Why Do you walk with a stick?

Asked the little girl, much to her mother’s horror, as I wobbled into the café. And we had a lovely little conversation, while he mum continued packing up to leave. She didn’t say anything. Adults are afraid to. If they do, they tentatively enquire something like “what have you done to your leg?”

 

I love the questions that children aren’t afraid to ask. They are so matter of fact. If I am sitting in a cafe and my crutch is propped up against the wall or the chair, or more likely, on the floor where it has thrown itself (it’s very badly behaved), a child will wander along to investigate. “Don’t touch that!” I hear. Then follows a conversation with their son/daughter/grandchild. At which point, the adult with the little girl or boy will apologize for disturbing me. But why? They should be proud that their child is not afraid of difference.

 

But it’s interesting how views of the same thing differ. I think I’m memorable because not only do I walk with a crutch, it’s purple. A friend in my Writer’s Group says “No. It’s your hair that I remember.” My hair is a bit wild. It does its own thing regardless of what I want it to do.

 

I’m no longer scared to tell people that I have MS, although it is rarely the first thing I say when I’m introduced to someone. I’m a long way into this MS thing. It’s been there for half my life. For the most part, it just is. That’s not to say that I don’t have bad days when the impact it has had gets to me. Of course I do. But I remind myself of a powerful thought I had in the early days when I only had one symptom and it was getting to me. There are more things that I can do than there are that I can’t. And however much further MS has progressed since then, that still stands.