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From "Heal, Doggie, Heal!", Washington Post, July 25, 2000
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Heal, Doggie, Heal!
Dogs that assist the disabled and comfort the sick are a breed apart.
By Pamela Gerhardt
Tuesday, July 25, 2000; Page Z09
[...Portions of this article not related to National Capital Therapy Dogs have been omitted...]
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Therapy dogs, which deliver some of the emotional benefits of canine
contact but not the lasting relationships, visit people in hospitals,
nursing homes and other locations. There, people with physical or mental
illnesses can share, at least briefly, the joy, comfort and liberating
moments the animals can provide.
Medical studies have shown that petting an animal can lower blood
pressure, heart rate and skin temperature, and that pet owners tend to
live longer than non-pet owners. Although much of the literature devoted
to the benefits of human-animal bonding is anecdotal, a number of local
health care providers; including two high-profile research centers; offer such visits for some patients.
Anyone can volunteer themselves and their dogs to participate in a therapy
program. The dogs must pass a test that demonstrates obedience and a
docile nature.
The Delta Society, a national organization that oversees animal assisted
therapy and provides certification protocols for animals and their
handlers, estimates that more than 2,000 animals nationwide participate in
assisted therapy programs, visiting more than 350,000 people each year.
National Capital Therapy Dogs Inc. (NCTD), a Washington area nonprofit
group, organizes regular visits to several local hospitals, including the
National Institutes of Health in Bethesda and the Children's House at
Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, which provides housing and emotional support
for families of Hopkins's pediatric patients. In all the years of pet
assisted therapy throughout the country, not one case of infection has
been shown to be caused by the animal, the group reports.
One recent Tuesday night at the Children's House, volunteers Linda Solano
and her whippet, Jessie, Marlene Truesdell and her chocolate Lab, Claire,
and Michelle and Mark Cohen and their beagles Daisy and Annie, gathered in
the downstairs rec center. Solano and the volunteers, members of NCTD,
covered the newly upholstered couches with pink sheets.
Gradually the kids, who suffer from serious illnesses; cancer and
neurological and spinal disorders; were wheeled in. One blond, paper
pale wisp of a boy in a wheelchair with his legs propped straight out and
a pillow clutched protectively across his stomach was so weak he could
barely speak. Solano gently picked up Jessie and carried her over to the
boy.
Encouraged by his mother, the boy attempted to raise his hand to pet the
animal. Solano got closer. The boy smiled. By the end of the hour-long
session, he was giggling at the circus-like performance of Daisy and
Annie, especially Annie as she flew from the couch and landed on the
Cohens' backs. The boy's legs were then bent and swaying contentedly. The
pillow was tossed aside. "Do that again," he said to the Cohens, and
laughed.
At the evening's peak, the place was packed with more than 23 highly
animated, smiling people and four dogs. Claire visited with a girl with
severe palsied movements. Claire never flinched. The dogs, wearing
official therapy dog packs and tags, maintained their composure through it
all.
On another night at the Clinical Center at the National Institutes of
Health, a similar but more subtle scene unfolded. Solano lifted Jessie
onto the bed of Lou Ellen Wentworth in the cardiology unit, careful not to
disturb the wires and tubes that monitor Wentworth's heart, which has gone
through many surgeries dating to 1961. Wentworth, 76, a soft-spoken woman
from Monroe County, Tenn., gracefully received her guests despite her
surroundings; the beeping of machinery, the "Friends" episode
blaring on the television. Perched on the edge of the bed in a blue robe
and Chinese-style slippers, she told stories that involve rattlesnakes,
her 12 siblings and carrots stuffed into pressure cookers, all the while
stroking Jessie's ears. She and Solano talked and talked and looked at
Wentworth's embroidery. Jessie fell into a deep sleep, her head cradled by
Wentworth's aged hand.
Holly Parker, coordinator of pet-assisted therapy at NIH, first looked
into the idea in 1988 after a patient suggested it. Today, the Clinical
Center's full-time staff veterinarian, Mark Haines, checks the dogs for
parasites, infection and signs of disease. He also verifies that their fur
has been shampooed and their teeth brushed. These steps are necessary, he
says, because "30 to 40 percent of our patients are immuno compromised"
and would have trouble fighting off any germs they encountered.
Rewards are immediate and visible. Not long after patient Carolyn Hoover
had pancreatic and kidney transplants at NIH, she received medications
that left her feeling nauseated.
"I was so sick I couldn't possibly eat," she says. Then Solano entered her
room with her other dog, Willow.
"It was amazing," says Hoover. "The dog changes your whole perspective. It
takes your mind off what you're going through. I asked for food right
after their visit."
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© 2000 The Washington Post Company
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Mark Cohen and his beagle drop by the Children's House at Johns Hopkins Hospital. The visit was arranged by National Capital Therapy Dogs, a Washington nonprofit group that says the animals have never been shown to have caused infection among patients they visit.
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Linda Solano, a volunteer at National Capital Therapy Dogs, and her whippet, Jessie, call on Lou Ellen Wentworth, a cardiology patient at the National Institutes of Health. NIH's staff veterinarian checks the animals before they visit patients.
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Patient Lou Ellen Wentworth strokes Jessie's ears and lulls the 3-year-old whippet to sleep while she visits with volunteer Linda Solano, telling stories and showing off her embroidery.
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Pink sheets cover the newly uphostered furniture at the Children's House at Johns Hopkins Hospital, while 8-year-old Jamie Summers frolics with beagles Annie and Daisy, who belong to Michelle and Mark Cohen.
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