How To (and Not To) Interact with a Service Dog Team

People can get really stupid when they encounter a service dog team.  Some of this falls under the category of “People really do that?”, and I promise you, they do.  Some of it may not seem so obvious to someone who isn’t a service dog handler.  For the purposes of this blog, I am referring to legitimate teams.

1) Do Not Feed My Dog.  Seriously, people will try to do this.  I know he’s cute.  I know you think he deserves a treat, but what you don’t know is if the dog is on a special diet.  The dog may have food allergies or another medical condition that requires a specialized diet.  Even if that’s not the case, he doesn’t eat while working.

2) Don’t Follow Me Yelling About My SD Being Abused:  I assure you, 99.9% of all service dogs are pampered and loved.  They also LOVE their jobs.  They don’t see “work” as the 4-lettered word many people do.  If a service dog doesn’t want to work, they don’t last long and are washed out or retired pretty quickly.  My service dog gets excited and jumps around when he sees his harness come out.

3) Do Not Pet My Dog Without Permission:  Each handler has their own “rule” when it comes to allowing or not allowing people to pet their dogs.  For some people, it depends on the way the dog will respond.  For other people, it depends on how they will react to the attention.  Do not assume because you see one person petting the dog, that it means you can, too.  For example, I’m pretty strict on not allowing petting, but I have a couple of exceptions.  One is if the person is a child who is afraid of my service dog, and allowing them to pet him will calm the child.  The other is if we run into a friend we see rarely.  Otherwise, I explain that he is working and can not socialize on the job.

4) Do Not Bark At My Dog:  No, really, people do this.  Grown people do this.  It makes you look like an idiot, so just don’t.

5) Do Not Ask What My Disability Is:  My disability is my private medical information.  You don’t want me asking how your last mental health evaluation (or prostate exam, or GYN exam) went.  My medical information is private.  On the same note, don’t ask what my dog is trained to do EXACTLY.  I can’t answer that without revealing my medical information.

6) Do Not Assume I Can Not Hear/See You:  We are not all deaf or blind.  Many of us have other disabilities that allow us to hear and see you.  So, when you encourage your child to pet my dog, I will (and I have) turn around and call you out for it.

7) Try To Resist Curiosity:  I know you are curious.  I know that we may be the only service dog team you have ever run into.  But realize that I just want to get into and out of the store and take care of my business just like everyone else.  You also aren’t the only one who is curious.  I avoid Wal Mart like the plague.  Why?  Because I can’t go five feet without someone stopping me.  I don’t want to be rude, but I’d rather it not take an hour to get a gallon of mile.  Also realize that a lot of us are chronically ill, and going out takes a lot more energy, and is more difficult for us than it is for you.

8) Do Not Take Pictures Without Asking:  We aren’t celebrities.  We are normal people, and snapping pictures without asking is creepy.  Oh, and yes, we see you do it.  Different handlers have different rules for allowing pictures.

9) Do Not Compare Us To Other Handlers:  This was said to me once, “Last week at Disney, someone with a service dog let us pet, so you have to do, too.”  Uhm…No I don’t.

10) Do Not Call More Attention to my Dog:  Just us being out brings attention.  We don’t need any help in that department.  Kids, I understand, but an adult yelling over and over: “LOOK! Its a DOG!” is likely to get the response, “LOOK! It’s a person!”

11) Do Not Attempt to Take my Dog’s Leash From Me:  No, really.  This has happened.  Just don’t.   You’ll likely evoke a violent response.

12) Treat the Dog like he’s/she’s a Wheelchair:  If you wouldn’t do it do a wheelchair, don’t do it to me/my dog.

13) Do NOT Remove the Dog from the Handler:  This is especially true if the handler is down.  The dog has a job to do, let them do it!

This part is going to be about annoying things said to handlers:

1) “Do you REALLY need him?”  Uhm…yeah.  I don’t like being the center of attention everywhere I go.

2) “When do you have to give him up?”   When the handler has an invisible disability, it is often assumed that we are training the dog for someone else.

3) “He’s getting gray.  He’s gonna die soon.”  That one was said to me, and my response, “Like you?” (was an older man).

4) “You can have one them dogs if your blind. She’s NOT blind.”

5) “You just don’t bring a dog into a place that serves food.”

6) “How in the HELL did you get that THING in here?” Through the front door.

7) “Oh, it must be nice to just throw a vest on your pet and bring them with you everywhere just for sympathy. I should try that..”  The response you get for this one will depend on the handler, but expect a lecture.

8) “How do I get a vest so I can take my dog everywhere?”  1) You get a disability.  2) You spend two years training a dog to do something that mitigates the disability, and training the dog to behave appropriately in public, or get on a waiting list, and wait two, or more, years for a program to train one for you.

9) “You don’t look disabled!”  Responses will vary, but common ones are, “You don’t look stupid.” “What does ‘disabled’ look like?” “Thank you, the day I look as sick as I am will be a very bad day.”

10) “Does he/she bite?”  I’ve come to learn that’s generally code for, “Can I pet?”  Let me answer that one, no he/she doesn’t, but the handler might.

I know that a lot of our responses can make us come off as rude or bitchy, and we don’t intend to be, but we are only human.  We are tired, busy, and over it.  If you get one of the ruder responses, you can about guarantee you aren’t the first person to approach that day.

Thank you to all the handlers that helped me make this list.

Not NOW and Not Without A Fight!

Picking Hershey up

Monday, November 3, started like every other day.  About 8 am I stumbled out of bed and gave Hershey and Harley their morning meds, took my own, and then went back to bed.  At 11am, I got up, needing to use the restroom, said, “I’m not getting up yet!” and went back to bed.  Nothing seemed off.  Finally, about 1pm, I decided I needed to get my butt out of bed.  I got up, put my contacts in, brushed my teeth, threw some old clothes on, and stumbled towards the living room, thinking I was going to take the pups out and feed them…like every other day.

I got to the where the master bedroom and kitchen floors divide and noticed someone had gotten sick.  It wasn’t bad, and thought it was Harley.  He’s the one with the tender belly.  I look up and Tim is standing in the living room with paper towels in his hand.  I asked him what was going on and “someone” had gotten sick in the living room as well, and there was a place where someone had taken a dump in front of the TV.  I vaguely remembered Makeda, our 20 mo old Rottie, trying to wake me up.  We figured she had tried to wake us up, couldn’t, so she did what she needed to do.  We both figured it was Harley who had gotten sick.  I went to the extra bedroom, where the paper towels are kept, and grabbed another roll.   I went to clean up Makeda’s mess and heard, “Its OK, girl.  Hershey, its ok,” from behind me.  I asked Tim if she was ok.  He said, “No.”

I dropped everything.  Suddenly it felt like the clocked stopped.  Nothing mattered but Hershey.  They were maybe 3 steps from me, but it felt like much further.   She was laying against the couch, and he was sitting next to her side.  I went towards her head.  I asked him what happened.  He replied, “She’s walking like she’s drunk.  She’s leaning to the right side.”  At that moment, I had a flashback to when we lost our cat, Domino, nine years ago to liver failure.  I lifted her eyelid looking for jaundice.  Her eyes were white, like they should be.  OK…not her liver.

We both sat there for what seemed like forever.  Both of us scared, both of us thinking the same thing, but neither of us saying a word.  Finally he broke the silence with, “She had a stroke.”  One of us said, “She needs to go in, now!”  I think Tim took the other three out to potty, but I’m really not sure.  I went and changed clothes quickly, called the vet and said, “I need to get Hershey in NOW! We think she had a stroke.”  This was one time Harley didn’t go with us.  Hershey needed both of our undivided attention.  I did think to grab my emergency meds and throw them in my purse.  We left with Hershey, scared to death that she would never return home.

We get to the vets office and I run in and tell them that we need help.  Hershey is a fighter, and she has never accepted help.  This was no exception.  She couldn’t walk, but she didn’t want to be carried.  The got David, a big guy, to come carry her in.  As we expected her to do, she arched her back, but we got her in room 6, the large room that is quickly becoming “our room”.  They already had a blanket on the floor waiting for her.

We sat in the room, me on the floor with Hershey, for what felt like an eternity.  I was trying my best to stay calm.  I knew she NEEDED me to be calm.  A couple of techs came in and got a quick history.  We were asked if we wanted the first available vet or if we wanted her vet.  We wanted the best for Hershey, and that meant Dr. King.  We sat with her and waited for her doctor.  It probably wasn’t but a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.  When Dr. King walked in, she was calm and had a solemn look on her face.  I could tell she knew as much as she could going into it. I think she asked for more details, and Tim gave them, but I really can’t remember.  I was so scared I was about to lose my girl.  Dr. King did an exam, looked in her eyes, and listened to her heart.  I remember her saying, “I don’t like that,” after listening to her heart, and saying her eyes weren’t responding to the light properly.  She suggested an EKG.

The order of how everything happened that visit isn’t clear in my memory.  At some point, “Old Dog Vestibular Disease” was mentioned as the most common cause of these symptoms, and if that was it, a full recovery is expected.  It’s a scary onset, but isn’t really a big deal.  However, there were other potential causes, and when she developed vertical nystagmus, we knew the central nervous system was involved.  Dr. King suggested taking Hershey to the specialist in Mandeville, and while the EKG was being done in the back, I called and made the appointment for the next afternoon… the soonest we could get there.

Dr. King suggested a cardiopet, where they send the EKG is sent over the phone lines to a cardiologist who reads the report and calls with recommendations within minutes.  After the EKG was done and before the recommendations came in, Dr. King came in the room to let us know that Hershey was resting calmly.  The cardiologist should call soon.  For some reason, I very clearly remember her saying, “I won’t lie to you,”  I don’t remember the context, but I completely believe that statement, and because of it, I completely trust her.  Another vet came in and told her the cardiologist was on the phone, so that sentence wasn’t finished.

When she returned, she read the report that had a bunch of medical terms that I didn’t know, and am still trying to learn.  The recommendation was to do to a IV shot of lidocaine, consult with a neurologist, and follow up with another EKG the following day.  I didn’t know that lidocaine, the stuff used for toothaches, can help a heart arrhythmia, but at least short term, it can.  Hershey was brought back in, and Dr. King put an IV catheter in Hershey’s front leg, and since we were going to the specialist the next day, she taped it down so they would have quick access, and Hershey wouldn’t have to deal with another stick.  Once that was done, we headed out.  It was getting late in the afternoon and Tim had to work that night.

Leaving the exam room, it was Tim and the tech with Hershey, followed by Dr. King, and then I was behind her.  I saw Hershey arch her back, it looked like they were going to drop her, and I cried out her name.  Dr. King turned around and hugged me.  She reassured me that we were getting Hershey to the best possible place as soon as we could, and told me to contact her on Facebook that evening.  I was going to be home alone, unable to drive should something happen, and scared to death.

We got home, and by time I got everyone settled, I already had a message from Dr. King checking in on us.  Throughout the evening, and the rest of the week, we stayed in contact through Facebook messenger.  I have never had a vet show that much sincerity, that much compassion, and in all honesty, what got me through that night was knowing she was there and could tell me what to do if something happened.  Thankfully, the night was uneventful.

The next morning Hershey’s neurological signs were improving from the day before.  That Old Dog Vestibular Disease thing looked more promising to me.  Tim got home from work, got a cat nap, and off we went.  We debated on whether Harley was going with us or not, but decided in the end that it was best for him to be there.  When we got to Mandeville, the receptionists had a moment of confusion because Harley is also a patient of theirs.  It took a second for that to get settled, and I got the new patient paperwork done for Hershey.

When we saw the neurologist, she did a neurological exam and said the word Tim was expecting, but I feared, “stroke”.   She looked at the referral paperwork, the EKG report from the day before, and recommended a workup that crossed over into the internal medicine department to get to the bottom of what was going on with her heart.  The internal medicine specialist, Dr. Stroup, is Harley’s specialist, and one I’ve been working with for over a year.  I felt more comfortable that she was also on the case.  They sent us to lunch while they did their work up.  We went to lunch, but neither of us ate much.  We then went to PetsMart to get the girls’ food since we were out at home.  They normally eat kibble, but with Hershey not feeling well, we got her the canned version.  We returned as they were finishing the ultrasound.

When they were finished with the work up, they put us in the visiting room with big leather couches and chairs.  I thought, “Uh oh.  This can’t be good.”  The neurologist came in and explained that the ultrasound and x-rays really didn’t show much.  The ventricle was slightly enlarged, and she has some mitral valve regurge, but nothing that would cause the arrhythmia.  Her blood work was perfect, but the EKG showed more abnormal beats than normal beats.  They were transferring the case to internal medicine, and she needed to be admitted to the ICU.  They were going to try to get the arrhythmia under control with an IV, and then transfer her to oral medication.  I broke down and asked to speak with Dr. Stroup.  I wanted to hear from her what she thought. I also already had a report with her, and I guess I was looking for reassurance that my girl was going to be ok.  Dr. Stroup came in, we discussed Hershey’s meds (which we didn’t bring with us as we weren’t expecting to leave her), her temperament, and just stuff that momma felt they needed to know.  I wanted to see her.  I almost asked to see her, but I knew that to see her and then leave her would cause her too much stress.  Reluctantly, I left my girl and left for home…two hours away.

They said we could call 24/7 to check on her.  I thought, “They are going to regret giving me that option.”  At first everything was fine.  I made sure she got her thyroid meds, and they said they were going to feed her at 11pm.  I called at 11:30 to make sure she ate.  The tech said she hadn’t eaten yet.  Her arrhythmia was acting up, was borderline, and if it got to a certain point, they were going to put her on some new meds.  Tim told me that’s not unusual.  He wasn’t concerned.  A little after 1am, I called to make sure she was ok.  This time, the emergency doctor answered.  My heart fell and I held the phone so Tim could hear, “Her neurological signs are reappearing and she is no longer responding to the arrhythmia medication.  She isn’t responding to any medication.”  Tim took the phone and I lost it.  I had Makeda on one side, Harley on the other, and Tim was also right there.  I couldn’t breathe.  All I could think was, “I’m about to lose my girl, and she’s two hours away.  She’s scared.  She’s in a strange place with people she doesn’t know, and I can’t get to her.”  About half an hour later, I think, the doctor called back.  She was responding.  Her arrhythmia was back under control.  She was ok, for now.

The next morning, Tim talked to Dr. Stroup.  She was at a loss for what was causing this.  She had done just about every test in the book, but couldn’t find anything abnormal.  They did a troponin level, a cardiac enzyme.  This would be the only test that showed any real insight into the situation.  It came back at 2.0.  Normal is below 0.2.  Tim said that meant she had a heart attack.  After Tuesday night, she improved steadily.  Wednesday evening, I had a text conversation with Dr. Stroup.  Hershey was doing well.  When she wouldn’t eat her food, they gave her chicken.  She didn’t eat much, if any, of her food.  I wonder if they know they got played…at least a little.

Thursday, they said to be there between 1:30 and 2pm.  I think we were there about 1:20.  The mood was much lighter.  My girl was coming home.  When they came to get us, they brought Hershey to get us.  She was so excited.  The took us to a larger room with almost no furniture.  I sat on the floor with my girl and Harley.  Hershey was ready to blow the joint.  She wouldn’t sit still.  Dr. Stroup came in, and honestly, I couldn’t tell you what all she said right now, but I do have the typed report.  She came home on a new cardiac medication, and an EKG in a week or two was mentioned.

She has been home 3 days.  Her neurological signs are almost completely gone.  She has a very slight head tilt, but other than that, she appears to be neurologically back to normal.  Her arrhythmia is still there, but her heart is getting the oxygen it needs.  There is a probability that there will need to be medication adjustments made, but she is not in immediate danger.

A week ago right now, I had just finished reading The Innocent Man by John Grisham.  I didn’t have an immediate worry.  Right now, I cry at every normal thing Hershey does.  I hold her tight.  I hold all four of my babies tighter.  I have a new level of trust and respect for Dr. King, Dr. Palermo (who stayed in touch by phone from Tuesday through Friday, calling to check up on her daily after he found out what happened), and Dr. Stroup.  I am grateful for Tim’s boss who understood the situation, letting him have Tuesday off.  I realize more than ever that tomorrow is not promised to any of us, and life can change in the blink of an eye.  I almost believe in the power of prayer a little bit more.

Relying on Four Legs

I think all service dog handlers have heard it.  We hear it from our friends.  We hear it from our family.  We hear it from strangers.  “Do you HAVE to bring him?” “Can you put him in the other room just until everyone leaves?” “You do NOT bring a dog into a place that has food.”  “Can you leave him at home, just this once?”  The list is endless, and no handler escapes it.  The response from the service dog handler is often short and is accompanied by a “Go to Hell” look that could kill everyone in the room if only that ability existed.  While looking back, we know it all stems from a lack of understanding.  People see our dogs as different, or embarrassing.  They know we will stand out, as do we, and they don’t want the attention our dogs draw when in a place that is not pet friendly.  What they don’t understand is that our dogs are why we can go out, why we can function and attend that gathering, why we can do anything that is normal.  We’ve also all given the above explanation, and it doesn’t seem to help, so I’ve going to describe what happened just last night.

Everyone that is familiar with me knows I have Harley.  He’s been part of me for quite a while now.  Harley is eleven years old now, so his successor is in the process of being trained to one day step up and fill his paws.  (I will never say take his place because no dog ever can take Harley’s place).  For now, she gives Harley a break.  Makeda has an amazing strong ability to alert.  She is also shockingly accurate. The ability to alert to neurological disabilities such as Seizures, Narcolepsy, and Syncope is not one that can be trained, but one the dog has to have the ability to do.  Makeda can and does do all three.

Now, for last night.  It was a little after 2am.  I was lying in bed, catching up on some DVR, and trying to convince my body it wanted to go to sleep.  It was not hearing me.  Harley was sound asleep in the living room, and Makeda comes in the bedroom.  She stands on her hind legs and puts her front legs across my chest like she’s holding me down.  This is how she alerts when I’m lying down.  Tim hears me fussing at her to get down.  I even told her, “I’m fine.”  He comes in the bedroom asks me how I’m feeling, and I said, “I’m fine.  I think she just wants attention.”  He came back with, “Yeah, you’ve said that before.”  We get Makeda down, and not three minutes later she’s back up, doing the same thing, but using more pressure to hold me down.  She also is focused on my left hand.  I have Complex Regional Pain Syndrome in my left hand and wrist.  It currently only acts up during, and just after, a seizure.  It is not at all uncommon for Makeda or Harley to focus on my left hand during an alert.  At this point I know she is serious.  This is a behavior she ONLY does during an alert.  She has never done a false alert.  I know better than to try to get up, so I call Tim in from the other room.  He sees what’s going on and gets me my meds.  Makeda watches me taking my meds, and gets off me, but stays right with me, sitting, and does not relax for approximately 15 minutes.  After 15 minutes, she relaxes, and goes and lays down on her bed.  I did not seize last night.

I know, with no doubt, that the only reason I did not seize last night is Makeda’s alert.  There is currently no technology that exists that can do what Makeda and Harley do.  Sometimes I can feel it coming on, but by then it’s too late. I’m going to seize, and the best thing I can do is “brace” for it.  Sometimes Tim can see “tells” that its going to happen, but, again, by that point, it’s too late to prevent it.  Every seizure does damage to my brain.  Every seizure wipes me out for the next three days.  In addition to my seizures, I have to deal with syncope and Narcolepsy with Cataplexy.  My dogs also alert to those events as well.  With all three, if I’m standing, I’m in serious danger of hitting my head on the way down or when I hit the floor.  Just as it is with seizures, there is no technology that exists that can do what Harley and Makeda do.  While I often have “tells” with them, you have to know me extremely well to see it as they are subtle, and its too late, I’m going down, and very quickly.

Events like last night are not uncommon at all.  Normally, they happen several days a week.  I have triggers like stress and changes in the barometric pressure that will make it more likely to occur.  Summer is my least stable time of year, and fall my most stable, but at no point am I immune.  On no day can I say with any certainty that I’m not going to have an episode.  I can literally go from feeling fine, laughing and joking, to down in a matter of seconds.   So, in order to keep myself safe, in order to be able to go out to dinner, meet with friends, have friends over, or do anything that is “normal”, anything that most people take for granted, I rely on four legs.  Earlier I described Harley as being “part of me,” and he very much is an extension of me, like a body part.  With time, Makeda will also become part of me.  Every service dog team, even with wildly different disabilities, is the same in this part.  Our dogs are a piece of us.  Without them, we are not safe.  Without them, we can not function at any level near normal.  We can live our lives because we rely on a set (or two) of four legs.