天降“神犬”

Ever since a therapy dog visited me in the hospital， during my first cycle of 1）chemotherapy in May 2011， I became 2）fixated on the idea of having a dog of my own one day.

When you are talking to a dog about cancer， there are no judgments or taboos. The therapy dog， a small energetic 3）King Charles Spaniel， jumped around on my hospital bed， playfully tugging at the blanket on my lap. For the first time since I had fallen ill， I didn’t feel like I was being treated as if I were made of porcelain. The therapy dog made me feel like a human first， and a cancer patient second.

During the first year of my cancer treatment， adopting a dog was out of the question. I spent more time in the hospital than out. And in the time I was able to spend at home， I had to live in a 4）germ-free bubble to protect my fragile immune system. As a substitute for a real dog， my mom found “Sleepy，” my childhood stuffed dog in the attic. As embarrassing as it was for me to be toting a stuffed animal at age 22， Sleepy was the next best thing to a real puppy. He made me feel like a kid again， safe and innocent to the cruelties of the world.

Six months after my bone marrow transplant， I finally got the green light from my doctors to get a real puppy. I promised my parents that I would take numerous precautions to protect my health. The dog would wear disposable booties on walks， to keep his paws as germ-free as possible. I promised to wear gloves when walking and feeding him， vowed that he would never sleep in my bed and lined up four friends to help take care of him when I lacked the energy.

I spent months trolling animal adoption websites for the perfect furry companion but as soon as I saw Oscar， I knew I had to bring all four， wiggling pounds of him home with me. With his soft white fur， tiny heartshaped nose， and 5）hazel eyes， it was love at first sight. But within 72 hours of living with Oscar， I began to wonder if I had made a huge mistake， as walking Oscar quickly became the most dreaded part of my day. After a few blocks， he was warmed up and ready for a run in the park. I， on the other hand， couldn’t wait to crawl back into bed.

Oscar， unlike my caregivers， doesn’t care that I feel tired and 6）nauseous after my chemotherapy treatments. Every morning between 6 and 7， Oscar 7）scoots over to my side of the bed and begins the process of baptizing me with his tongue until I wake up.

Caring for Oscar is not always easy， but trying to keep up with him has been some of the best medicine I’ve received since my diagnosis. Oscar and I have even shared similar experiences， and together， we’ve slowly matured and grown more disciplined. He no longer pees on the Oriental rug in my living room， and I have stopped sleeping in until noon. Oscar just finished getting his booster shots， and I will soon be getting all of my childhood 8）vaccinations for the second time （a patient’s 9）immunizations are lost during a bone marrow transplant）.

Because of Oscar， I have discovered the Tompkins Square Park dog run where we’ve made lots of new friends. There’s Mochi， the 10）terrier mix who likes to wrestle in the sand with Oscar， and Thelma and Louise， the shy brother and sister 11）beagle duo who like to watch the other dogs play from a distance. I get my morning comic relief from watching Max， a giant hound， whose favorite extracurricular activity is attacking the fur trim on women’s winter coats.

As for the dog precautions that I promised my parents， we have tried to stick to most of them. I wash my hands regularly， and as my immune system has grown stronger， we’ve graduated to wiping down Oscar’s paws each time he enters the apartment. It won’t surprise any dog owner that Oscar has wriggled his way into the bed， but at least he sleeps at the foot of it.

Although I was the one who rescued Oscar from an animal shelter， it has become clear that he’s done most of the rescuing in our relationship. We’re still working on “heel” and other basic commands. And when we leave my apartment， Oscar bounds ahead of me， tugging at his leash as he guides me toward the dog park. For the first time in a very long time， it’s not the cancer that leads. It’s Oscar.

自从2011年5月我的第一期化疗期间，在医院被一只治疗犬探访过后，我的心里就一直想着某天一定要拥有一只自己的狗狗。

当你和一只狗狗聊起自己的癌症病情时，并不存在什么指责或忌讳。那只治疗犬是一只小巧又精力充沛的查理士王猎犬，它在我的病床上跳来跳去，调皮地拉拽着我膝上的毛毯。自从生病以来，我第一次感觉到自己没有被看待成一个瓷娃娃。这只治疗犬让我感到自己首先是一个人，其次才是一个癌症病人。

在我治疗癌症的第一年里，想收养一只狗狗是完全不可能的。我待在医院里的时间要比待在外面的多。而当我能够留在家里休养时，我必须住在一个无菌的环境里，以便保护我那脆弱的免疫系统。我妈妈从阁楼里翻出了童年时期的毛绒狗“睡睡”，当成是真狗狗的替身。尽管到了22岁还抱着个毛绒玩具让我感到挺难为情的，但睡睡已然是仅次于一只真狗狗的最佳代替品了。它让我又一次觉得自己还是个孩子，安全而天真地生活在这个残酷的世界里。

在完成骨髓移植的六个月后，我终于获得医生的首肯能够养一只真狗狗了。我向父母亲保证说，我将会做足大量的预防措施以保护我的健康。那只狗狗走路时会穿上一次性短靴，尽可能避免它的爪子沾上细菌。我保证自己和它一起出行和喂食时会带上手套，发誓永远都不会让它睡在我的床上，并列出四个朋友可以在我精力不济时照顾它。

我花了几个月的时间浏览动物收养网站，寻找那个完美的毛绒伙伴，但当我一看到奥斯卡时，我就知道自己必须把这个重达4磅且扭来扭去的家伙带回家来。看着它那柔软的白毛，心型的小鼻子和淡褐色眼睛，这就是一见钟情了。但在和奥斯卡一起生活的72个小时里，我开始疑惑自己是否犯了一个巨大的错误，因为与奥斯卡一起的快步行走成为了我生活中最可怕的时光。走了几条街以后，它已经热身完毕，准备去公园跑上一圈，而我，在另一个方面，却等不及爬回自己的床上。

奥斯卡，不像我的护理员，并不在乎化疗后的我感到疲惫和恶心。每天清晨六七点钟，奥斯卡就会溜到我睡着的床这边，开始用它的舌头给我洗礼，直到我醒过来。

照顾奥斯卡并非总是易事，但努力跟上它的节奏开始变成了自从我被诊断出癌症以来所用过的最好的特效药之一。奥斯卡和我甚至分享着类似的经历，在一起，我们已经慢慢成熟起来，并变得更加自律。它不再在我起居室的东方地毯上小便，而我不再一觉睡到大中午。奥斯卡刚刚打完强化针，而我很快就要第二次打完所有的儿童疫苗（病人会在骨髓移植时丧失免疫能力）。

因为奥斯卡的存在，我发现了汤普金斯广场公园的狗狗活动区，在那里我们结交了许多新朋友。比如说穆齐，一只喜欢在沙地上和奥斯卡摔跤的梗犬，还有塞尔玛和露易丝，一对害羞的比格犬兄妹二人组，喜欢远远地看着别的狗狗们玩耍。我把观看麦克斯，一只巨大的猎犬，当做我的早间欢乐调剂，它最喜欢的课外活动便是攻击女士们冬衣上的毛皮装饰。

而我对父母亲所保证的那些关于狗狗的预防措施，我们努力做到大部分。我定期洗手，而随着我免疫系统的增强，我们渐渐变成每次在奥斯卡进入公寓时擦洗它的爪子（不穿狗靴了）。奥斯卡总想借机窜上床去，任何一个狗主人都不会为此感到惊奇，不过至少它只睡在床尾上。

尽管是我将奥斯卡从一间动物救助站拯救出来的，但毋庸置疑的是，我们之间，做出更多拯救工作的是它。我们仍在练习“走”以及其它基本口令。当我们离开公寓时，奥斯卡走在我前面，拽着皮绳，引着我走向狗狗公园。在很久以来第一次，不是癌症引导着我，而是奥斯卡。