As I've mentioned before, I sometimes use a cane. I have two of them, actually - the one the VA issued me, which is set to my flat-footed height, and a lovely wood one that is cut to heel-height and the one that is most commonly seen out of the house. Eventually, I intend to have a wood one cut for flat feet so I am more comfortable going out of the house in flat shoes with a cane (I hate wearing flats and pre-disability me rarely did out of the house unless partaking in an activity that required it, like exercise).
My relationship with the cane is complicated. One of the "benefits" of an invisible illness is that we pass as healthy, in my case for over a decade. Family, friends, the world in general all assumed I was healthy or, if they knew I was sick, never really understood the extent. This isn't their fault, I never let them see me as sick. Despite being more visible about it now, there is still a great deal of surprise (and disbelief) associated with my illness.
But you can see the cane. You can't miss it, actually. It draws attention, especially combined with my usual style of dress and appearance. I don't look sick, I'm wearing makeup, I have two legs that usually can be seen because I tend to wear dresses...what is wrong with me? People are curious and I am the curiosity. For those that also see me when I don't need it, the concept that mobility aids are not an all or nothing game can be a struggle. People think of walkers, canes, crutches, as permanent fixtures that are needed 100% of the time. A friend of mine used a wheelchair, but she could stand or walk short distances, which turned expressions of pity and curiosity into disbelief and outrage.
When I read articles about others who adapt to the use of mobility devices, I am reading not only to understand and develop empathy, but also reading my potential future. We have no idea what course my health will take. I may need a cane full-time. I may need to graduate to a walker or the dreaded chair. I look for coping mechanisms, suggestions, ideas, strategies. I struggled for months before I asked the VA for the cane (which they were quick to provide) and even longer before I allowed myself to be seen using it. I put myself through a lot of physical and psychological pain in the process, stressed about what the cane meant to others, what it meant to me, about me. We're approaching a place of peace, the stick and I, and it's a hard won peace. It helps to read that others struggle too and that they overcome the struggle. That does not make me eager to engage in it again, but I'm trying to avoid the sense of dread through education.
I'm told the tendency to respond to every problem with "Education!" is the tendency of a Democrat...
