A Cane Called "Aflak"

I first became aware of canes and the people who use them when I visited Linus in New York in the mid-80's. I was surprised to see that not just the frail elderly supported themselves on "walking sticks," but quite healthy young people as well. As Linus explained, "New Yorkers walk or take public transportation a whole lot more than the rest of the country. If you sprain your ankle, or--God forbid!--break it, you need something to help you get around while you heal."

Canes weren't always medical appliances. From the 1600's up through the early years of the 1900's, they were a gentleman's fashion accessory, constructed of fine woods and topped with handles made of precious metals. A few men carried sword canes, but an ordinary cane could do some nasty damage to an attacker's hands and head, as well as parry blows from fists, feet and various weapons.

My next experience with canes was personal, following a spectacular pratfall resulting in a twisted knee and soft tissue damage that stubbornly refused to heal. Various treatments and medications eased the hurt enough to let me sleep, but walking any distance was, quite literally, a pain. So I tried out various styles of cane--the wooden "old man's" with the curved handle that didn't fit my hand, the metal "orthopedic" that always felt too short (this in the days before someone got smart and made them adjustable). I never went as far as the "quad cane," which was taller, but, as I knew from my caregiving jobs, was a dangerous fall just waiting to happen.

And then Bernie, the male half of my favorite couple, went into a group home and was confined to a wheelchair, leaving behind a handsome oak cane inset with brass bands and a brass handle shaped like a duck's head. His wife, Mrs. K., who was left behind to clean out their apartment so she could move into an assisted living facility, didn't want or need it and gave it to me.

I carried that cane for the next two years while my knee finally gave up hurting and healed. My dear friend, Anne, once remarked that "You're the only person I know who can turn a medical appliance into a fashion statement." But this was one fashion I was more than happy to retire to the back of my closet.

Then my dad's health began to fail, due to a combination of multiple TIA's (Transient Ischemic Attacks--the so called "ministrokes" that don't leave any noticeable aftereffects), serious allergies to almost every antibiotic in the doctors' arsenal, and a missed diagnosed, bad reaction to Lipitor. He, like me, found walking difficult and the choice of canes less than satisfactory. So I offered him mine and--you'll forgive the expression--Dad took to it like a duck to water. It's longer length suited Dad's 6 foot height, it's heavier construction his greater weight and the broad duck's head fit his large hand admirably.

Dad christened his new friend "Aflak," and continued to enjoy his silent company even on "graduation" to a power chair. Aflak proved to be invaluable for reaching elvator and handicapped door buttons.

Dad died almost three years ago. I thought about having Aflak cremated with him, but I'm glad I didn't follow through with that idea. I, too, like his silent company.