Cancer patient gets help from a family pet: a dog!

I met a fellow at the golf course a few years ago, like you do when you show up and the starter pairs you up with someone. The man had just gone through a terrible bout with chemotherapy as doctors tried to cure him of cancer he told me as we played the course. He also told me of help he received from an unlikely source: his family pet, a dog.
I heard his story and asked him to email it to me. He did, but I never heard from him again. So, I have no idea what happened to him.
Good story.

Since I'm at the computer, I thought I would take a moment and
relay the information we discussed while playing golf. (I enjoyed
the golf, and hope I can relay the story better than I play golf.
Considering how I play golf, it certainly shouldn't take much...)

Everyone is different. Cancer takes many forms and causes people
to react and feel differently. Your reactions will coincide with
your past health, relationships and perspective of the world.

While I was undergoing chemo last year, and for a full year, the
things that were important were reduced to a significant few.
Support from your family and making it for another day. I did not
react well to the treatments and was (for lack of a specific
medical term) "sick". It "seemed" that I had ALL the side effects,
and it was very difficult, both mentally and physically.
Physically, I went through a process, for the first time in my life,
where I was at the mercy of my body. I couldn't do things that I
considered normal. Such as mowing the yard (cutting the grass around his house), going to the store, and playing golf. It wasn't that I just couldn't do these things, it was I couldn't physically do these things. It wasn't a matter of take an aspirin and feeling better in the morning, it was take
the medicine (chemo) and feel worse and look like a sick person.
Everything seemed to be backwards. Eat and feel sick, don't eat and
feel sick. Force yourself to get some exercise (like walk around
the block or even just to the mailbox) and feel worse. It seemed
sometimes you had to remind yourself to breath. Things were just
not natural. In fact you, at some point, had to redefine natural
and "normal".

Mentally you had difficulty focusing on even the most mundane
tasks. Like should I brush my teeth now or later? Reading and
watching TV was possible, but difficult in maintaining a train of
thought for long periods. Mentally you would wonder can I make it
to the next day? Expecting the worse and heaping large amount of
pity on yourself became common. I took chemo every 3 weeks, would
feel bad for two; and then when I "started" to feel better would
realize I would have to get another treatment and would feel bad
again. It becomes very lonely, because when your white blood count
goes down and your immune system at risk human and social contact
has to be limited. My social life became having my blood count
taken twice a week and getting chemo at the doctor's office. (If
truth be known, some of the best conversations and insight were
with the people while you are taking chemo.) You don't know how
you are going to feel (physically) 10 minutes from now. So time
was not necessarily your friend.

Support is very important, but difficult. If you are use to seeing
a problem and "fixing" it and taking the male road of not asking
for directions or help. Then accepting support is difficult. The
people close to you are not sure how to act or react and you can
feel their discomfort in their attempt to show their caring. And
to be honest, sometimes you don't want to spend the energy talking
on the phone or entertaining visitors. Over a period of time the
person closest to you, will learn and accept, to a large degree,
how you are and basic needs. But you will feel a degree of
"guilt", because you find you are "getting" and giving almost
nothing.

This prolog leads to the main point of something I discovered,
during my period of treatments. We have a dog that has been with
us for almost 10 years. The dog was, without a doubt, my wife's
friend. I acknowledged the dog, and we respected each other's
space, but if he was to run away it would probably be days before I
realized he was gone and would not feel any real loss. As I got
sick and went through treatments I, didn't at first, but later
noticed a subtle change in his actions. The dog began to follow me
and stay in the same room, whereas before I was something to be
ignored. If I was asleep he wouldn't bark, which was not natural
for him. He knows that the house is his, except he is not to get
on our bed, and he hasn't for the time he has been with us. When I
was running a fever for a couple of days, he got on the bed, and I
would wake up with him laying beside me. He would continue this
pattern, and would somehow know when I was sick or just tired. The
dog is independent, as far as dog can be, and would rarely get on
the same piece of furniture. If I was on the couch he was on the
chair, etc. When I was sick he would get as close to me as
possible, but when I was feeling better he would maintain his past
behavior. The dog would look at me and seem to understand... and
react. He began to ignore my wife and check on me before he went
outside. After a time, he became the reason to get up and move
about. He would listen, without judgment, to complaints and moans
and groans. The dog was being an unqualified care giver.

A person, no matter how understanding and caring, can and will get
tired of the burden of someone constantly ill. They at some point
will need a break or to find time for their life. The dog on the
other hand had no limits or restrictions on his time. I became his
hobby or job. His attention was unwavering and his capacity for
being available and concern was sincere and constant.

I have not had chemo for six months now; am gaining strength; and
have gone back to work. The dog is in the living room asleep,
while I'm in another room on the computer. As I recovered, he
slowly went back to his ways and reestablished our former
relationship of peaceful (and separate) coexistence.

I don't know if this dog or my experience was unique, but I would
think that in the dark days of cancer part of the support mechanism
might be the friends, family and the recommendation of a pet. A
low maintenance, slightly older dog certainly was of significant
value to me.