My family, my friends and my doctors know the reason; for everyone else, the mystery of my walking aid has summoned sideways glances from strangers, undoubtedly merged with worst-case-scenario assumptions, I'm sure, to a degree of which I can't even begin to imagine. ("Look at that young girl with the cane. So sad!")
For those comfortable enough to ask usually do so with a tinge of sympathy, and I have no problem explaining to them that a misdiagnosis* from my general practitioner (*really, a lack of doctoring, and gross misleading) has contributed to the rapid progression of a once very common, easily fixable injury that could have been - nay, SHOULD have been - dealt with months earlier.
Something that COULD have been healed by now had treatment been started sooner.
Instead, I have developed symptoms that should never have been developed. Side effects of an injury that never would have come about had I had an adequate doctor. I've been off work for far too long now to know more than 50% of the faces I worked with before my leave began, before we moved into a big scary brand new terminal. I couldn't even tell you how to fire up the computer at the gates. What the heck would my password be even? HOW DO I BRIDGE AN AIRCRAFT?
Optimism can seem like such an acid trip when you lose sight of the bigger picture.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
Me and Evander (yes, I've named my cane....who doesn't? And unless you aren't a Jets fan, my choice of name should be a no-brainer) have grown very close in just over a year. And in that time, our torrid love affair has exuded all the glories of the love/hate relationship. I love that he's there for me when I need him (because without him, I would most definitely be a hermit in my home), and I hate that I depend on him so much. Right now, if I want to get out, I'm 98% dependant on Evander to help me. Frustrating. And wonderful. Through this time, though, I've been fortunate enough to get a taste of the kindness that, really, should be commonplace for all humanity, both to dispense of and to receive.
But this isn't what this blog post is about.
It's not about how when Evander slips out of my grasp, usually someone will swoop in after him so that I don't have to struggle to bend down to get him myself.
Nor is it about how when I go grocery shopping, clerks don't charge me for the double bagging that I need (as I have to carry everything with one hand, one bag is obviously easiest, and I'm not always buying just Jell-O or tampons.) Double bags. Necessity.
Nor is it about how people - complete strangers - hold the door open for me, help me take off my coat. It's quite lovely.
I shouldn't have to expect this kind of treatment just because of Evander. Sadly, though, I know that when he and I break up, I won't be able to enjoy the pleasant surprises of random acts of kindness.
And so now, we come to the crux of this post.
I don't know if I want to end my relationship with Evander!
BEAR WITH ME, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! (cue awkward laughter here)
Since having my cane, honest-to-God as much as I need it to keep my balance and help stabilize my crumpled body, if I'm standing in line for something, people offer me CHAIRS to sit on! Or in the case of last Saturday, my clan and I get ushered to the FRONT OF THE LINE, ahead of all those poor healthy jerks who have been waiting for hours.
I get wheeled to my seat at the Prince concert. In a wheelchair! How fun! Pushed by someone who is paid to help people like me! Out of my way, suckers! Wheeled onto the floor, they help me to my seat, and then, with their insistence and a smile, I get priority service delivery right out to the car!
I get to ride a motorized scooter in West Ed Mall! (Let's be honest, that's pretty much how I'll be conquering that monstrosity from now on. I think everyone should! Zipping around a giant indoor city WITH a front basket to hold extra H&M merch?) Too much excitement!
Sucks to be able-bodied, eh?
Of course, I'm not being serious - I have been VERY appreciative of the generosity of others, and I can joke about how wonderful Evander is, but at the end of the day, this is only because we have an official diagnosis. If I was still dodging the addiction to pain medication my "doctor" seemed to want to create by throwing relentless prescriptions at me, all the while being told I had a "mystery syndrome", living in a vortex of hopelessness, I most certainly wouldn't be able to even acknowledge my relationship with E. But knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel, you can bet I'm gonna live it up with my walking buddy. Making the most of it until our time comes to an end.
SoundTracking: Come Together (The Beatles)
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