Reason for Living #10: Pet Therapy
I am sick.
Today’s guest essayist on REASONS FOR LIVING with Esmé Weijun Wang is
.People say that pet therapy is real. While that is true, I wonder if a more two-directional relationship with our pets—one without lopsided expectation—might be more pure.
I am sick.
My body is broken and threatens to kill me continually. Type 1 diabetes; three eye diseases; gastroparesis; myalgic encephalomyelitis; neuropathy; a brain tumour. Well, they’ve all come to the party. I am currently awaiting a possible MS diagnosis as well. My pain is an athlete, running laps through my skin; muscles; bones; eyeballs, even. The moments when he stops to catch his breath, I too catch mine. (Yes, in my body, pain is male - historically proven to be more violent and commandeering.)
Sometimes I want to die.
But then, when arriving home after spinal surgery to a Chihuahua named Carlos, who leaps onto my chest and wraps his paws around my neck as I lay in bed, a pain shoots across my back; I don't care. For his unabashed adoration reminds me I have made it; I am still here. Plus, I can’t blame him for not knowing about the surgery. He didn’t get the memo. He probably assumed I had gone away on a girl’s trip. And his love, even in its over-zealous enthusiasm, heals me despite my sliced up flesh. How dare I even wistfully wish for death, with such a devoted companion cheering me on towards hope with his cuddles?
He usually gets it right; carefully untangling his over-grown claws from my insulin-pump tubing as he burrows under the covers and squishes his little body up against my exposed flesh as we both slumber in the afternoon. Each night, after a forcible enema, needed thanks to autonomic neuropathy bringing my digestive system to a halt, Carlos curls up on my aching belly, a fluffy heat pad weighted just right for comfort.
When my gastroparesis flares up and I can't finish my food, plagued with nausea and vomiting, his sacrificial offering to finish it for me might appear to be for his personal benefit, but I know he's convinced he's putting my world to right.
He even forfeits bits of himself to keep me cozy, coating me with spare fur to add to the warmth of every black sweater I own.
When sleep eludes me as electrical shocks zap my thigh, or my arms, or my eyes, he gifts me with rhythmic snoring, soothing me to sleep despite the pain.
Carlos commits fully to my survival. Barking from his seat in the window, he alerts me to the dangers of the outside world. He is determined to throw himself between me and the big bag wolf that is the neighbour's lab; a dead plant still in its pot rolling in the wind; the postman. (Gasp!)
Yes, he needs me, too. Unable to reach the tap, he relies on my opposing thumbs to fill his water dish. Regular food runs to our local Pets-At-Home are also my job. He doesn’t have a driver’s license or credit card to pay. And since he’s not exactly bred for hunting, Lily’s Kitchen dry kibble keeps his belly full. The little bump bump bump of his nose on my leg tells me it’s tea-time.
Wet and cold England winters are not kind to my bones or his. And again, without hands, putting on a raincoat himself is not exactly, erm, easy. Nor, I suppose, is opening the door to go outside to relieve himself. A ding! on his floor bell alerts me to his need.
Carlos has also nearly died. At four, immune mediated haemolytic anaemia (IMHA) almost stole him from me. I can’t believe it took me so long to notice. His deep brown eyes would meet mine and hold with a desperation, as he lay, depleted of all energy, curled up on a throw on the sofa. He tried to tell me. And I wondered, but friends said “He’ll be fine. You worry too much.” Maybe I was too caught up in my own troubles. Now, daily tablets buried in peanut butter, and monthly vet checks, including drawing blood each time, also demand human hands and a credit card. He still shakes every time the vet comes close. But I suppose, like the ICU where my nine-year-old self had lain, the smell of death is in the air at the dog-doctor’s, and he has a powerful nose.
No, neither Carlos nor I would survive in the wild. We need each other. It is an honour to love him and, even more so, to be loved by him. Our agreement is mutual: give to the other rather than take, and we both win.
Only death holds the power to sever our bond.
And that is a really great reason for living.
(she/her) is a Canadian author, songwriter, and regular podcast guest currently living in the UK.Her publications include a regular newspaper column called, ‘Expert Patient Here to Help!’ in six Manitoba community newspapers, as well as multiple contributions to The Mighty. (Her piece When I Was Shamed for My Invisible Disability–by Two Disabled People has been very popular.) You can also find weekly articles and snippets of understanding on her Substack publication, The Quest For Less Health Stress. She is most active on Instagram @authorsusieschwartz.
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Little Girl in a Blue Armchair, Mary Cassatt
My Dog
For Eileen Myles
away from joy
you walk a little
missing a tooth
discussing famous
black dogs
on the dead
chests of lovers
I just finally
heard
that unnoticed
silence
of never having
one again
it’s been with me
all my life
I saw mine
named after
a god
his body laid
out on the lawn
brown fur
dried blood
yes it’s wise pathos
this want to live
in my body
like a dog
not thinking
if stones
for human deaths
then what
for the other ones
Is there a pet in your life, and if so, what does that pet mean to you? Have you ever spent time with an animal that you would consider therapeutic, and in what ways do you think that was therapeutic that other, more conventional, types of therapy could not achieve?
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 | A guest post by
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I've always believed that pets save our lives every day. I didn't really need scientific evidence to prove that to me. But as I've learned more about the human-animal bond, I'm grateful that the science is catching up to what we with pet companions already knew, as you said so well: "We need each other. It is an honour to love him and, even more so, to be loved by him."
So fine a writing, and such uncanny synchronicity between you and Carlos. Yes, the theme of solidarity in unexpectedly mundane places, and the ways in which a devoted animal reflects and enhances our deepest inner condition. Thank you.