subject: Dr. Wendel - Travels with a Therapy Dog – Meeting Joey [print this page] Dr. Wendel - Travels with a Therapy Dog Meeting Joey
The boy sitting in front of me was fifty-seven years old. By all appearances Joey was a full-grown adult complete with patchy stubble after a hurried morning shave, size twelve shoes, and graying temples. He rocked back and forth in his chair and averted his eyes at all times. Joey was being admitted into the Adult Day Care Center where I worked as a registered nurse. The program was designed to offer a wide variety of low-income patients the opportunity to socialize, attend groups, and receive assistance with occupational and physical therapy needs.
The questions I asked Joey were not answered. According to the board and care operator where he lived, Joey is mute. Nor does Joey interact with others, allow himself to be touched or make eye contact. Joey grew up in a state institution and was then placed in various residences over the years. The arrangements at his board and care home required attendance in the Day Care program by the residents to maintain functioning and activity levels. Although Joey could hear me, he did not respond. According to his chart he has autism.
During twenty-six years as a psychiatric nurse, I have encountered many patients with a variety of illnesses. Autism, a complex disorder, presents a unique challenge in reaching a mind far removed. I glanced down at Wendel, my therapy dog, who regularly accompanies me to work, and said, "This is a job for the Dr." Dr. Wendel, as he's commonly called by all of his friends, has over five-hundred hours of volunteer service and was by then a certified professional. I lifted him onto my lap and inched closer to Joey.
Joey continued to rock back and forth in his chair and this gave me an idea. Our chair rolled right in front of Joey's forward motion. The good doctor had an additional edge: the longest, silkiest ears ever given to a creature. As Joey bent forward, I brushed his forehead lightly with a feather wisp of Wendel's ear hair. Startled, Joey pulled back, peeking shyly at our little facilitator. Joey slowly lowered himself again and again toward the ear caress, and with each subsequent rock forward he stayed just a bit longer.
Over many visits, was able to place the Dr. on the desk next to Joey and he learned that he could rest his hand on Wendel as long as he wasn't rocking. From this, we advanced to lessons in brief eye contact. Our breakthrough came one day when Wendel tried to turn around and a paw came too close to the edge of the desk. A slip and Joey and I both reached for Wendel at the same time our hands were touching and Joey looked directly at me, nodded, and gently returned the Dr. to his office.
The last time I saw Joey, he was sitting at the group table working on puzzles. He had allowed himself to be seated father from Wendel as long as an ear caress was still available occasionally. He seemed to understand that the good doctor had more patients to see and welcome to his practice.
