Chewy: A Doctor's Tail.

May I introduce you to my four-legged son or the sun?

After a terrific car accident, many surgeries, and a traumatic brain injury, I found the pain excruciating, but losing my mind was devastating. My head injury was a massive bleed and inflammation of grey matter in my skull's confines. Having lost my ability to read, write, talk, and walk straight, my doctor prescribed two critical things. The first was journaling to reorganize my mind.

 He said, "Scribble twice a day till you get a headache. You know you are making new neurons when your head hurts. New ones mean new abilities. You must work hard to regain your memory and language."

Despite all my efforts, my mind got sicker, resulting in tragic consequences. I dropped into homelessness for many years. During the confusion, questions arose. I can't make memories, can't dress, and am alone. Tremendous pain is my daily cross to bear. What to do?

If my brain returned, even a bit, it would take years; the pain worsened until I walked on hot coals. Think about this.

Suicide was a wise option.

Doctors know how to kill themselves; I did. Easy enough when using potassium to stop the heart, sleeping pills and fine Norwegian wine (Euthanasia is legal there.) are considered the best for hiding the bitter taste of the tablets.

As an amnestic patient, I still felt for my physician (A resident in training at Parkland Hospital, Dallas, TX.) and remembered him.

"He will feel terrible to learn, I suicided. I should warn him not to feel guilty. Leaving is the best prescription."

Only the best healers think outside the box; no more pills but a service dog! After signing a suicide contract — I promised to call the clinic before hurting myself. My physician helped locate my mini four-legged healthcare provider.

“Daniel, after you bond with a canine, you will leave your head and want to care for your furry friend. I promise."

He was right. I bonded with Chewy and continued to journal.

Not remembering my life gave me the freedom to recreate it through words. I began rewriting my new reality as a two-person family. My "dog' is my family and friend, replacing those who left me. Chewy is always by my side all day and all year long. He is the source of faithful companionship and convinced me a murder-suicide pact would not be the answer. lifes’

We often talk even though he has an intelligent--ass sense of humor, often making fun of my inabilities.

I love him as we walk together (till shakily) as he guides me around the metaphoric Poop on life’s sidewalk.

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Please enjoy these pictures of us doing homeless outreach in Dallas, Texas. I will explain the requirements of a service dog. Many do not understand how to get one.

SERVICE DOGS are medical prescription items. I take a walker on a plane because it is a medical device. I take my canine on as he is also a medical device.

I have a prescription for a seizure-alert dog. My seizures have stabilized, but he does other things for me.

For example, having a service dog at my side lets the barista, bank clerk, post office personnel, and general public know I may need a little extra time to accomplish transactions. It is tedious having to say, “Yes, I had a traumatic brain injury and can not make memories. Thus, doing this or that is difficult.”

Chewy is a constant friend who keeps depression at bay. Being homeless on and off for ten years and sheltered at The Bridge for two has been extremely difficult. When I lost my social safety net, Chewy was right by my side.

Social isolation is a problem the disabled feel. Years ago, after my car accident, I had to relearn how to talk, write, and speak. Chewy and I would go to a coffee shop. He would inevitably be approached by someone who conversed with him. I would overhear and memorize new words and expressions and follow how neurotypical folks dress and behave.