doggie apparel on specialized web sights. Who knew they had onesies and bodysuits for dogs! I was afraid that I’d have to step up my game.

GUS If she buys me a onesie I’m outta here.

STANLEY I might look cute in that black bodysuit.

Gus and Stanley have very different attitudes when they pose for photos. No matter how I dress him, Stanley sits patiently and waits for his close up. Gus, on the other hand, often looks as if he’s having an existential crisis.

On a serious note, some friends are going through very difficult times. This lighter post was written for them in the spirit of love.