At Christmas I received a short email from a boy I nursed over 12 years ago .He was around twelve or thirteen then so would be in his early 20s now and the email was a brief hello and acknowledgement of times gone by. It ended with the words " have you still got that little red dog?"
The boy's name was Mudin.
The boy, now man, in question was originally from Iraq . He had been accidentally shot by a British serviceman and had been paralysed from the waist down, and so had been brought over to this country for rehabilitation, a daunting prospect for any child to undergo.
As I recall, Mudin, was a robust and cheerful little boy. His named nurse was a pragmatic and non nonsense Irish girl who made sure he had boundaries and structure and warmth to his day, and within a few weeks he had joined the long line of young men and women in their daily rehab timetables at the gym and occupational therapy in his own tiny wheelchair and with the start of a Yorkshire accent beginning to show.
Back then, we had only one dog and his name was Finlay. Finlay was a Welsh terrier who was spoilt to high heaven. He was also friendly, good natured and could be incredibly gentle, so he was an ideal dog to be employed as a hospital visitor.
I used Fin once as a way of reaching the hidden emotions of a young farmer, who had suffered serious back injuries in a farming accident. The boy was terribly depressed and was missing family and his own working dogs so much so that he stopped interacting with staff, so I brought Fin in for some " cuddle therapy" the dog seemed to sense that he had to be gentle with the farmer, who was on strict bed rest to maintain spinal alignment, and so he just lay quietly in the crook of the patient's arm with a cold nose pushed against the boys face.
It didn't solve the trauma of the farmer's accident., but it did, I am sure, sooth him.
In a similar vein, Finlay used to visit Mudin on occasion, and the fun of the visit came from the fact that his lead would be tied to the front of Mudin's wheelchair in the vague hope that dog would drag boy's chair around the park or the unit like the horses did to Ben Hur's chariot .
To us, it was all part of rehab
Now risk assessments would not allow the " practice"
But back then, we took chances .....and back then I was incharge of the ward too....so things like that were to be encouraged
Finlay died of a brain tumour in 2007
It was his sweetness that provided the spring board for the canine hoards to follow
The boy's name was Mudin.
The boy, now man, in question was originally from Iraq . He had been accidentally shot by a British serviceman and had been paralysed from the waist down, and so had been brought over to this country for rehabilitation, a daunting prospect for any child to undergo.
As I recall, Mudin, was a robust and cheerful little boy. His named nurse was a pragmatic and non nonsense Irish girl who made sure he had boundaries and structure and warmth to his day, and within a few weeks he had joined the long line of young men and women in their daily rehab timetables at the gym and occupational therapy in his own tiny wheelchair and with the start of a Yorkshire accent beginning to show.
Back then, we had only one dog and his name was Finlay. Finlay was a Welsh terrier who was spoilt to high heaven. He was also friendly, good natured and could be incredibly gentle, so he was an ideal dog to be employed as a hospital visitor.
I used Fin once as a way of reaching the hidden emotions of a young farmer, who had suffered serious back injuries in a farming accident. The boy was terribly depressed and was missing family and his own working dogs so much so that he stopped interacting with staff, so I brought Fin in for some " cuddle therapy" the dog seemed to sense that he had to be gentle with the farmer, who was on strict bed rest to maintain spinal alignment, and so he just lay quietly in the crook of the patient's arm with a cold nose pushed against the boys face.
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| Finlay, just before his death in 2007 |
It didn't solve the trauma of the farmer's accident., but it did, I am sure, sooth him.
In a similar vein, Finlay used to visit Mudin on occasion, and the fun of the visit came from the fact that his lead would be tied to the front of Mudin's wheelchair in the vague hope that dog would drag boy's chair around the park or the unit like the horses did to Ben Hur's chariot .
To us, it was all part of rehab
Now risk assessments would not allow the " practice"
But back then, we took chances .....and back then I was incharge of the ward too....so things like that were to be encouraged
Finlay died of a brain tumour in 2007
It was his sweetness that provided the spring board for the canine hoards to follow
