Those Left Behind
Glindy is a very sensitive dog. You
might not know it if you saw her around the house, where she can be
quite pushy and demanding. However, she's definitely very attached
to me, and is prone to separation anxiety.
Earlier this week, I ended up taking an ambulance to the hospital
in the middle of the night. (For those concerned, it turned out to
be an exceptionally virulent—and obviously
non-fatal—case of the flu.) Since I was at home, instead of
on the road as I so often am, I decided to leave her safely crated
rather than take her with me to the hospital.
This sounds like a simple decision, but I actually thought about it
a lot while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The law
would have allowed her to accompany me; but, to be honest, I wasn't
up to dealing with all the hassles. It might have gone smoothly;
but then again, it might not. Even had my service dog been welcomed
by the paramedics and the emergency room staff, I would have had to
worry about handling Glindy in a totally new environment instead of
being able to focus on my own needs that night.
It turned out to be the right decision for me at the time, but
perhaps not for Glindy: for the past several days, she's been in a
strange mood. I'm sure she could tell that I was seriously ill that
night. In addition, our routine was clearly broken when I crated
her and left the house in my bathrobe at two in the morning. So,
now she acts a little panicky every time I leave the room or put on
my bathrobe. It's going to take a little time to reassure her that
I'm okay, that she's not being abandoned, and that we're still a
team.
Meanwhile, my experience forced me to reconsider some things that
I've given short shrift to before. Emergencies, by definition, are
things you don't expect, but for which you can still plan
contingencies. Sometimes, though, it's not always obvious what the
right thing is to do.
In this case, I decided to leave Glindy behind. But what if I'd
been on the road, and forced to take her with me to the hospital?
Setting aside unproven concerns that she'd be jumping on me,
getting tangled in IV tubing, accidentally knocking my IV needle
out, or pulling me off-balance when I'm too sick to stand up by
myself, there are still practical matters to consider.
Hospital personnel are not required to handle or care for a service
animal. So, who would take her out for potty breaks if I were
unconscious for any length of time? If I were kept in the hospital
longer than a few hours, how would she get watered or fed? What
would happen to her if my condition worsened and I needed to be
placed in an area where Glindy couldn't go—an operating room,
for example?
These are policy questions, of course, and I suppose I could call
the hospital and ask. But they are questions which may not always
have the same answer every time they are asked, even at the same
hospital, and certainly not at different hospitals in various parts
of the country. I absolutely hate unknowns.
On the flip side, if I leave Glindy crated at home and something
happens to me while I'm out of the house, who knows to check on
her? If I had ended up spending more than a night in the hospital,
who would let her out of her crate to potty? If I had been
unconscious for a long period of time, and unable to inform anyone
about having a crated dog at home, would Glindy die of starvation
or dehydration simply because no one knew she was in there?
We live in a world that simply assumes that one has family or
friends to do all the necessary things if one is incapacitated. For
some of us, this may not be true. Even if we aren't alone in the
world, how do we communicate those needs to those who can help? How
do we tell them when those needs become urgently real, and are no
longer hypothetical? How will they know that the moment is
now, rather than "someday maybe?"
Tonight, I have no answers. But I still think it's good to ask the
questions.