The story of Stick

Three and a half years ago, I became a Jumblie via Transverse Myelitis. At first, I couldn’t walk at all. Then, I progressed to a wheelchair, a walker and finally, to a stick.I was so thrilled with my progress and foresaw a return to my old life. It was not to be.
Stick became a symbol, to me, of my (perceived) uselessness. Physio’s tried to get me to walk without it – possible at home and in a good hour, not at all possible when not.
Stick labelled me as disabled, not part of society, useless.
Then, I had a bit of an epiphany (good word – use it sometime today!)
I realised that Stick (and any other mobility aids I need) is just like my friends and family.
Sometimes, I don’t want to need them (and am rather ungrateful and nasty). They hang about anyway,giving me space when I need it and silent encouragement.
Sometimes we do fun things together, that I couldn’t do without them.
Sometimes, I want to discard them and go it alone. Like Stick, they are always waiting in the wings in case I fall (literally, figuratively and emotionally)
So now, Stick means freedom, support, ability. Stick means I don’t have to explain myself when I look wobbly in a shop; when I need to sit down suddenly; when I park in a disabled bay or sit in a disabled seat on public transport.
Stick is my friend. Thank you, Stick.
Also, thank you to all those special people who are my Sticks – I love you.

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