My cane

She wasn’t shy.  Nor intimidated.

She walked up to me and gingerly picked up my cane which was leaning against the table.

“Don’t touch that” her mother said.

It’s OK” I replied.  “You can play with it” I said to the little girl.

From that moment on, my new friend didn’t leave my side.

Her name was Airyanna.  (I thought she said “Ariel”, like the mermaid) 

She was three-years old.  Cute as a button and wise beyond her years.

I showed Airy a couple of very lame tricks with my cane (I admit my repertoire is rather weak!) and she clapped & squealed with approval.

“I try” she said.  And she performed my “tricks” to perfection.

I applauded for her…while thinking I really need to work on some new tricks.

Noticing her socks adorned with frogs, I said “I like your socks.  Can you jump like a frog?”

She squatted like a frog and jumped several times.  Then she quickly turned to me and said “Your turn!”

“Oh, I can’t…”                                                  

Hop like a frog, you Odd Sock

“Yes you can.”

“No I ca…”

“Yes you can.  Try it.”

So I got down like a frog and made several “leaps,” all without losing my balance or spasticity tightening my legs like a department store mannequin.

Airy clapped with approval and said “See I told you you could do it.”

The kid was right.  Three-year old luck I figured.

Next, she hooked my cane around a chair and jumped over it.

“Your turn” she said.                                      

Jump over the cane, goof

“No, I can’t” I said.

“Yes you can.”

“No I can’t.  I have MS—a degenerative disease of the nervous syste…”

She interrupted “Yes you can.  Try it.”

She would hear nothing of my explanation of MS.

Having a vertical leap that can be measured in millimeters, I picked up my right leg and threw it over the cane.  Then I dragged my left foot over to complete my “jump.”

Airy clapped.  “See I told you you could do it” she exclaimed.

Isn’t it medication time I thought to myself?

I asked her to pass my cane as I wanted to walk and throw a dirty plate into the garbage bin which was about 10 feet away.

“You don’t need this” she said referring to my walking stick.

“Yes I do–I can’t walk witho….”

“Yes you can.”

“No, remember my MS?  The chronic disease?  Myelin sheath…”

“Yes you can.  Try.”

So, slowly but surely.  One foot in front of the other.  My arms out like I was walking the high wire, I made my way to the trash can.

Again, Airy applauded.  “See, I told you!”

Yep she did.  She told me I could do lots of things that I thought this friggin disease had stolen from me.

Who would have known there was no need to consult medical specialists with their wall full of diplomas.  No need to take pills with names I couldn’t pronounce.  Or undergo examinations & treatments costing thousands of dollars.

I only needed to talk to my new little friend, Airyanna.

Thanks kid for giving me some much needed confidence and restoring a little faith & dignity in myself.  The short time we shared together was just a couple of hours, but the impact you made on me will stay with me forever.

Class dismissed.

My cane has become a necessary part of my daily attire.

Like pants!

Cane

Cane is quite reserved, never saying anything and has become a close friend I can lean on.

But lately my relationship with my cane has scuffled (like my feet).

You see, recently I attended a function where I had to hug about 500 folks.

Sure enough, Cane had to be right there…nestled in the middle of it all.

Every–Single–Hug.

Like an obnoxious third-wheel.  A puppy dog afraid to be left home alone.

But how do you hug with a cane?  The people didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t know what to do.  It’s not easy hugging a tripod!

Hem those pants!

In my research I found descriptions of every type of hug known to man:  friendly hugs, family hugs, the crush hug, buddy hug, group hug, half hug, jump-N-hug, spoon hug, snuggle hug, encouraging hug—but nothing about hugging with a mobility apparatus!

In the end I wedged the cane’s handle under my belt buckle, stooping forward, balancing my body weight on my large intestine.

I looked like a Cirque du Soleil gymnast—–who had to poop.

Hugging one of my friends, he jokingly whispered in my ear “Is that your cane or are you happy to see me?”

Great.  That makes me feel comfortably confident.  Not.

When I tried to ease off my balancing act, in other words, not leaning forward so much, I nearly fell backwards.  (Another close friend grabbed me before someone had to say “Timber!”)

Otherwise, hugging as a tripod?  It’s not so bad.

Just chalk it up to another lesson learned as this odd sock shuffles through life’s fantastic experiences.

I look forward to what today brings!

I ironed that sheet used as a backdrop!

It was time to invest in a new cane.  My old one was a reliable partner, but it was beat-up and had alot of miles.

The shiny-new 2010 models were out, so I shuffle-dragged myself to the showroom.  I just love the new cane smell!

I was looking for a plain, black, non-descript cane.  The kind of cane that would allow me to enter a room silently, like a black panther.  (OK, who am I kidding—I walk like a black panther with three legs that have fallen asleep!)

The cane store had a huge selection.  I was confident I would find just what I was looking for.  But upon further investigation, I couldn’t find a black cane—not a white cane—or even one of those old-school silver canes!  No, every cane was bright & glittery and resembled a Jackson Pollack painting.  A Jerry Garcia acid-induced mind trip.  These canes were so loud they made Liberace seem lame.

Then, I saw a sign that explained it all…..

(Bleep)  Are you kidding me?  (Bleep)  “Life shouldn’t be dull and boring and neither should your cane.”  (Bleep)

I just want a plain, black cane!

“…zest for life.”  What is that about?  “Zest” is something I use in the shower!  (Bleep Bleep)

Look, my point is this, if you are 80 years old and stroll into the Legion Hall card party with one of these canes—that’s cute.  But I’m 46.  I shouldn’t be limping with a cane at all.  And I don’t want to call attention to myself with my fancy walking stick.  I want to blend into the room like a bad piece of wallpaper.

As a matter of fact, if DuPont made a wall paint called “Gimp,” I would smother myself with it—two coats!

The Funny Meter

Oh, go away “Funny Meter.”  Everything doesn’t have to be hilarious.  Geez, gimme a break.

The Funny Meter

Screw you “Funny Meter.”

Your father was a digital thermometer and your mother was a Richter Scale.

There, are you laughing now?

I can’t speak for everyone with MS, but we just want to blend in as best we can—with a plain, nondescript cane.  Not something inspired by the psychedelic 60’s.

Oh yeah, by the way, I found my cane at another store.  Happy walking!

Me & my new dancing partner.