One might think that learning to use a cane would be simple. I’ve learned it isn’t simple. That’s because though the learning curve is short, the internal acceptance curve is long.

I live with chronic pain and have done so for several years. Having both psychotherapeutic and physiotherapeutic tools help. This means I can sometimes have anywhere from minutes to a few hours pain free. I can also, sometimes, turn the intensity of the pain down. These things are vital because, due to ulcers, I can’t take NSAIDS.

I know, it adds up. But it’s genetic – I saw it coming.

I remember being twelve or so, observing grandparents, and the extended family of their generation talking about what ailed them. Though I enjoyed the company of my cousins, I also paid close attention to the adults. I was often spellbound by their conversations. Kids can learn a lot just from watching and listening.

The term “chronic pain” wasn’t used back then but it is certainly what many of these elderly family members had and it got my attention.

Would my parents be like them one day? As it turned out, yes.

Would I be like them one day? As it turned out, yes.

During my second consecutive year of chronic pain, I recognized that my walking gait reminded me of my dad’s. But mine had begun a decade earlier in my life than his had. Oddly, I felt guilty. As if I’d done something inherently wrong for this to be happening to me so much sooner.

But I also recalled that when the chronic pain of osteoarthritis began, I was about the same age as when my maternal grandfather, whom we called Big Papa, was managing his chronic pain. His pain issues, among that generation, were the most evident in the family because he used a cane.

We shared another health issue as he’d had ulcers. Separated by two generations, he had to have part of his stomach surgically removed to get rid of the ulcers! I did not have to endure that kind of approach. 

With his daughter, my mother, I shared a slight curvature of the spine that causes daily stiffness and pain.

I’ve been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. It comes and goes and is the one for which psychotherapeutic pain relief has been the most effective.

I also have a recent diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease with coinfections. I am a mess! But the hope there is that healing those diseases might reduce much of the chronic pain. We’ll see.

A few months ago, I sprained my knee.

How did I sprain it?

Walking down the stairs. Without falling and without stumbling. By simply taking the last step on the landing.

It hurt like the dickens but, fortunately, I have a cane in the house. It dates to the 1960s and once belonged to my Great Aunt Sallie.

I love it for its history. It’s hand carved, simple, has a curved handle, and has my great aunt’s name and Hawai‘i address written in ink and shellacked over on a carved out flat spot that my Big Papa, her brother-in-law, had made for her. His cane looked just like hers.

When I sprained my knee, Aunt Sallie’s cane went from being a family heirloom to being put to practical use. Getting checked out at the Urgent Care Center, the doctor told me how to use it. Learning to use a cane had begun.

I was to form a tripod as I walked with the cane. Holding it in my right hand to support my left knee, the cane needed to strike the ground with each step of my left foot. I immediately felt a greater sense of balance and security using it correctly.

But it was too tall for me, and I appeared gangly when I used it. Not a big deal in the short term.

It didn’t take long in the healing process for me to realize that by learning to use Great Aunt Sallie’s cane, I was able to counterbalance the imbalance brought on by the chronic pain of osteoarthritis.

I decided I was worth investing in one that was the right height and that was beautiful. Self-conscious over drawing attention to myself with it, I decided it might as well make a statement – even be a work of art.

A cane of my own

Searching online, I thought I might find a local artisan that made and sold canes. But I didn’t. One local artisan shop sold long walking sticks with no handle – meant to be used while hiking in the mountains or for display in the home.

Finding what I wanted online meant shopping from Ukraine. There is a cottage industry there where craftspeople make beautiful and handsome hand carved canes or walking sticks. They are made as they are ordered and mine would have to clear customs, but it was worth the wait. It made me proud to make that small donation to a cottage industry in Ukraine.

While waiting for the beautiful, rightly sized, “walking stick” to arrive, I periodically used Aunt Sallie’s cane in public spaces. Though it was awkward because of its height, it was also awkward because I was self-conscious due to there being a peculiarity about the pain of osteoarthritis.

How the pain of osteoarthritis works

Osteoarthritis in joints can hurt intensely when rising from a seated position. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been sitting two minutes or two hours! Those joints get stiff when seated and, upon standing, they hurt.

Back in the mid-2000s, when this began for me, in public I’d fake it. Rising from my seat, I’d push through a small amount of stiffness and pain that was hard to hide. Several steps later I’d be loose and comfortable on my feet.

Over the years, the amount of stiffness, pain, and number of joints involved grew. Now, getting up from a seated position means walking hunched over with a stiff gait. It looks and feels as if I could easily topple, making learning to use a cane a very good idea!

This made learning to use a cane seem a no-brainer.

Except, even now, once my body is warmed up, I am comfortable enough that I can sometimes walk quickly and with confidence. I found that phenomenon confusing. How to reconcile using a cane at all when I’m better after several steps?

My concern was that people would notice when one moment I needed the cane and another moment I didn’t. What to do with the cane when I don’t need it? Isn’t that when I become a spectacle? Drape the hook over my arm? Hold it in the middle as if I’m the grand marshal of a parade?

Although I’m the type to enjoy being the center of attention, I prefer that to be on my terms.

I spent thirteen years taking ballet – from 4 years of age to 17.

Until recently, I’ve always walked with a confident and quick stride. So much so that graduate school classmates teased me for it. Why was I in such a hurry to sit for a three-hour lecture in my next class?

There has been a significant sense of loss associated with my chronic pain. I’d like to maintain as much dignity going forward as possible.

But now I had a beautiful cane being made for me that would soon arrive at my door.

Had the expense been worth it? Or was I going to keep playing this mental game with myself of worrying that:

1. anyone is watching {they’re not} and
2. that anyone would take the time to be curious as to whether I needed my cane {likely not, but so what?} and so
3. let’s just stay stuck on the issue, indefinitely?! {I think not.}

 

What happened later

Recently, I went to the movies and saw Meg Ryan’s What Happens Later, with David Duchovny – a magical and enchanting film. Then after, had my own enchanting and magical experience that reached down and uprooted my insecurity about using a cane in public.

As I left the theater that I’d seen my movie in, I came up behind an elderly couple moving slowly through the foyer. Rather than hurry by them, I slowed my pace to slower than theirs to give them space and respect.

I gave them little attention so they wouldn’t feel someone staring at them. My purpose was that they not feel rushed or uncomfortable.

So, my eyes drifted to the floor where I noticed she had a cane that didn’t seem required. It was hand carved and handsome. Her use of it was so gentle and her body so erect and fine, the cane seemed unnecessary.

Then, an insight!

Suddenly I thought, “Oh. That’s how it’s done! This is how I can walk with my cane when I’m carrying it with me but don’t need it at that moment. I can do that. I just use it anyway, for my ease and comfort. And I don’t worry that – for the moment – it doesn’t appear as if I need it. I can do this!”

Then we were at the exit. The man opened the door for his wife, saw me, and held it open for me as well. Seeing me, she startled a little.

I gently said, “Hi,” to her and thanked him for holding the door.

Walking to my car, I thanked God for having seen and admired her, realizing I could be like her. The emotional learning curve of learning how to use a cane shortened.

Had a miracle occurred there?

I wanted to make meaning out of this couple leaving their movie and me leaving mine at such a time that I would see her and then solve my dilemma.

One might think that if I believed in miracles, why not pray for a miraculous healing or, much more, the miracle of world peace?

I do. But it also seems that when miracles alight, they often don’t make sense. Except for the person to whom they occurred.

I learned long ago to lean into the mystery of my faith, accept mercy where I find it (or where it finds me), and otherwise see how I can be the hands and feet, the heart and attention of Jesus in the part of the world I inhabit. As well as pay attention to those being the expression of Christ’s love to me.

I’ll never know if coming up behind that couple in the foyer of the movie theater was the work of angels nudging us as to when to leave our theaters so that I would notice how gracefully she used hers. But I know that I noticed and that I thank God for the noticing.

From now on, with this beautiful cane from Ukraine that is of an appropriate height, I will go to the movies (and elsewhere) with considerably more confidence in my body and in my ability to physically navigate through most circumstances.

Turns out a beautiful cane is an attention grabber in the best way!

Recently, walking past a little girl who was looking back and forth from my cane to my face with an enthusiastic smile, she said, “I like your walking stick!”

Smiling, I stopped, held it up by its middle to bring the beautiful carving into better view and said, “I do too! Thank you!” We both seemed a little gleeful. She for her courage and being rewarded for it and me for feeling seen and appreciated by a child. She was adorable!

I think I will become comfortable with those times when I don’t really need my cane – my walking stick.

And for the moments when I’m comfortable on my feet, I may even recall and perfect some soft shoe moves from the tap-dancing lessons that were taken alongside ballet back in the day. Drawing attention to myself on my own terms!