July 15th, 2010: The Tour de France

Dad's doctor told him today that he'd need to have a walker. Not a cane as he'd hoped, but a walker, a full-on walker. This immediately makes him a visual target. This immediately says to those who see him, "Here is a man who cannot stand on his own. Here is an old man. Here is a man who is dying."


And so, at the age of 67, Dad will now appear more like he's 87.


If I'm honest, I feel this way about him already: we have to dress and undress him, we have to bathe him, we have to help him stand up and sit down, we have to wipe his ass sometimes and we often have to repeat ourselves and explain to him what's going on around him. These are the hallmarks of much older people, not someone in his 60's, not someone who used to be so vital, not... my Dad.


In truth, Dad probably does need a walker. He's just not stable on his legs anymore: in the short period that I was home, he fell four times. Twice he hit the floor and hurt himself, once we caught him before he fell and the fourth time, somehow, he managed to catch himself. A cane - held on one side of the body with only one hand - won't really provide the support that he needs.


So Dad will get measured for a walker and will receive training on how to use it. When I spoke with him this week he said simply, "It wasn't what I wanted. I wanted a cane. But I guess I need it. So I'll try it." And that's why I so deeply respect my father: because he usually doesn't try to hide or dumb down his his disease. Maybe he came to that mentality because he practiced medicine for thirty years and, for him, dying is as natural as living. I don't know. What I can say is that the man who used to walk around the house naked still does without shame for what his body truly is: a machine. And as Dad's machine slowly fails, he's no more ashamed about his body now than he was thirty years ago.


But maybe I am.


And maybe others will be when they see him struggling. And I'm sure that Mom will be more embarrassed to be with him in public, even more than she already is. What person wants to spend time fighting cancer by spending her days and nights watching her spouse slowly disintegrate before her eyes, both physically and cognitively?


There's no winner. We just keep plodding along. It's like the Tour de France, only worse: the race doesn't end after a month...