My name is Emily, former EMT, current premed student, and collector of chronic illnesses. My entry into the world of chronic illness technically started at birth, but it did not really impact me until I was 19. In 2010 I began really noticing the effects of two chronic illnesses I have, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS) and Inappropriate Sinus Tachycardia (IST). It took me two years to be diagnosed, during which time I experienced significant disability, as well as loss of school and work days. But I trudged through as best as I could. Along the way, I would pick up diagnoses as I traveled to what seemed like a million doctors, neuropathy here, interstitial cystitis there, chronic idiopathic hives on top of that. It was all manageable until one late shift first aid call changed my life. I injured my shoulder, which I initially blew off. It was just a small thing, I told myself. EMS is strenuous, I am very small, it'll feel better tomorrow. But it didn't. Turns out I had dislocated my shoulder that day, and it lost its ability to stay in place. Not much later, I was diagnosed unofficially with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a genetic connective tissue disorder affecting collagen. It essentially weakens all the tissues in the body until they are too weak to function normally. As time wore on, my shoulder dislocated more and more each day, and it was eventually decided that I would need surgery to stabilize it. So on February 4, 2014, I walked into Robert Wood Hamilton Medical Center for outpatient surgery, only to have my life change forever.
Both of my lungs partially collapsed. It took the doctors three days to realize they had done it. I was never treated there, and after a week was sent home, only to have to return to my local hospital, both lungs still collapsed. I don't know if it was the delay in treatment, or my own crappy lung tissue (perhaps both) but my lungs refused to heal. Eventually the lungs reinflated, but they would never be the same. I could barely walk without becoming extremely short of breath, my oxygen levels would drop dangerously low with activity, and I was stuck in a wheelchair, being pushed around by friends and family because I was too broken to do it myself. Fast forward to today, and these issues still persist. For any distance, I am stuck in my wheelchair, and in between I am dragging around an oxygen tank almost too heavy to make the effort worth it. On top of that, my GI tract decided it did not want to play nice anymore, and I found myself with a central line, requiring TPN, IV nutrition, to survive. Yes, I am a mess.
I have never been one to sit down and just take what has been given to me. I call it stupidly stubborn. Others call it inspiring. But it is all I know, so I move on with my life, find away to work around the disabilities I have become so entangled in. And that is how the idea of a service dog came into play. A motorized chair was logistically a nightmare. It is heavy, requires a specialized vehicle to transport, and insurance companies often will not pay if you can still use your legs at all. The currently used method requires a second person to be with me at all times, which is just not always possible. But a dog . . . now that could change my life. So I started research. I spent hours and hours reading articles, blogs, anything I could find to help guide me on this journey. But the options were limited. The nearest training center was over three hours away and had a two year wait. Which seemed about par for every agency I found. It was all a waiting game. Years and years just didn't seem fair for someone who had already been through so much. So I figured owner training was my only option. But this of course, would be the hardest of all. I had no experience, my boyfriend, Dan, was good, but could he do it? I don't know. But I kept up my research, and eventually I stumbled upon a trainer local to me who specialized in service dog training. And luckier than that, he focuses his program on first responders and military personnel who acquired their disability through their service. His name is Sam, you can check out his site here.
With his help, the search began. And with a huge stroke of luck, we stumbled upon Marley, an 18 month old Saint Bernard who had been trained by a good friend of mine for a family who were no longer able to keep him. And after Sam evaluated him, I was able to take Marley home! And he is just the sweetest 150 pounds of dog you will ever meet. For the past two weeks since we brought him home, we have focused on getting him used to his new environment and family, with a goal to start his true service training next week. So what will Marley be trained to do? He will learn to pull my wheelchair, (he has a slight head start thanks to my friend, thanks Katie <3 ) he will balance and brace me when I do walk, carry my oxygen, and respond to any falls I am have. But most importantly, he will give me back the freedom I lost after that surgery. And that is the most priceless thing of all.
