Damaged Goods

As with many diseases, cancer can leave you feeling like damaged goods. In my case, I had half of my tongue removed, skin removed from my arm to replace the tongue, skin removed from my leg to replace the skin from my arm, lymph nodes from the right side of my neck removed, a trachea implanted to that I could breath and a feeding tube so that I could eat. Of course as time went by the trachea was removed, but left a divot looking scar on my throat that moves up and down when I swallow, also the feeding tube was removed as I was able to swallow on my own and begin eating. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months the healing continued. My focus is no longer on having cancer or even having had cancer. All of this came at an unfortunate time for me. I was busy working on my sexy by fifty plan. The diet had worked and I had a new found swagger. I was on track, with two years to go to perfect my physical body. The universe, however, had other plans for me and one day I discovered the tumor in my tongue. The only lingering side effect is some difficult in speaking clearly all of the time. Granted I have re-mastered most of the English language, I still have great difficulty with words ending in LLS. Walls, balls, falls....They end us sounding like waas, baas, etc. Certain accents are considered sexy, but speech impediments, not so much. 

For me it all came down to this, what is sexy and is it important? Can I be sexy? Who knows? Do I want to do the work (which could include some plastic surgery)? And who's idea of sexy am I pursuing anyway? The GQ model idea of sexy? The guy next door? Aren't I more that that? I am a survivor. I am tough and capable and loving. Shouldn't I be content with that? I have a loving and amazing partner in my life who seems pretty happy to show up and be with me just as I am. Can I find contentment in that?

All of these ideas were challenged recently, when I met a big girl in a tiny body. I had dropped by the SPCA store to buy shampoo for my dogs and decided to go and give a little love to the residents at the shelter. As I stepped into cottage two, I saw her for the first time. She was just a tiny little thing with huge round black eyes and a little button of a nose showing through her frowzy fur. She stood quietly on her hind legs and front paws on the bars of her cage. She had hope in her eyes, but it was plain to see that she knew most people would pass her by. She wasn't talented like the poodles that she shared a temporary home with. She didn't jump and walk on her hind legs begging for attention. Our eyes met and I lost my heart to her in that second! I went to say hi, but told myself that I was being stupid! I already had two dogs at home and didn't need a third. I took her picture anyway, to show my partner Ken later. With that I left her behind. What I didn't know, is that I had taken a piece of her with me. The feel of her tongue on my fingers, the hope in her eyes. I couldn't stop thinking about her. I showed Ken the photo and he declared that it was my birthday week and if I wanted another dog, he was cool with the idea. (I should mention that we did have at one time three dogs. One of them had passed away from stomach cancer this past year. It left a hole in our hearts but our other two dogs, seemed to be much happier with it being just the two of them). Finally on my birthday, we got up and went to a museum but left early to go and "just say hi" to her.

We took her out for a visitation and the image that I will always hold in my heart is my partner Ken carefully holding her. Ken is a big guy and he held her like she could just break at any second. His eyes were filled with love and concern and she looked at him with the same hope that she looked at me with.  The spell would be broken though, when we were informed that she had "serious medical issues" and needed to speak to her representative. We did and found out that she would have to have surgery. I was originally told by a volunteer that it was hip surgery. A friend of my had gone through that last year and ended up spending thousands of dollars only to end of having her dog put down as it could not handle the pain afterwards. I knew I couldn't handle that not to mention that we are still paying my medical bills and should not be acquiring more debt. It was a good decision I thought. I was using my head an not my heart. I should be proud. On the way home I asked Ken how he was doing and he quickly replied "fine". Matter solved! That was a Saturday and by Monday morning I realized that the matter was far from solved. What if they put her down? That was the way things were going. We had been told that everyone who looked at her passed because of the expense involved. I was in a panic! The SPCA was closed on Monday and Tuesdays and it is basically impossible to get anyone on the phone during those days. I also found out that Ken was not "fine". He was suffering from the remorse of walking away from her, just as I was. He reveled that he didn't talk all of the way home because he didn't want to cry. If you knew Ken, that is a big thing. This is a man that doesn''t cry. We have been together for over twelve years and I have only seen him cry about three times, so knowing that he was about to shed some tears was really saying a lot!

I camped out at the gates of the SPCA on Wednesday morning with a list of questions that Ken and I had gone over. What we wanted was to take her to our vet and get some idea of the expense involved. Of course that wasn't possible I was told but I could adopt her and get a full refund within 30 days. Yeah, that's gonna happen, I thought to myself. Like I could ever bring her back. Then, good news arrived, I spoke with the vet as the SPCA and found out that she had a "luxating patella". Basically it was her knee and not her hip. For some reason it didn't sound as bad and as frightening. The truth was though, it was already too late. When I got to the "pound" that morning there was no way that I wasn't going to adopt her. She was like me, she was damaged goods. The difference was that no-one had walked by me. My life is rich with family and friends and the most amazing man, that I am fortunate enough to spend my life with. There was never a question that when diagnosed with cancer I wouldn't be taken care of, because I was loved. There could be no question that she wouldn't be taken care of either. I filled out the adoption papers and brought my dogs to meet her. They didn't kill her (in fact they sort of ignored her) so it was agreed that this would be a good fit and she could come home with us. She still had to be neutered so we picked her up the following day.

We named her Ginger, and what I can tell you is that she takes my breath away every time I look at her. Maybe it's her small size and maybe it's the way she looks at me. I don't know. What I do know, is that she is not in the least concerned about her knee. She is an amazing dog who is loving, yet stands up for herself. She is a daily reminder that I am not damaged goods. I might not have all the same parts I started off in this world with, but I am me and that is quite enough for her. And like her, I don't see a crippled dog when I look at her (and neither would you, she shows no sighs of her leg bothering her, except occasionally missing a step). Ironically, I no longer see a damaged man when I look in the mirror. I see a strong survivor, a good person and something that brings me even greater joy, I see Gingers Dad!