Love Is the Best Medicine
Page 25
THE only question that remains is, what part, if any, did Cleo play in Helen’s recovery? I know what you’re thinking: here he goes again, cooking the emotional books, contriving a transcendent connection for his happy ending. If I am, then let me argue my point with the story of a much-loved German shepherd called Lucy. Lucy and I had met several times over the years—two knees, numerous lumps and bumps—and so a phone call from Lucy’s owner, Ava, to schedule an appointment so I could examine a troubling growth on Lucy’s lower eyelid came as no surprise.
“I have something to ask you,” said Ava when we met, “and please, feel free to tell me if I’m being stupid.” She hesitated, letting the tears catch up, injecting a tremor into every word. “But, my father died recently. He had a pacemaker, you see. The battery pack was brand new and he had insisted it be removed before he was cremated. I can’t tell you how much he loved Lucy, how important she was to him.”
She smiled into the pain, trying to master it, failing dismally. I took my cue.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “A lot of grandparents make soft targets for dogs in search of treats and table scraps. I can guess where most of Lucy’s nutritional love came from!”
She laughed, intoxicated by that familiar unashamed cocktail of truth and the memory of what she had lost.
“You’re right. Dad was awful and no matter how much I tried to tell him, Lucy could always win him over when it came to food.”
She waited a beat and went on.
“One of his dying wishes, and like I say, it could be silly, was to see if some animal could use his pacemaker. It would have meant the world to him to think his loss could be another creature’s gain.”
People never cease to amaze me. Talk about giving from the heart. Once again I was floored by human generosity when it comes to the animals in our lives. Without hesitation I applauded what her father had done, and his intent, and promised I would look into the plausibility of what he wanted to achieve after his death.
If I really was guilty of fashioning a fairy-tale ending, we all know who should have been the lucky beneficiary of the pacemaker. Lucy may have become a gourmand Alsatian but fortunately her heart was in perfect working order. In fact, after consulting with several cardiologists, I discovered that relative to the price tag of pacemaker implantation, the cost of the battery pack itself is a relatively trivial fee. Most owners would prefer a brand-new battery at a cost of $150, rather than settle for a used version.
When I contacted Ava to share my disappointing news, part of me still hoped a needy case might come along, perhaps a shelter dog, a stray, a creature abandoned by someone for whom $150 may as well have been $150 million. And part of me still does, only now I realize there was something far more important to learn from Ava’s father’s request.
After my experience with Cleo and Helen, I can see it doesn’t really matter whether we get to use the pacemaker or not, because what does matter and what will never be lost, is the spirit of the offer. The act of generosity is set in stone. It will never wear out, fade, or go away. And to me, the exact same generosity exists between Cleo and Helen. It doesn’t matter one iota whether it made a difference or not. The intent was positive. The outcome for Helen was wonderful but essentially superfluous. The reward comes from what was let go and not from what we got back.
It’s probably fair to say we all want to leave some sort of mark, some sort of legacy from our time spent on this earth. I’m not talking about an entry in The Guinness Book of World Records or a Pulitzer prize or an Oscar or summiting a mountain high enough to require supplemental oxygen. I’m talking about what counts, what sets certain people apart, like Ava’s dad and his pacemaker, a regular guy whose succinct, humble, whispered appeal still resonates loud and clear. I’m talking about the poise and understanding of Sandi Rasmussen in the immediate aftermath of losing Cleo. I’m talking about the selfless desire of Eileen and Ben to give an abandoned dog a chance. These marks are real. These are the marks that count. On the crowded beach of my years of clinical experience, these are some of the people who have left permanent footprints in the sand.
And then there are those who left paw prints.
NONE of this would have been possible without the cooperation, honesty, and trust of Sandi Rasmussen and Eileen Aronson. I am sure there were certain details and nuances of their stories that I failed to convey. Realistically, I could only ever hope to capture a fraction of what it meant to know Cleo and Helen. For any discrepancies or mistakes I made in trying to achieve this goal, I am sorry. My thanks go out to their husbands, Jan and Ben, whose roles and importance in what transpired was undoubtedly far greater than I portrayed. And, of course, I cannot forget Sonja and Dave. Sonja’s quiet understanding and forgiveness at such a difficult time still astounds me. I tried to be respectful of her relationship with Dave, to intimate tension while leaving the rest to imagination. I wish them both all the best.
In no particular order I should like to acknowledge Nick Glynn, Neil Burnie, Allen Sisson, Sherry Nadworny, Lisa Moses, Leah Myrbeck, Kara and Grace Dunne, Mary Pizzachino, Frances Cardullo, Lois Wetmore, Meaghan Tracey, Ava McGarr, Peter Demosthenes Raft, and James McDonough. Thanks to my agent, Kristin Lindstrom, and all the fabulous folks at Broadway Books. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude and in particular, my editor, Christine Pride. Once again, Christine performed magic as she polished, refined, and enhanced. I am truly fortunate to have her on my side.
Finally, working a full-time job and playing make-believe as a writer can only come about through the love and support of my family. Whitney, bless you for your tireless optimism and confidence in my success; Emily, you are the angel who changed my life, opened my eyes, and made all of this possible; and Kathy, my wife, best friend, and trusted confidante, you are our heart and soul.
Copyright © 2010 by Dr. Nicholas Trout
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Broadway Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
BROADWAY BOOKS and the Broadway Books colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Photograph on title page by GK Hart/Vikki Hart/Getty Images.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Trout, Nick.
Love is the best medicine / by Nick Trout.
p. cm.
1. Dogs—Anecdotes. 2. Human-animal
relationships—Anecdotes. I. Title.
SF426.2.T76 2010
636.7—dc22 2009022423
eISBN: 978-0-7679-3199-1
v3.0