The ugly remnants of Cancer…

They are everywhere. The little reminders of Cancer. How it changed our life. How it slowly killed his body. The beast itself is now gone, at least in David’s body, but the price we paid was high. We could never quite beat it down, and in the end the only thing that silenced it was when it finally silenced David. Irrevocably. And now I have all of these damn signposts of our battle with the infernal disease.

The shower curtain rod that curves outward, creating more room in the tub, which made bathing David easier after the stroke. The blasted ramp that juts off my porch. The ramp itself was impeccably done...a couple guys from work just showed up one day and built it. It is the nicest damn ramp I have ever seen...looks better than my porch that is in serious need of replacement. And yet, it is ugly. It may be a nice wood walkway to some. But to me it is a reminder of what the Cancer did to David. Of how he lost his mobility after the stroke, and then as he finally began to recover from the stroke, how that tumor came back and took away his freedom once again. And as that insidious mass began to grow and press on his brain, David’s strength and motor skills on his left side started to wane once again. And how in the end he was stuck in the wheel chair that he hated so much.

Then there is the cane. God how he hated that thing. And as he became more and more dependant on it, Alec became more fascinated with it. He was three and a half...so he was mimicking david. He used to walk around the house with it. It made David insane. And I remember one day, after Alec was in bed, david shaking that cane and saying he wanted that cane gone when he was. He did not want it lying about reminding Alec of him like this. He wanted Alec to remember him in his vitality. The playful, attentive dad that used to pick him up and throw to the couch and than tickle him unmercifully. He did not want to be remembered like that. What he called, "A shell of his former self."

There are so many things. All sitting around the house. Hidden in the basement or the garage. Leering at me. The bathing bench. The commode. The cane. The gait belts. Oh, and I must not forget the wheelchair. Not his nice comfy one he had near the end. The insurance company felt that since his tumor was terminal, there was no need to purchase it, so we just rented the cushy one. At the time I was horrified. Basically they were saying no need to purchase it, when we could just rent the damn thing monthly until David was either completely bedridden or dead. And yet, in reality, it was probably a good thing. What use do I have for a wheelchair specially configured for David? What would I do with it? It would have just sat around rotting like everything else. So mercifully, that is gone. But his transport chair is still here. The one we had to buy before they realized that even when and if he did recover from the stroke, the bloody tumor was going to do its business and inevitably take way his strength again...and that he should have something more comfortable and easier to maneuver. Mind you, David was a powerhouse and his use of the wheelchair was confined to the end. He was mobile for much longer than they anticipated and defied what statistically and medically his body should have been doing. But he could not bypass it completely and we did end up using it in the final months.

So, all of the crap just sits here. I plan to donate them. The equipment that is littering the dark corners of our basement still have a purpose and can help others. I know how insane medical bills can be and if someone is in need of this equipment, than odds are they have all sorts of other medical bills as well. I am looking into a donation program that specifically benefits patients in need. Although I would love to just go out there and beat the shit out of the wheelchair with a baseball bat, it would not be productive. It might make me feel better for a brief moment, but I know that the equipment can serve its purpose so much better by helping someone else in need with disabilities. And although transitory as it might be, beating the crap out of the equipment would not have any long satisfactory effects.