The Difference of a Year

I woke up this morning to the sensation like a gorilla or a refrigerator or something really really heavy was crushing my legs. I wake up to this sensation more often than I care to but it's not just a morning thing. Sometimes it starts mid-morning. Sometimes afternoon. Sometimes evening. Sometimes it keeps me up most of the night. It is a pretty awful way to wake up though.

I've been trying to decide which is worse: waking up to this crushing sensation or waking up to the sound of someone clapping loudy and shouting, "Time to Get Up! Get Up! Get Up! Time to Get Up! Get Up!" in a sing-songy kind of voice. Some energetic lady (someone's mother maybe? Or a teacher aide? I don't remember) woke all the girls up this way on our 6th grade overnight trip.

I can't really decide which is worse. They are both pretty jolting ways to wake up.

On the one hand, I prefer the pain. It starts out mildly and brings me along with it until I can no longer stay asleep or keep falling back to sleep despite it. Whereas being shouted at, well, that's just dead quiet to "what-the-heck!?" like a lightening bolt.

On the other hand, being shouted at is jarring initially but after your heartbeat slows back down, the whole ordeal is over. Nothing but a memory. An unpleasant one, to be sure; I mean, I still remember it almost 30 years later. (Goodness, doing that math made me feel old.) But the crushing pain...that's not over once I open my eyes. The distant memory part of this hasn't happened yet.

Still, if some woman woke me up that way every morning or even just with some regularity, I'd probably start throwing things at her and screaming back.

I don't really want to beat the tar out of my legs for hurting though. I just want them to stop hurting. And even more than that, I want to understand why they hurt. No one has been able to explain it yet.

Ultimately, I guess what I'm saying is: I have more compassion for my leg pain waking me than I have (or had) for a woman shouting me awake.

So I guess that's settled.


I got up this morning when it woke me. I told my clones "I love you," before they went to school. I'm not awake for that as often as I'd like to be. Mr. A had an eye appointment to go to so I said I'd go along. By the time we left, my knee was also bothering me, there was clear inflammation going on and my skin was feeling overly sensitive.

When we got there, Mr. A parked and I grabbed my fold-able cane that I keep in the van. I haven't used it in a long time because I haven't been needing it lately.

I sat in the waiting room, knitting, while Mr. A had his eyes checked. It felt pretty surreal to be sitting there in that office. I haven't been there in years but we used to take clone 2 to the eye doctor every month when he was a baby, every 3 months when he was a toddler...

I was so thankful when we found this ophthalmologist because clone 2 was born with a rare eye condition (1 in 10,000) and the lady we had initially been seeing had never seen his condition in real life before. She spent more time treating him like a lab rat than anything else. So when we found this guy and discovered he had seen clone 2's condition before and knew what to do...well, we were pretty happy. I used to take homemade cookies and pies to the office staff. That's how thankful I was. And spending so much time there, we got to know the doctor pretty well.

Anyway, I was knitting today and having all these flashbacks, and one memory seemed to lead to another. Before long I felt like I was doing a survey of the last lots of years. So many memories today.

We ran some errands after the appointment and I was walking around with my cane, realizing I bought it about a year ago. I was so embarrassed about it at first. I used it only at home, while I worked out how to move my arm in line with my opposite leg. You might not think there is any kind of a learning curve to using a cane but if you want to use it right and actually benefit from using it, there is.

But even after I got the hang of it and looked fairly natural using it, I still didn't want to be seen out with it. I was uncomfortable with the thought of being in public with it but even more afraid to show up with it somewhere where people knew me. I anticipated stares and questions and who-knows-what-else.

I remember I stuck it in my purse one day when my mom was visiting. She and I were going to the thrift store together and I was afraid I might get dizzy while we were there. Instead, my legs got tired and I took it out of my purse and unfolded it and finished our shopping trip with it in my hand, supporting me. That was the first time I had used it in public.

But I remained afraid to show up with it where people knew me.

I can't remember how long that went on. But at some point I took my cane with me to a soccer game or some other school event because I needed it.

And of course, it wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated.
Things never are.

It's hard to believe that was a year ago. I haven't been using my cane much lately, as I said, but when I do use it, it still feels very much like a part of my body. We're buddies, me and this piece of metal. And I feel pretty silly for ever having been so worried about using it in front of people.

The thing is, it helps me. I wouldn't have been able to do all the walking I did today without it.
That is not something to be embarrassed about.

It's like clone 2. If we hadn't done all the things the eye doctor told us to do when he was little, he wouldn't have the nearly perfect eyesight he has today. All that work helped his eyes. And maybe not every kid needs to go through what he went through. Just as most people my age don't need a cane. And that's fine. But those of us who do need aides of various kinds, we need to feel confident and empowered knowing our tools and aides are helping us live full lives, helping us do some of the things we want to do, helping things, in some cases, to improve.

Now, at this point in my journey, I'm embarrassed that I was ever embarrassed about needing a cane.

People might stare.
            And they do.
People might ask.
            And they do.
People might not understand.
            And that's okay.

Because it really doesn't matter what other people think.