‘They love you unconditionally’: It’s a dog’s world through pet ministry program at St. Vincent Hospital

Darlene Gosnell uses special dogs to bring joy and comfort to patients through the pet ministry program at St. Vincent Hospital in Indianapolis. (Photo by John Shaughnessy)

By John Shaughnessy

Let’s start with the tale of a dog and a 14-year-old girl who was in a coma in the intensive care unit at St. Vincent Hospital in Indianapolis.

Day after day, Jessica lay unresponsive in the hospital bed as her friends and family members hoped and prayed for her recovery from a respiratory illness that had shut down her lungs.

Then a request was made to Darlene Gosnell, coordinator of the hospital’s pet ministry program: Please bring one of the dogs to Jessica’s room.

Enter Molly B., who looked right at home as she walked into Jessica’s hospital room. Gosnell lifted the dog to the girl’s bed, whispered a prayer and then said one word to Molly, “Stimulate.”

“She started licking her fingertips, went up the arm and licked around her head,” Gosnell recalls. “Everybody in the room is watching this. This young lady turns to the left, opens her left eye, looks at the dog and smiles.

“She ended up graduating from Purdue University with honors. She refers to the dogs as angels with paws.”

Now consider the story of a man who tried to commit suicide by slitting his wrists. After he was rushed into the emergency room, Gosnell believed that one of the pet ministry dogs could help the man.

“We went in, and I talked quietly,” she says. “I asked him if he liked dogs. He started crying. He said he had no family and nothing to live for. I asked if he wanted the dog to lie down next to him. He said yes. For the next hour and a half, he just talked to the dog and massaged the dog.”

‘They love you unconditionally’

In the ever increasingly sophisticated world of health care, the pet ministry program at St. Vincent Hospital offers another reminder that there’s still an important place for basic interaction that makes a difference.

Sometimes it’s revealed in the extra concern a nurse shows a patient. Other times, it’s there when a doctor puts aside the lab reports and just listens. There are even times when man’s best friend can achieve the best results.

Now in its 10th year, the pet ministry program at St. Vincent Hospital serves a special need, says Dr. James Nevin Jr., the medical staff president of the hospital who owns two therapy dogs in the program.

“Some hospitals have this program, too, but it’s somewhat unusual to have a dedicated, on-call assistance that the physicians here can use,” Nevin says. “They will write an order to have the dogs visit a patient. The dogs speak a universal language. They love you unconditionally.”

A dog’s presence can be a tremendous gift in a hospital where many patients are scared, lonely or both.

“Almost everyone relates to a dog—from the people who never had a pet in their life to people who have trained them for 20 years,” says Meredith Makeever, an 18-year-old volunteer with the program. “You get to see the patients brighten up. They relax and they tell you about themselves instead of their sickness.”

The 25 dogs in the program can even help coax patients to do what they’re scared to do in a hospital. Nevin shares the story of a little boy who said, “If you let me hold the dog, I’ll let you start the IV.”

“We had talked about having dogs dedicated to the emergency department, which is really unique,” Nevin says. “I bought the first dog and became its owner. The ER is probably one of the most chaotic, frightening experiences a patient can have. They don’t want to be there, and they’re there by accident or an unexpected illness. All of this chaos is going on and the dog comes down, and you get a lick across the face. It defuses tension.”

The presence of a dog helps the hospital staff, too.

“The benefit for the staff is that it slows things down,” Nevin says. “All of a sudden, there’s this dog that says, ‘Hey, life is good!’ The dog is a settling spirit. It’s pretty neat.”

‘God saved me for a reason’

Neatness is one of the requirements for the dogs that are used in the program—Cairn terriers and West Highland terriers. These dogs are hypo-allergenic, don’t shed and have a good temperament—a needed quality as they visit patients in hospital units that include pediatrics, intensive care and oncology.

Many of the dogs used in the program also have a history of being rescued from difficult situations.

“One of our dogs is named Brady,” Gosnell says. “He was about six months old when he was tied to the rear of a pickup truck and dragged through the streets of Indianapolis. He had burns over 70 percent of his body. A vet called us to see if we’d be able to save the dog. Of course, we said yes. We’ve rescued dogs from puppy mills. We’ve rescued dogs that were deformed. We’ve given them a new life, and they give life to people.”

Gosnell has lived that story of being rescued, being given a new life and then giving life to others.

In 2000, Gosnell was in her 35th year as a special education teacher when her car was struck by a truck that roared through a red light.

“But for the grace of God, the doctors said I should have been killed in that accident,” she says. “The car was totally demolished. I feel that God saved me for a reason.”

She had to have rehabilitation for a brain injury that ended her career as a teacher. During her rehab sessions, she brought Molly B., a puppy then, with her.

“Molly was basically my first therapy dog,” she says. “I also had Mac. They were the beginning of what we’re doing now. The pet ministry started for four hours a week, one day a week. Doctors started asking if we could go longer. We ended up going to four days a week. Now, it’s 24/7.”

In matters of life and death

As Gosnell makes her rounds through the hospital units, she directs a wheelchair carrying one of the dogs. Staff members who looked serious before they saw the dog suddenly smile. Some engage the pet in baby talk.

The dogs—which are all blessed by a priest when they enter the program—also have the ability to see and smell things that humans can’t, Gosnell says.

“They’re taught not to bark in the hospital,” she says. “The only time they can bark is when they sense an emergency. When he was 3 years old, Mac came through a door, and he started pulling me. They’re taught not to pull, but he jerked and ran down the hall. This man was in the process of dropping to the ground in a seizure. As the man started to buckle, Mac used his body so that the man’s head wouldn’t hit the ground.”

If some actions possibly save a life, others draw people together at death.

Gosnell shares the story of four family members who came to the hospital room where their mother was dying. Estranged for some reason, the siblings were each in different corners of the room until a dog was brought to the woman’s bed to comfort her. Soon, each sibling moved to the bed, drawn by the dog. They surrounded their mother, and began talking and sharing memories.

“Our dogs can be a catalyst in many ways,” Gosnell says. “In our mission goals, it’s not about how many people we see each day. It’s the quality of time we have during our stay with the patients. It’s the quality of time the dogs are giving.” †