Trash Therapy

Before the stroke, I did 80% of the cleaning. I thought that would be an exaggeration, but after the stroke my wife was overwhelmed and the house quickly fell apart.

Now don't get me wrong - I think she could have handled it if she didn't have to take care of me and the kids. But she does and she gets stressed easily and I feel so helpless.

Yesterday in the Herald Leader, there was an article about a woman who was charged with neglect for leaving her disabled brother in unsanitary conditions. The trash was piled up so high that the fire department couldn't get the door open when they went to investigate.

As a former Journalism student, I read the newspaper web site every day, and I hate when there's a story that concerns me.

Back when I was still in the wheelchair, they ran a story about a man who was trapped in his house in a wheelchair during a fire and couldn't get out. His neighbors had to listen to him as he died.

The day before the home health nurse had asked me what I would do in case of a fire, and I had been taken aback. I told them, I guess I would roll to the back door and fling myself on the patio and crawl.

They seemed okay with that scenario, but I wasn't.

As soon as I saw the story about the man in the wheelchair trapped in the burning house, I became obsessed with it.

I practiced walking without support and would roll myself to the back door and psyche myself up for when I actually had to flee. My wife began to worry, because I was spending all of my free time at the back door, looking out over the yard.

I didn't want to tell her what I was doing, that I was making sure I could get outside in case of a fire, because I didn't want her to worry.

So, this morning when Robin found a cockroach in the living room, I was ready to clean. I had gone to bed with the story of the disabled man trapped in his own house by piles of trash and woke up ready to clean.

Grace has been watching television in our room and she keeps leaving trash behind the bed. I woke up and asked Robin for a glass of ice water and a drawstring trash bag from the kitchen. Then I asked her to cancel my therapy for the morning and she agreed, saying, "Cleaning is therapy for you."

Indeed.