A Dog in A Hospital?
“No.” She said. “Definitely no.” The rather pinkish woman, introduced to me as the ward manager of the PMU, was looking down at a rather sheepish looking Noodle and I. Myself, in a hospital gown and a tired Labrador curled at the end of my bed. It is the 14th of August and soon to be my second night on paediatrics. The previous night Noodle had returned to a friend’s house to be fed but from the second she arrived back on the ward she made it quite clear she had no intention of moving again without me. The little dog had spent the day watching members of the psychiatric team coming in and out- sending the message ‘don’t hurt her’ telepathically through her chocolate eyes. Now she was tired and warm and just wanted to sleep the night away by my side.
“We can’t.” The woman reconfirmed.
“You can.” I say, my voice wavered as I begged my eyes not to fill. “She’s a guide dog, I need her to move around. She’s my eyes.” I don’t want to have to have this conversation- I am after all here because I can’t deal with the normal stuff, let alone advocate myself.
“The other children don’t have dogs in.” She continues. “Their dogs are special too” I grimace at the word ‘special’. Then to my great relief a mental health worker returns and after a ‘quiet word’ the pinkish lady’s orders had lifted, though her scepticism hadn’t.
Noodle spent the night alternating between my bed and the chair beside my bed. The floor was freezing cold and I had nothing to offer her in the way of a blanket. She then went on to spend every night with me in the PMU, a favourite with the nurses and a source of curiosity for passers-by. In fact her stay had gone embarrassingly well for the reluctant pink lady. After a couple of nights I find myself sitting with the duty psychiatrist, who kindly popped in everyday regardless of when her shift ended, at the end of my bed. We were discussing my fears of Noodle being rejected again. I knew I was going to go to hospital but I had no idea where, finding a CAMHS bed is like a cut-throat level of bidding on Ebay. Beds were hard to find for anyone, let alone a girl with a dog.
“She has to come with me.” I tell the psychiatrist as I stroke Noodle’s ears.
“I know…” she replied, biting her lip as she watched us carefully. “I have put in all the referrals that the dog is non-negotiable. Both of you or neither.” She smiled and I smiled back, though her voice was that of someone who was attempting to build a hadron-collider in their basement.
News came back on Friday that there was a possibility I would be going to the *Heron unit. They had to check that there was no one on the ward with an allergy or a dog phobia and everyone’s parents had to be called. I later found out that in the gap between that Friday and my arrival on the Tuesday there had been several calls to guide dogs. Most of the queries were on the ‘will it poo everywhere?’ variety. Within a week of arriving on the ward Noodle was the favourite of all the patients. Her determination to keep me safe never wavered, running to get staff when I needed help and sitting in the corridor outside my room to show if I was about to do something dangerous. She even tried her hand at carrying cards with messages on to the staff!
Now, as I am about to be transferred, the ward is having trouble contemplating what they are going to do without a dog on the ward. A far cry from the ‘infection control risk’ they reluctantly took in. I hope that they find themselves a PAT –Pets as Therapy- dog. Though I think that the ward manager is quite keen on getting her own dog and bringing it to work with her every day! Overall, this dog belongs with me. No matter what.