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Dani

Regal Beagle

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Dani *

"Dani works the clinic every Thursday afternoon as a volunteer pet therapist. The resident pleasant distraction, Dani is the familiar wag of an old friend, a comfort at the end of a bed, an affable dress-up dog whose wardrobe and nail polish collection could rival Cindy Crawford's."

* Dani, the Regal Beagle of the Cancer Ward, by Shelly Drozd

Regal Beagle of the Cancer Ward

There are kids playing bouncy-ball, a perky beagle in hot pursuit. Cake and costume celebrations, the gifts piled high. Baseball-capped heads munching ice cream sandwiches, Mom and Dad fussing attentively nearby.

These could easily be scenes from a Norman Rockwell gallery. Instead, these slices of a child's life hail from the all-too-real world of the Cedars-Sinai Comprehensive Cancer Center (CSCCC) in Los Angeles.

Lauri Seamark is the child-life specialist at CSCCC. Her young charges currently range in age from 18 months to 19 years. Some of them are sick, receiving outpatient radiation or chemotherapy. Others are well, cured and back for their annual checkup. All of them, to Lauri, are "just kids" whom she helps navigate through the emotions and experiences of their illnesses.

Lauri relates that her job is "unbelievably gratifying" but at times difficult. Fortunately, she has help: from her 9-year-old beagle, Dani. Dani works the clinic every Thursday afternoon as a volunteer pet therapist. The resident pleasant distraction, Dani is the familiar wag of an old friend, a comfort at the end of a bed, an affable dress-up dog whose wardrobe and nail polish collection could rival Cindy Crawford's.

Unfortunately, there are some kids that die-kids that Dani is very close with. It amazes Lauri to watch her. Dani will be very quiet and still, just snuggling and lying bedside with a child who is at the end-stage. Then she'll be playing super-bouncy ball down the marble floors, sliding all over the place, with the kids that are healthy and feeling good.

One little girl, who was very ill when admitted, had undergone so many invasive tests in her two days at the hospital that she was at a point where she couldn't trust anyone. In came Dani for a visit. The child polished Dani's nails and talked about her Pets at home that she was missing. Dani completely changed things. With Dani as a kind of bridge, Lauri was able to reach the child and win her trust. And then, ironically, Dani became a cancer survivor herself.




Dani *

"She became a lightning rod for every hope and fear the children couldn't express for themselves. One thing that made the kids jealous was that Dani never lost her hair from the chemotherapy. But at her second surgery, she had her hair shaved, and the kids thought that was only fair."

* Dani, the Regal Beagle of the Cancer Ward, by Shelly Drozd

The Pet Becomes the Patient

Just four months into Dani's "career" at Cedars-Sinai, Lauri discovered a lump on Dani's right back leg. Surgery confirmed the malignancy. The good news was the cancer hadn't spread and was treatable. Dani began a yearlong course of oral chemotherapy, taking the same drugs-and confronting many of the same side effects-as her leukemia patients.

Worried about her patients' reactions but heartened by Dani's prospects, Lauri gently broke the news about Dani's cancer. The kids identified readily with Dani's chemotherapy, scheduled blood draws, pills swallowed hidden in a yummy snack. She became a lightning rod for every hope and fear the children couldn't express for themselves. One thing that made the kids jealous was that Dani never lost her hair from the chemotherapy. But at her second surgery, she had her hair shaved, and the kids thought that was only fair.

As Dani worked through her illness, she would often become very tired, and the kids became very protective of her. "Dani needs her time to rest now," they would say as they asked people to leave her alone. They wouldn't let the staff or any adults bug her.

Okay to Be Angry, Just Like Dani "Was Dani scared?" asked a little girl who just had her own tumor removed. "Was Dani angry when she got a shot?" wondered a little boy in chemo. "Will Dani's cancer come back?" echoed many. "These children were validating their own feelings," Lauri reflects.

It was hard to tell if Dani was ever angry or whatever. But if Lauri knew a child was angry about something the doctors or nurses had to do, she would tell them, "You bet Dani gets angry. Every time she has to get a shot, she's really angry about it." If Dani could feel scared or angry, that meant it was okay for them to feel that way, too. "She really helped the kids process their emotions."

While Dani continued to work throughout her chemotherapy, the entire hospital rallied to help the brave beagle that touched so many lives. Cedars-Sinai filled Dani's prescriptions at an "employee" discount. Benevolent well-wishers sent get-well cards with money in them. The nurses awarded Dani with a rawhide wreath for "boosting morale." Protective youngsters kept vigilant guard while recovering Dani napped.

A year later, Dani is now cancer free and back to her trademark high spirits. Her prognosis is good, and her life is a testament to endurance, survival, and success. A grateful Lauri looks back on the pup she first rescued from a shelter. "Initially, a lot of people asked me if I'd treat Dani. How could I not? When a child walks in that door, we do everything we possibly can to treat them. How could I explain to these kids that I did nothing to help Dani? It wasn't ever an option. Still, treating her was risky. The outcome could've been very different."

For that happy ending, thank Dani's devoted Lauri, her trusted veterinary team, a raft of love, and a healthy dose of fate.




Dani *

"Minutes later, Dani is sporting a Michael Jordan shiny red Chicago Bulls jersey and providing some cheer to Malan Boswell, a nine-year-old with acute lymphocystic leukemia. As Malan tickles Dani's belly, her back left leg twitches and she starts snorting."

* A Day in the Life of a Cancer Therapy Beagle, by Arden Moore

A Day in the Life of ...

In the hush quiet of a hospital room illuminated by soft overhead lights, Dani the Beagle sits in her owner's lap with her front left paw extended. Her half-lidded chestnut brown eyes smile softly at Silvia Cortez, a five-year-old cancer patient, who stares sweetly back from the edge of her hospital bed."

Without a word, Silvia opens the fingernail polish bottle and begins brushing even strokes of emerald green on Dani's toenails. Dani lets out a big yawn when Silvia finishes the fourth nail but stays still.

It's Thursday afternoon at Cedars-Sinai Comprehensive Cancer Center in Los Angeles and Dani, the therapy dog, is on the job. Silvia is her last patient of the day and one of her long-time favorites.

The pair met nearly three years ago when Silvia was admitted for a rare form of pediatric ovarian cancer. She has been in and out of Cedars-Sinai -- more in than out -- ever since for treatment.

Four months into the job as a tail-wagging, smile-evoking therapy dog, Dani developed cancer. A fast-growing tumor on her back right leg was detected during a weekly bath by her owner, Lauri Seamark, a childlife specialist at the cancer center.

While undergoing chemotherapy, Dani experienced many of the symptoms of the children she visits weekly: fatigue, nausea and discomfort. She lost her appetite, a rarity for this burger-loving beagle. But doctors declared Dani cancer-free in November 1998 and she has been back on the job ever since.

The Thursday routine begins with a bath, followed by a thorough ear cleaning and nail trimming inside a one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles. Dani shares the place with Dexter, a beagle puppy; Dallas, a dog-tolerant cat and Seamark, who provides emotional support and operates a summer camp for children and their families at Cedars-Sinai.

"Come on, Dani! It's time to put on your bandana and medical ID tags," calls Seamark. The pair hop into Seamark's blue Escort and make the two-mile trek to the cancer center. Dani pokes her muzzle out the back right window and sniffs the air. Her tail begins throttling back and forth as they approach the customary lunch stop: Tail of the Pup, a hot dog/hamburger stand within view of the cancer center.

"So, what will it be, Dani? The usual?" asks owner Dennis Blake, leaning out the order window.

"Yes," responds Seamark, answering on Dani's behalf. "A hamburger patty please, bottle of water and a fork and knife."

As Dani and Seamark enjoy their respective burgers at an outdoor table, a man in a blue jacket, wipes hamburger grease from his face, points at Dani and states, "Hey! Isn't that the dog I've seen running around at the hospital?"

Seamark nods. Dani gives a quick glance and then returns her full attention to the final forkful of hamburger heading her way.

The elevator doors open to the basement level. That's Dani's cue to waddle out and make a sharp left turn into the children's cancer clinic. Her muzzle opens into a tongue-hanging-out grin.

"Dani! Dani!" shrieks a young girl bounding with open arms. Dani stops, sits and waits for the friendly head pats and full body hugs. Then Seamark drops the leash and the friendly game of chase begins. The little girl and Dani return minutes later, sweating but smiling.

Dani strolls into the playroom, filled with walls of video games, books, arts and crafts, plus a rectangular table with child-size blue plastic chairs. Dani grabs a few licks from a bowl of water before seven-year-old Christopher Perez approaches. While Perez awaits test results to determine if his blood count is strong enough to be hospitalized for another round of chemotherapy, Dani provides the pooch-perfect source of distraction.

"That's it, Dani, sit," says Christopher as he gives Dani a tasty dog treat. "Okay, now beg. Shake."

With each command, Dani gulps down another treat.

"Doctors removed a cancerous tumor in Christopher's kidneys last August," explains his mother, Carmina Perez, of Van Ness, CA. "Dani brings a lot of joy to my boy."

The phone rings in the playroom. The call alerts Christopher that his test results are ready.

Christopher looks nervously at his mother and then relaxes as he bends down and pats Dani's back. He hooks the leather leash and together, they head down the corridor to see the doctors.

As Christopher gets the news that he is strong enough to be hospitalized for what is hopefully, his final chemotherapy treatment, Dani nestles next to him on the examination table shaped like a giant blue plastic hippopotamus. Baring her belly, Dani convinces Christopher to give her a tummy rub while Dr. Liliana Sloninsky, M.D. explains the upcoming procedure to him and his mother.

Minutes later, Dani is sporting a Michael Jordan shiny red Chicago Bulls jersey and providing some cheer to Malan Boswell, a basketball-loving nine-year-old with acute lymphocystic leukemia. As Malan tickles Dani's belly, her back left leg twitches and she starts snorting.

"Dani, you're so spoiled," teases Malan as doctors give a medical update to his grandmother, Denise Martin.

"Malan has been coming in here since birth and he looks forward to Thursdays when he can play with Dani," says Martin.

A half-hour later, Dani snoozes in the back corner of the playroom, amid the gleeful chatter of a handful of children drawing pictures and laughing at the antics of a Pokemon video. Then James Choi enters the playroom sporting a Los Angeles Dodger blue baseball cap. His face illuminates when he spots Dani. Quietly, he approaches and awakens her by softly calling her name. Moments later, the fully alert Dani is wolfing down treat after treat as James practices his limited English with commands of "catch," "sit," and "stay." "James came here from Korea after it was discovered he had liver cancer and he needed to come here for treatment," explains his aunt, Nicole Lee. "He was scared when he came here, but Dani helps him to relax."

Seamark gets the call that Silvia is awake from her afternoon nap and awaits Dani. "Let's go, Dani, last stop of the day -- Silvia's room," says Seamark as Dani picks up the pace and heads for Room 5. Lauri hoists Dani in her lap as Silvia reaches out and lightly fingers Dani's ears, head and muzzle. In honor of St. Patrick's Day, Seamark hands Silvia a bottle of green nail polish. For next 15 minutes, Silvia forgets about her IV bags, the hospital monitor and the rigors of living with cancer. She focuses on giving Dani a manicured look of green. Dani lets out a pleasurable snort when Silvia tickles her belly before bidding farewell. "Dani looks forward to seeing you next Thursday, Silvia," says Lauri as Dani gives a final smiling glance at the little girl and waddles out the door.






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