MUSC therapy dogs provide relief and healing that patients and staff really feel

Samson Durham should be relinquishing the family business to his sister, but he just can’t bring himself to do it.

“He’s 12 and he’s not ready to retire,” said Krista Durham, one of the volunteers with the therapy animal program at the Medical University of South Carolina.

Samson, a thick-coated golden retriever, sits next to her accepting pets and adulation from passers-by.

“He likes his job,” Durham, his owner, said, as they waited for the start of the annual Blessing of the Therapy Dogs at MUSC in Charleston. Samson also has a lot of help.

The MUSC therapy animal program is probably one of the largest in the country, currently with 89 teams and six more in training, said Cathy Bennett, the program coordinator for the Charleston campus.

Across the MUSC system, there are 101 now, including dogs on campuses in Florence, Lancaster, Columbia and now Orangeburg, said Kelly Hedges, director of system volunteers.

MUSC has had a program for over 20 years, but topping 100 therapy animals achieved a long-term goal, she said.

The dogs can show up in a variety of clinical settings, from the Shawn Jenkins Children’s Hospital to emergency rooms to mental health clinics. They’re not just there for patients, but also for the staff, many of whom came out to greet their favorite dogs prior to the blessing ceremony.

“I rearranged my schedule today so I could come to this,” Megan Gillen, a nurse in radiology, said after saying hello to Tank, a 7-year-old golden retriever.

Staff get so excited before a visit that there is often an alert sent out: “The dogs are coming,” said radiology nurse Hannah Shields.

Tank also gets excited to see them, although perhaps for ulterior motives, said owner Warren Onken.

“He bonds with them because he knows who has treats,” he said.

Gillen has two black Labrador retrievers at home and “work would be better if we could bring our dogs,” she said. But hers would probably not be as restrained as the therapy dogs, so this is the next best thing, Gillen joked.

They fill an aching need many patients feel, particularly if they have to be at the hospital for a long time, Shields said. When she worked in the intensive care unit, patients would often tell her, “I wish I could see my cat, I wish I could see my dog.”

The physical effects go beyond that, Gillen said. 

“I feel like their pain is better controlled” when the dogs are there, she said. “They’re healers. They’re like furry healers.”

Research, some of it going back to the 1970s, shows that is true. A screening in Australia found that pet owners had lower blood pressure compared to those who did not own pets, even when controlling for other factors like smoking and weight. Being around pets appears to lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol among patients.

Those with pets had lower levels of depression compared to those who don’t across a wide spectrum, from patients living with chronic or even life-threatening illnesses to homeless kids, studies found.

There have been various attempts to actually incorporate dogs and other animals into the therapy itself, and one 2015 review found it helped to reduce symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety and depression. It appears that patients, particularly those who have suffered trauma, might be better able to relate to and bond with dogs and other animals than with therapists or other patients.

Shannon Fitzgerald has seen it. In her ReVisions outpatient psychiatric clinic, she has seen dogs help patients with dark thoughts “in ways I never could,”  she said.

The dogs will take part in group therapy, for instance, and seem to help patients express feelings they have not shared before. Patients have told her that when the therapy dog is there, the room seems calmer, it makes them feel less depressed, and they find it easier to relate to one another.

While Fitzgerald plans the therapy, the dogs seem to know what to do without cues from her or their handlers. One day in group therapy, a patient suddenly started talking to the dog about abuse they had never mentioned before. In the midst of that, the dog suddenly turned and walked away, to another man in the group, and paid attention to him.

“We later found out that other patient was feeling a sense of panic and distress due to trauma they had experienced and were remembering,” sitting there, silently suffering, Fitzgerald said. But the dog sensed that and reacted to it and comforted him.

“The MUSC therapy dogs have played a vital role within my work as a mental health therapist,” Fitzgerald said. “The manner in which these dogs enrich the therapy services I provide and make lasting positive impacts on patients is something I will forever be grateful for.”

The dogs seem to enjoy it, as well.

Marcel, a 100-pound Bernese mountain dog, has been visiting psychiatry and other clinics for almost three years. Every time, he gets very excited when he knows a visit is coming, said owner Liz Guthridge.

“He loves going to work,” she said, as Marcel relaxed at her feet. “He loves the attention.”

Marcel makes an impression, too. Once, when she was out walking him, a man flagged her down, asking, “Is that the dog from the hospital?”

The man just wanted to pay his respects.

“He told me what a difference Marcel made for his hospital stay,” Guthridge said.

Charlie Keiter knows that feeling firsthand. A Vietnam veteran, Keiter found himself in the VA a decade ago after surgery to repair an aortic aneurysm. And he was feeling pretty low. But then, “a therapy dog came by and just brought me right out of it,” Keiter said.

He made it his mission to bring therapy dogs to others ever since. He brings his glossy American Labrador retriever, Ms. Hooda, to MUSC, to the VA and to visit with special needs kids at church. 

The dogs do such good work, their coordinator, Bennett, felt the need to reword a familiar MUSC slogan:

“We change what’s possible in health care one tail wag at a time,” she said.