The Cycle of Healing; Training the Trainer and Saving a Life

Circa 2011, Jeff Wilson working as a mentor trainer
under the guidance of OperationFreedom Paws
founder, Mary Cortani.

Seems like a lifetime ago, things were just starting with Jeff becoming a mentor trainer at Operation Freedom Paws. I was watching my husband starting to learn he had a real talent for connecting to veterans and helping them train at OFP. I remember being so proud watching him come alive again in helping others. He has such a remarkable heart and the makings of a fine educator.

Jeff never fully believed in his intelligence and talent and it has been my pleasure assist him in finding it in his own way. At first it was a small gift of art supplies and picnics by the lake to inspire him to sketch. Then later it was helping him realize his dream to return to finish his degrees and strongly suggesting to add more art course in his electives. Then suggesting he offer to share his experiences with younger veterans at the Veteran's center's at his colleges.

Then he called me to stop by a pet shop on the other side of town after a long work day to meet a rescue dog. I drove up to see Lobo curled in his lap. I parked, walked in and bought dog food, a crate and toys. When he asked if I would think it was weak for him to train with Lobo to become a service dog I said, "I support you totally." Training with Lobo gave him courage, and as he entered public with Lobo by his side people wanted to know about him. As they asked what happened, Lobo gave him the courage to speak about it. When asked if I would be embarrassed by him sharing his story about suffering from PTSD publicly, I said, "I got your back baby." The surge of passion that poured out of him as he began to work with Mary Cortani, Janet Wenholtz, Megan Landry Wenhotlz and all the staff and clients of OFP transformed him. I proudly watched as Jeff picked up this new mantle of working to help his brothers and sisters in arms.

 We gained a family of dear friends in those early classes. Back then I was still working long hours and our time together could only occur if I accompanied him to training classes on the weekends. I would nap in the car on the hour and a half long rides to and from training. I started spending my Saturday's in training class, sitting and watching at first. As my inability to keep still took over, I began to help out in working with some of the foster dogs. We came early to sweep the pigeon poop off the old warehouse floor, empty trash, scrub out water bowls and line up the chairs in my OCD way. In every class I watched him gain confidence in speaking, confidence in demonstrating complex concepts in the training and confidence in reaching out to those he was teaching. He was watching his students and becoming able to discern how to approach them when they hit the tough moments. Even as he hit one of the toughest moments himself, losing his own service dog Lobo in tragedy, he went back to the work. When the whole world crashed down around him he was called back to the work. Thinking of how his experience could help others. He had made the connection between sharing and teaching, of how opening his heart with all it's pain could speak directly into someone else's pain and how healing that connection could be.

Jeff leading a service dog training exercise with
his service dog Lobo, 2012.

Jeff and Lobo in training class at OFP, 2012.

I remember with deep love the first time one of the clients told me how they felt they could trust Jeff and through that trust he had help them. On the nights I worked too late to accompany him to class, he would bring his students home to me in the form of stories about their break through a in training. In his stories he brought them into his heart and held them there, surrounding them in his care. He cried for their pain and he rejoiced in their accomplishments.

Jeff and Lobo, during a photo shoot with Vicki Topaz,
for her film and photo exhibit of
HEAL! Veteran's Speak About PTSD

When I met new clients in those Saturday classes I heard his stories of their valiant deeds in my head. He was becoming the kind of educator that lives and breathes in his students journeys. He was all in with them on the ride, hands up screaming and laughing as the coaster dropped their stomachs in failures and swept them back up in success. He came home excited to Go back. Watching him soak up the knowledge from his mentor Mary and then apply it, made me so proud.

Jeff working with Selah in training class
for the first time in the weeks following
Lobo's loss. She seemed to know
instinctively how much hurt he felt, she
forced her way into his arms daily, like the
big lumbering, adorable lump of love that
she is.  From the first afternoon, when Mary
brought her into our courtyard, she barreled
up to Jeff and jumped into his arms. Selah was
determined that he would pay attention to her.  

Years later when my own medical condition took my work and dreams from me, I was incredibly proud of how he never let up on me as a student. Even on those really hard days when my tears and pain pulled at his husband's heart he worked from his teacher's determination to help me learn and pushed me to work through my pain. Seeing him successfully strike that delicate balance between loving care taker and teacher was one of my proudest moments. I often speak of how Mary, Janet and all the trainers helped me so much during that journey to become a service team. What I have never spoken of is how much Jeff helped me, even though we were never allowed to work in the same training groups in class proper. He watched me, critiqued me, drilled me and challenged me to keep on when I thought I was not strong enough.

Selah and Jeff demonstrating Puppy Yoga, a
detailed cognitive behavioral meditation
that is taught at OFP.

He is always the last to take credit, the last to tell you about his accomplishments or believe in his talents. I often say I will be eternally grateful for how Operation Freedom Paws changed both our lives for the better. I have not adequately expressed how grateful I am to Mary at OFP for recognizing what I have always seen in Jeff and mentoring him to find his passion for helping veterans and developing his talents as an educator.

Jeff at training class for OFP, 2015. Five years later.

Yes, that first picture at the top seems a lifetime away; a blessed beginning to a life changing relationship and shared passion to change this world for the better. A quality I always recognized and fell in love with all those years ago. A quality I am still so proud to support.

Jeff and Selah in a follow-up photo shoot with Vicki Topaz, for
HEAL! Veteran's Speak About PTSD, 2013.

Selah and Jeff working together, teaching
a training class at the new
Canine Education Center at
Operation Freedom Paws, 2015.

Jeff and Selah in front of the poster of
Heal! Veteran's Speak About PTSD
which features Jeff and Lobo,
the cycle of healing in a photo. 2015.

Jeff and Selah in their favorite position, this is how I see them, locked in love and happy as can be to be with each other.  Selah is a blessing, a big fluffy, tail waggin', slobbery, lumping mess and He would not have it any other way.

Warning Vent Ahead:

Today I had to block someone from my Facebook page, it is of no consequence who they were because they did not have my best interest or the interest of those I love in their minds and their intent in their comments was to be hurtful and I don’t have room or energy for people like that in my life.

Ellie and I after I was released from ICU
- with Septic infection in my bloodstream.

There is no doubt I live with a very serious medical condition.  I have more medical records and test results from the past 15 years that most people accumulate over their entire lives.  My condition is real, proven and something I strive to live with in a positive way.  There is no way to fake blood tests, Sepsis is pretty straightforward life threatening infection and hospitals don’t let you hang out in them for fun. When I am in ICU it is for a reason. That IV line that connects to my body every month is real and I don’t pull that IV pump around for giggles and grins, it saves my life. I would not wish the level of pain and anguish I have lived through with my medical treatments and condition on any other person.  My condition is terminal and I will go through an eventual decline that will continue to limit my abilities to do things and that is my reality and it sucks but I know that it will come and that is why every day for me is precious.  Every day I awake to see my handsome talented husband, and our beautiful service dogs is a glorious day. 

Ellie and I getting another week of infusion treatment

 

Ellie and I post op - following the surgery to get my central port.

Some years ago I decided to be open and honest about my medical condition, I blog and write about it in great detail sharing experiences of hospital stays and pictures of intense treatments. I share this to help people understand what we as a family live with and to help others know that even when things seem bleak there is always something positive to hang on to in the darkest hour.  Pain in my life is a constant and it does effect my ability to do some things and it does wear on my emotions but it does not rule me.  Pain ebbs and flows, up and down, back and forth and I float along in it like the waves of the ocean. Some days the waves crash and pound my body against the rocks and other mornings I float along smooth as glass.  But the pain level is not what is important ever. What is important is kissing my husband good morning, holding his hand when mine is trembling, feeling his hand on my back when I cannot sit up, the softness of Ellie’s fur in my fingers and the love in her big brown eyes when she lays her head in my lap.  Those simple acts of love matter more that anything else and that is what is held on to during the pain. Pain is an electric impulse through a nerve bundle and it has no malice for me it just is part of what makes me a stronger person.

My Portable IV pump - it fits inside
my R2D2 rolling bag

My IV line attached to my central port and
connected to my portable pump inside R2D2.

So when some one asks me, “how can my husband and I travel to places and scuba dive if I am disabled?” I get livid.  Disabled people do all manner of things.  Scuba just happens to be what is sacred to us and it is so because when we are under the water we feel strong and whole in our bodies the way we used to before our illness and injuries.  I dive because it makes me feel normal for 1 hour at a time.  It is same reason Wounded Warriors and other Non-Profit organizations help disabled people learn to dive so they can feel that sense of freedom again with their bodies.  I am blessed to know disabled people who win buckles in national Rodeos; I am honored to know disabled people who race cars, run the rapids in kayaks and sky dive.  The difference when a disabled person does some adrenaline type sport it takes more planning and modifications of the equipment.  But life for a disabled person takes more planning and modification. That planning and modification does not make what the person is doing any less spectacular or the person less competent, frankly it usually highlights how remarkable the spirit and strength of heart that person possesses.

Isla Mujeres - Cliff of the Dawn - and one of the most
beautiful and healing places for me.

So when someone implies I should not be celebrating the 5^th anniversary with my loving husband in a tropical island where we can go scuba diving because I am disabled – I tell them to go pound sand and block them from my page.  We save and scrape our pennies all year to make that trip and we are not going to expensive places; we go there because it is mystical and magical and filled with other people we love. Our family dinner downtown on the island, I had my favorite thing Lima soup for 60 pesos or 3.29 USD.  Our hotel room cost less on the island with every meal and drink included than a Best Western room costs here with nothing included not even a bottle of water.  Again, we go to that island because it is not about the money – it is about the wonderful people there whom we have worked with for years and who care for us like family.

We dive because it makes us feel whole - and we are lucky to
have made friends with great dive masters who understand
how to accommodate our conditions so we can dive safely.

My husband knows more than anyone else how many times a doctor has expressed how little time I have left, or how awful the later parts of my decline will be.  My husband more than anyone else understands that I have surpassed my medical expiration date 5 times and I have coded and come back 3 times.  My husband has been the one pounding on my chest breaking my ribs to get my body to breathe again, and he has held my hand when there was non one there but the sound of beeps from the machines.  I will go back to that tiny little island every year to celebrate our love until there is no way to do it.  I will grab my IV pole and roll it onto the plane and through the airport and on that damn ferry until I can no longer.  Because there will come a day went I can no longer make that trip and will only have the pictures and the memories.  I will not apologize for living what is left of my life to the fullest and for spending each day with a smile on my face and making great new memories in my heart. 

We are as goofy underwater as we are on land -
Life is short, so we fill it with laughter.

 My husband is a damn honorable, talented and huge hearted man.  He spends his life giving back to others, helping others to give thanks for how he himself was helped. I have seen him go do this work with his hands trembling from pain and come home in total agony, but again it is not the pain that matters. What matters are the people, who he connects with, who he can help on some level and who through helping them heal his own soul.  I try and help whenever I can and I will until my dying day. Because that is who we are, it is no trick or game; it is who we are and what makes us happy. We are blessed to have found and be a part of similarly thinking people who get it in their bones that in helping others you refuel your spirit and heal your soul.

Another view of the waves at the Cliff of the Dawn -
To the Mayans this was a sacred island where you
came to heal . . . I kinda agree with them.

So I blocked the idiot – removed and deleted any and all nasty posts he said to me, because the time I got left will be spent positively, in service to my community and in making this place better than I found it in any way I can for as long as I can. As I see it there have been multiple changes for me to have been ‘called home’ and each time I awake and come back so someone in high places still has work for me to do and I will keep doing it until I am done.

For those who don’t like it – don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

 

Jeff and I, exhausted after a dive.  Yes it is hard for us to do it but the memories
are worth it. I can tell you when I have those weeks ing the hospital and things
are real tough, these are the pictures and memories I hang on to, and fight
so we can go back there and make more memories.

The white sands of North Beach on Isla Mujeres - with some of our greatest joys and passions, the work Jeff does with Operation Freedom Paws, paw prints for our service dogs, and the Rolleflex camera and the love we share around all of it.

You have a service dog? What is wrong with you? Or what not to say to service dog teams, ever!

Today I was stopped by a overtly nosey woman as I was trying to finish picking up some prescriptions at the pharmacy.  She grabbed my left arm [ the arm I have the PICC line inserted into it just above my elbow. ]  The physical grab was startling and it hurt to have her wrap her fingers around my PICC site - I am going on 5 weeks now and the skin around my site has become blistered and inflamed. So touching anywhere around the site hurts me.  I don't try to hide my PICC line any more - I learned the hard way from people grabbing my arm that is is safer to have them notice it and stare instead of grasping and squeezing an inflamed site.  I wear a very visible layering of tights and stretch mesh over my PICC line this holds the extra tubing close to my arm and helps keep the tubing from being pulled free and dragging though a place that could cut the line, crimp the line or damage the line or put bacteria into the line.  So my left arm always has a long white or brightly colored sleeve to help people see there is a long PICC line in that arm and to not touch it.  It is very obvious that I have a special sleeve with mesh and tubing on my left arm. So much so that people often stare at it, or ask me if I was in a fire.  But I prefer them being aware of the PICC and not touching me.  Squeezing a PICC line site can cause serious problems, it can move the line in the artery and throw a clot into my heart - which can cause death. So I really do prefer to not have anyone touch that arm especially on the PICC site.  

Ellie and I in our yoga position - you can clearly see the
bandage sleeve and the tubing.  The white sleeve is somewhat
 see thru so you can even see where the PICC line site it by
 the colored plastic and the purple line.

Well the nosey woman today wanted to talk to me about my service dog.  She was one of those people who does not just ask you about your dog but then crosses boundaries and starts to ask me about my medical condition. She wanted to keep talking but I was tired and I politely thanked her for her compliment on our team's good behavior and excused myself to finish my errand so I could return home to rest.  

Well she was not satisfied that I said I was tired and needed to go.  She followed after me and reached out to grab my arm. It was startling and painful and I let out a yelp and winced with her grab. As I yelped Ellie turned to face her and moved into a rear block to get between her and me.  The lady stood dumbfounded and turned her head to look at what her fingers were feeling; the hard plastic disc of the Stat Lock that holds my line securely in place under the large Tagaderm dressing. Obviously she was surprised to feel the hard plastic and then the tube coming out of my arm.   

As if it could not get any worse, she stood there holding my inflamed arm and spouted out, "OMG, what is that thing in your arm?"  

She squeezed again and I again yelped and immediate swiped her hand away from my arm.  At that moment Ellie reacted and began to let out a low growl.  I then backed up three steps pulled Ellie back into Heal position and started too walk away and she followed me again: calling after me, "I thought service dogs are not supposed to growl at people. What was that?!?"  

Then her voice turned shrill as she blurted out in a really snide accusatory tone,  "that is not a real dog is it, be honest you just bought the vest, right, you bought that vest . . I know, I know I have wanted to do it too.  Where did you get the vest, I wanna get a vest too so I can take my little doggie with me everywhere too just like you?!?" 

By this point I know my face was red, my arm was throbbing and I was close to white hot rage. I turned back and said with the iciest voice I could muster, devoid of any emotion and focused like a laser to try and pierce the fog in her brain.  "She is a real dog and indeed a certified service dog with thousands of hours of training, and the growl was a reaction to the assault you perpetrated on my person by grabbing my arm.  You are now interfering with the work of a service animal and that is a felony crime so please step away from us and leave us alone or I will call the police."  

She was outraged that I was standing holding firm, she began to prattle on with, "I never assaulted you, I barely touched your arm thing, what ever that is  . . . . I just wanted to know where you got your vest so I can take my little dog with me too, jeez!"

I can tell you it took every bit of training and life experience to not rip into her and verbally lacerate her into to ribbons.  But instead I took a breath and moved away.  As I passed her, I said in an even more icy voice, "trying to pass off a pet as a service dog is also a crime, a felony. A service dog must be prescribed by a doctor for a medical condition that requires the use of the dog in order to function.  So when you are saying you want to make your pet a service dog so he can go with you everywhere - you are really saying I wish I had your terminal medical condition.  I would gladly give you all the pain and and anguish my medical condition causes me in my life so you can have a better understanding of how inappropriate and utterly rude and hurtful what you just said was." 

Then I tapped my hip and said, "Ellie heal," and we walked as fast as my shaky legs could get me out of that store.  The manager followed me out and caught up with me on the curb and asked if I was ok. I was shaking and apparently extremely upset. The manager was kind and asked if he could assist me.  The manager had seen the tail end of the confrontation and was appalled at the woman's behavior, and I told him unfortunately these kind of confrontations are frequent with service dog teams.  He offered a heart felt apology and walked with me to my van.

Jeff Helping me plug into my IV pump.

When Ellie and I got to the van I opened the side door and commanded her to load and I crawled in after her and curled up on the floor of the van next to her and she started to lick my face. Ellie knew how upset I was and was doing her level best to get me calm again. When I got inside the van with the door closed I noticed my whole body was shaking and I broke down in tears.  I don't know how long we stayed curled up on the van floor but it was a while.  We just sat curled up together breathing and doing our puppy yoga and slowly I calmed down. It took some time before I could pull my self together enough to get up and out and into the passenger seat.  Jeff had stayed in the van, he was also exhausted and was trying to catch a nap after class while I waited for the prescription to fill inside.  When I climbed in the van it woke him and he was disturbed by how upset I was.  His protector gene kicked in and he started to try and get out to go find the woman - but I stopped him and asked him to just stay with me until I could be calm.  My hands were still shaking the entire ride home.  We got inside the house and Jeff fixed me some hot tea and got me and Ellie comfortable on the couch with our blanket, and hooked up to my IV pump in our snuggle position so we could rest.  Bless him and bless Ellie.

Ellie and I settling into rest and be connected
my IV pump, I have to be connected for most
of the day, basically when ever I am home
I have to be hooked up.

This type of confrontation happens all the time to those of us with service dogs, usually not this overt and over the top - but many times people are clueless to the kind of distress the inappropriate questions about our medical conditions or comments about how they want to get a vest so their pup can go with them everywhere too, can be for us.  

You see whenever some one says they think having a service dog is cool and they want a vest so they can have their dog with them everywhere too.  They don't understand what it feels like to those of us who have a medical condition that requires a service dog. - it is tantamount to saying: 

"Wow how cool is it for you to have you have cancer, you get to wear all those fun wigs!"
 or 
"Neat, I wish I had a terminal condition that causes incredible pain and suffering too, so I could ride on that cool scooter"
 or 

"I wish everything in the world brought up mind shattering memories of death and destruction so I can't stand to leave my room, and could just sit at home never leaving"
  
I don't think anyone in their right mind would walk up to a blind person and say, "I wish I could not see so I could use that cool cane," or approach someone in a wheelchair and exclaim, "it would be so awesome to not have legs so I could ride around in a chair like that."

Service dogs are MEDICALLY NECESSARY for their handlers to be able to function out in the world.  They are an extension of the person and function to help that person navigate the world with their disability. Without their dog they cannot do the things in life most people take for granted.    

Ellie watches over me as I sleep.

So it is in no way cool to tell someone with a service dog that you wish you could have your dog with you too and be just like them.  And no matter how curious you are about the disability is that the person with the service dog is living with, it is never ok to ask what is "wrong" with them.  Medical conditions are personal and private.  You would not like someone walking up to you at the store checkout line and talk about all the embarrassing things you don't want the general public to know about your body, so don't ask people to talk about theirs.  You should only ever ask two questions to someone with a service dog: 

1. Is that a service dog?

2. What tasks does the dog do for
you?

If they are comfortable with discussing their medical condition they will tell you when they describe the tasks their service dog is trained to perform for them.  

And Ellie gets to sleep too.

I know that Ellie and I are a magnet for attention where ever we go - she is a cute, attractive, well trained dog and I have the "talk to me" gene.  I also know we are ambassadors for all service dog teams when ever we are out in the world, and especially around home we are walking advertisements for Operation Freedom Paws. But most of all I know that where ever I go when I walk in anywhere the simple fact that I have a service dog tells everyone in the room that I have a serious disability and there is no way to blend in. 

Usually I am prepared and happy to talk about service dogs, the training and the Operation Freedom Paws program but there are some days when it is all I can do to just get in the store grab the prescription and get out. On those days I try my best to be polite when I say I cannot talk today.  

Today was off the charts crazy. . .