A three-time cancer survivor, her husband and a dog named Murphy bring joy to patients
Joan and Steve Gutzwiller and their therapy dog Murphy bring touches of joy and hope during their visits with cancer patients at Franciscan Health Indianapolis. (Photo by John Shaughnessy)
(One in a continuing series of stories about “Pilgrims of Hope” in the archdiocese.)
By John Shaughnessy
With her husband Steve and their therapy dog Murphy by her side, Joan Gutzwiller walks toward the infusion room of the cancer center, remembering the fear and the emotions she had when she was a patient here four years ago.
Back then, she wondered and worried about her present and her future as the chemotherapy drugs flowed through her body, trying to kill the cancer cells.
Stepping into the room on this sunny afternoon, Gutzwiller quickly focuses on the people who are receiving their chemo treatments now, noticing their downcast expressions.
Enveloped in the quiet of the softly lit room in Franciscan Health Indianapolis, she remembers a small moment of joy from her last round of chemo in this hospital in 2021.
On that day, a therapy dog named Indy came through the cancer center where Gutzwiller had received radiation 36 times and chemotherapy treatments six times to try to kill that bout with the disease. And the joy and the smiles that Indy brought to her and the other patients that day have stayed etched in her mind ever since as another gift of hope that she has vowed to embrace.
“I had hope that my cancerous tumor would shrink,” recalls Gutzwiller, a member of SS. Francis and Clare of Assisi Parish in Greenwood. “I had hope that my faith would keep me strong and focused on Jesus. And I had hope that I would discover a renewed purpose in my life.”
With the help of Steve and Murphy, she has found that purpose at 77. And it all starts with an introduction of Murphy to the patients in the infusion room and an offer to pet the black labrador—an introduction that leads on this day, as it always does, to wide smiles and suddenly-brightened eyes for the people who embrace the offer.
It’s a moment of joy for people enduring one of life’s toughest journeys. And for Gutzwiller, it’s her humble way of trying to give hope to the patients while also giving back for the dedicated care she received at Franciscan Health.
It’s also her way of giving thanks for being a
three-time cancer survivor.
“First of all, I didn’t know anything about the cancer journey,” she says about her diagnoses and treatments. “I didn’t know what you went through emotionally. Being a person of faith, it’s times like those in life, I do need my faith. And God is the only one I can rely on because he’s the only one who knows the answer. I’m going to do what the doctors say, but it’s still under God’s control.
“I’ve got lots of friends who have had cancer. Some have made it, some have not. Some are still going through therapy and will for the rest of their lives. I feel my mission right now is to bring some hope to people. I’ve been there. And anything I can do to help ease the journey for people, I’ll do it. And if it’s through Murphy, that’s wonderful, too.”
‘She’s a V.I.P.: Very Important Puppy’
Murphy’s impact on patients becomes quickly clear as Steve leads her across the infusion room toward a married couple. The husband rests in a recliner as his chemo treatment flows through his blood stream while his wife sits next to him, giving support.
As Murphy comes to a rest near him, the husband smiles and says about the 4-year-old dog, “She’s a V.I.P., Very Important Puppy. That’s what she is to a lot of people. There are a lot of dog lovers here, and she puts a smile on our faces.”
The joy still shines in his eyes, but his face turns serious as he adds, “I have a lot of people praying for me, and that’s what’s most important. Everyone here is resolved to taking it one day at a time and making the best of each day we have.”
This brief visit from Murphy has already made the day better, according to the man’s wife. As Murphy draws close to her, content at the woman’s feet, she says, “Murphy is great. I think it’s great having therapy animals around the hospital.”
Nurses in the cancer center agree. Smiling at the sight of Murphy, Allison Day is among the nurses and other staff members who pause from their duties to take a spray of hand sanitizer from Joan Gutzwiller before stooping to pet the dog.
“It helps patients,” says Day, a registered nurse, about Murphy’s visits. “It brings up their spirits. It brings joy to their situation.”
Murphy has the same impact on Terri Dunn as she sits in the lobby of the cancer center waiting to be called for her appointment. She smiles when the Gutzwillers and Murphy head toward her.
“It’s wonderful,” she says about the time with Murphy. “It’s awesome, especially for people worse off than me. I didn’t have to have chemo, thank God.”
In many ways, the Gutzwillers believe it’s providence—“a God wink,” Joan says—about the timing that Murphy arrived in their lives, and how she has changed their lives ever since.
‘She has soulful eyes’
The lives of the Gutzwillers and Murphy first became intertwined in 2021, the year when Joan went through her most challenging bout with cancer, the year when Murphy was born.
“We had been without a dog for a couple of years,” Joan recalls. “All our dogs were black, females and their names started with an M. She was only our third black lab. When we saw her, we were smitten with her. We asked the woman if she could hold the puppy until I was finished with my cancer treatments, which was the end of July of ‘21. She said she would.”
After they picked up the dog, Joan tapped into her Irish heritage, her maiden name of Fitzgerald and her involvement in the Ladies Ancient Order of Hibernians to name her “Murphy.”
“Murphy has been therapy for us, a godsend for us. Unconditional love,” Joan says. “She came on the scene after I finished my therapy. She’s always had a sixth sense of being there, getting up in my lap.”
“And she has soulful eyes,” Steve says.
As the Gutzwillers started training Murphy, they didn’t initially think about having their pet become a therapy dog. But that desire evolved as Murphy was trained by a friend who has a long history of training therapy dogs for Franciscan Health Indianapolis, including Indy.
During their conversations with the trainer-friend, the Gutzwillers learned that Indy and the dog’s handler had moved away from Indianapolis shortly after Joan’s last chemo treatment in 2021, and no other dog had replaced Indy at the cancer center.
“After she was a year and a half old, we thought we wanted to concentrate on Murphy being a therapy dog,” Joan says.
For the next two years, Murphy had her extra training for that goal while Steve went through his own training to become Murphy’s handler.
“The handler has to go through nine training models online to get an overview of the therapy animal and an understanding of the bond between the handler and the dog,” Steve says. “There’s also a live session where the handler and the dog go through a battery of behavioral tests to make sure she responds to the handler and individuals appropriately, and most importantly that she doesn’t respond to other animals. They’re trained to ignore other animals.”
After four years of not having a therapy dog in the cancer center, Murphy and Steve—with Joan as their escort—began to fill that role this year.
Each time they come to the hospital, Joan views their involvement as carrying out God’s purpose for her.
“This is our commitment right now,” she says. “This is our purpose right now.”
Nothing deters her from that commitment, she says, not even one of the other great commitments that had guided most of her adult life.
‘It just makes me feel alive’
For about 40 years, Joan was a teacher in Catholic schools in the archdiocese. She had stints at St. Barnabas School and St. Mark the Evangelist School, both in Indianapolis, before serving the last 25 years at Holy Spirit School in Indianapolis until her retirement as a full-time teacher in 2014.
“I taught in Catholic schools because I could not separate teaching from God,” she says. “I was the teacher who had the treats, the teacher that my partner teacher would always say, ‘You’re being too nice.’ How can you be too nice? I’m reaching people through who I am and where I’m at. I own that now.”
In recent years, she continued her ties to Catholic education as a substitute teacher at SS. Francis and Clare of Assisi School. Still, during the last school year, Joan would never sub on the days that she, Steve and Murphy were scheduled at the hospital. And this year, she has decided it’s time to end her career as a teacher.
At the same time, her help at the cancer center is just beginning.
“It’s almost like subconsciously I’m talking to all those people, ‘I’ve been there. It’s going to be fine. I know it’s scary.’ ”
A short time later, the heartbreaking and even haunting reality of cancer pours out from her.
‘Our lives are truly in God’s hands’
“It’s scary, no matter what kind of cancer you have. Because it’s so fickle,” she says. “It can come out of nowhere. It can go away and never come back. It can go away and come back again.”
She had her first bout with cancer in 2010. The second diagnosis came in 2021, followed by another in 2022. Three years later, she is considered cancer free.
“It’s important that you have faith to fall back on—faith and family,” she says.
She turns to Steve and adds, “How many times have we pulled up in front of the cancer center and we’d see people left off by one of the transit buses? And we’re like, ‘Where’s their family?’ I can’t imagine going through it alone. People do, but I think it would be a lot easier to have the support.”
Her two main sources of support include Steve, whom she first met on a blind date—a date which has led to their marriage of 54 years and a family of three children and six grandchildren.
“During my cancer experience, I couldn’t have asked for a better caretaker,” she says. “He was with me at every appointment and was so patient through my recovery.”
She has an even higher regard for her other main source of support.
“I can’t imagine not having God as my anchor,” Joan says. “Going through this, you ask, ‘Why me?’ First, ‘Why did I get it?’ And then, ‘Why me? Why am I going through it so easily?’
“I felt that God was sending me a message that I need to send a message to others. Maybe I’m supposed to be a disciple of this—and pass on the word that whether it’s good or bad, there’s still hope.”
Hope that can even be shared during a visit by a dog named Murphy and her two human companions.
Joan says, “My hope was to deepen my trust in Jesus, that I would remain cancer free, and hope that my message would encourage others to have hope amid the uncontrollable circumstances in their lives.
“Our lives are truly in God’s hands.”
(In this Jubilee Year for the Church with the theme, ‘Pilgrims of Hope,’ The Criterion invites you, our readers, to share your stories of hope—how embracing hope has helped you in the toughest moments of your life, how others have given you hope for your future, how your faith in God has sustained you and uplifted you. If you have a story of hope to share, please send it to John Shaughnessy by e-mail at jshaughnessy@archindy.org or by mail in care of The Criterion, 1400 N. Meridian St. Indianapolis, IN 46202. Please include your parish and a daytime phone number where you can be reached.) †
