Today's article from neuropathy.org (see link below) examines a problem that many people living with long-term neuropathy eventually have to face and that is whether to take advantage of walking aids like canes. It's very often a matter of pride. You don't want to be seen needing a walking cane and you put it off as long as possible while running the constant risk of misstepping or losing your balance. Most people who invest in a cane see the benefits immediately. It's like having a third leg that helps to stabilise you whilst walking and before you know it you forget that people may be looking at you differently. Certainly the benefits can outweigh what you may see as stigma.
Coming Around to Using a Cane
By Elizabeth Byleen June 2013
"The amazing thing about the cane is that it is teaching me to walk differently. With the cane, I have loosened up. My stride has become longer and more relaxed. It takes less effort to walk, so I walk more. I have become physically stronger. This new strength and my more relaxed gait carry over even when I’m not using the cane."
Support Your #1 Cause: The Fight
Against Neuropathy!
My inherited peripheral neuropathy has me walking in my father’s footsteps. Just like him, it’s difficult to stay on my half of the sidewalk. In fact, as I walk to work, many people don’t pass me on the sidewalk, but walk out in the street around me. My gait is unpredictable; I wobble and weave, and my balance is a problem. My proprioception (or perception of knowing where I am in space) is off, especially when I’m in low light. But just like my dad, I keep moving. I’m ambulatory, and that feels great.
Several years ago, when I lost my balance and fell in my bedroom— pushing my hand through a glass window and bruising my face on the nightstand—a friend suggested I use a cane at night. “Oh, not me! Not even in the privacy of my own home,” I said to myself. A few years later, when my doctor suggested a cane, I was insulted, even though I careened off a wall as I left his office. A cane was a symbol of giving up and admitting defeat. I was in my early fifties, and not willing to send out that message.
The summer after my doctor suggested a cane, I stopped in to visit with my 90-year old neighbor, Hazel, who was sitting on her front porch. Rather exhausted after a long walk, I shared with Hazel that I was discouraged by how I walked; in fact, two people along the way had asked me if I was okay. She offered to let me borrow one of her canes for a while and see how it worked for me. Out of politeness, I said I would.
On the short walk home, even though the cane was not the correct height, I noticed immediately how helpful it was. I didn’t lean into it, but with just a light touch, I got more feedback about where I was, making it much easier to navigate. That week, my daughter and I took long walks in the evenings. I walked straighter and taller. I was more confident, and I didn’t obsess about every crack in the sidewalk that might trip me up.
The amazing thing about the cane is that it is teaching me to walk differently. Because of the fear of falling, the fear of running into people, and the fear of being perceived as drunk or somehow not quite right, over the years I had developed a real tightness to my walk. I tensed everything up: my mind, my shoulders, my arms, my hips, and my legs. With the cane, I have loosened up. My stride has become longer and more relaxed. It takes less effort to walk, so I walk more. I have become physically stronger. This new strength and my more relaxed gait carry over even when I’m not using the cane.
Our resistance can be so fierce. While I once thought a cane was only a symbol of my decline, it’s proving to be a very helpful tool, especially in crowds, unfamiliar places, and over long distances. Having that extra point of contact—basically acting as a tripod—provides me much more stability. An unexpected benefit is that my cane sends a quick visual signal to others to give me more space and time to maneuver. I had to overcome incredible resistance to eventually arrive at something that works so well for me.
Support Your #1 Cause: The Fight
Against Neuropathy!
My inherited peripheral neuropathy has me walking in my father’s footsteps. Just like him, it’s difficult to stay on my half of the sidewalk. In fact, as I walk to work, many people don’t pass me on the sidewalk, but walk out in the street around me. My gait is unpredictable; I wobble and weave, and my balance is a problem. My proprioception (or perception of knowing where I am in space) is off, especially when I’m in low light. But just like my dad, I keep moving. I’m ambulatory, and that feels great.
Several years ago, when I lost my balance and fell in my bedroom— pushing my hand through a glass window and bruising my face on the nightstand—a friend suggested I use a cane at night. “Oh, not me! Not even in the privacy of my own home,” I said to myself. A few years later, when my doctor suggested a cane, I was insulted, even though I careened off a wall as I left his office. A cane was a symbol of giving up and admitting defeat. I was in my early fifties, and not willing to send out that message.
The summer after my doctor suggested a cane, I stopped in to visit with my 90-year old neighbor, Hazel, who was sitting on her front porch. Rather exhausted after a long walk, I shared with Hazel that I was discouraged by how I walked; in fact, two people along the way had asked me if I was okay. She offered to let me borrow one of her canes for a while and see how it worked for me. Out of politeness, I said I would.
On the short walk home, even though the cane was not the correct height, I noticed immediately how helpful it was. I didn’t lean into it, but with just a light touch, I got more feedback about where I was, making it much easier to navigate. That week, my daughter and I took long walks in the evenings. I walked straighter and taller. I was more confident, and I didn’t obsess about every crack in the sidewalk that might trip me up.
The amazing thing about the cane is that it is teaching me to walk differently. Because of the fear of falling, the fear of running into people, and the fear of being perceived as drunk or somehow not quite right, over the years I had developed a real tightness to my walk. I tensed everything up: my mind, my shoulders, my arms, my hips, and my legs. With the cane, I have loosened up. My stride has become longer and more relaxed. It takes less effort to walk, so I walk more. I have become physically stronger. This new strength and my more relaxed gait carry over even when I’m not using the cane.
Our resistance can be so fierce. While I once thought a cane was only a symbol of my decline, it’s proving to be a very helpful tool, especially in crowds, unfamiliar places, and over long distances. Having that extra point of contact—basically acting as a tripod—provides me much more stability. An unexpected benefit is that my cane sends a quick visual signal to others to give me more space and time to maneuver. I had to overcome incredible resistance to eventually arrive at something that works so well for me.
http://www.neuropathy.org/site/News2?page=NewsArticle&id=8393
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