Getting a service dog almost destroyed my marriage. Then it saved him

For the first six months, my husband was not allowed to communicate with Whitey so that I could properly build a bond with him. My husband, trying to do the right thing, took this literally and distanced himself from me as a result. When I was in trouble or needed something, my husband would leave the room because suddenly helping Whitey became “work.” What my husband thought of as “following the rules” I learned when he gave up on me or our relationship. I thought maybe it was my disability and chronic diseases became too much for him, while my bond with my service dog grew stronger every day.

I remember this moment well: I was at home with a tourniquet wrapped around my left arm while the nurse prepared my monthly IVIG infusion, IV antibody, in a process that usually takes 4-5 hours. I could barely feel the IV entering my vein. Whitey’s big head rested in my lap as I took a deep breath and prepared myself for a long day of blood pressure checks, cramps, chills, and poking and prodding. It was as if this 60-pound black Labrador was a person – he knew the drill, he was hooked up. I looked up and saw Sean putting on his shoes. “Okay, looks like you have everything set,” he said. “I’m going to go grocery shopping and get something to eat.”

My heart sank. Why did he leave? What didn’t he tell me?

There was a lot of tension in our house. Suddenly it felt like Whitey and I were one and Sean was on the opposing team.

The following week we went to our first couples therapy session. Whitey, sitting between us, was the first time I heard Sean explain how he felt.

“It hurts me to see you like this, to watch you get poked like a lab rat,” he said. “I feel useless and if I do anything I’m afraid I’ll break the rules, so it’s better if I leave.”

We began to learn about attachment styles and how our communication styles differed—differences that were already present in our relationship but were magnified by Whitie. Sean wanted to be needed, and he felt that Whitey had robbed him of that. Meanwhile, I thought Sean was relieved that he was no longer needed and was enjoying the freedom he now had.

Understanding this helped us see and understand each other’s point of view. Eventually my husband was allowed to have more contact with Whitey. Sean also learned that he and Whitey could be helpful to me in a variety of situations—it didn’t have to be one or the other. Sean can cuddle with me on the couch when I’m sick while Whitey brings me my meds. Sean can relax and go play football with his friends, knowing that, thanks to Whitey, I can get in and out of the shower with peace of mind.

Sean and I often laugh about how we are incompatible in many ways, but it “just works.” The way we coexist despite different communication habits is one such example. After a lot of therapy and talking to the service dog program where Whitie is from, we found a pattern that works for us.

The experience of acquiring Whitie and the distance it created in my marriage taught us the importance of communication between partners. We now know that we cannot assume what someone else is thinking. We must speak openly about our needs.

A recent memory: I’m sitting on our screened-in porch right at sunset, my migraine subsiding. I look out into the yard and see Whitey and Sean taking care of themselves and playing football. Sean has a seltzer in his hands and Whitey is ready to attack him with every move he makes, both of them stopping every few minutes to check on me. And I take care of myself and smile back at them. It was the balance that all three of us needed.

Withey saved me and my independence, but he also saved my marriage. He helped Sean and I look at ourselves and what was left unsaid. I’m so lucky to have Sean, he’s so lucky to have me, and we’re so damn lucky to have Whitey.