My cane

Reads: 152  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
How I feel about my cane

Submitted: January 14, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 14, 2019

A A A

A A A


I feel isolated by my cane.   I walk with a cane.  I mean I can walk without it, but I walk more slowly and unsteadily.  I can fall down very easily.  When I use my cane, I can walk at the same speed as a normal person, and I’m at a lower risk of falling.  

You see I have ataxia, which is defined as the loss of full control of bodily movements.  I’m always dizzy.  Sometimes, about half the time, I see double.  As I sit down to read, the words undulate in front of me.  Sometimes I give up.  I’ll put the reading aside, or ask someone to read it for me.  My glasses help, and its time for me to start wearing them all of the time.  

As I wrote that I could hear a voice in my head, practically shouting at me “WEAR YOUR GLASSES!”.  But the point was how my vision fluctuates, is double, and I have a hard time reading.  I wasn’t asking to be fixed, and there is some ghost inside of me trying to fix me.  Asking for the things that are permanently broken to be repaired.  

I get tired.  So tired.  There was a time when I could surf, swim in the ocean, and hike for hours but those days are long gone.  I gave my surfboard away to a guy I had an affair with because I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, to be reminded of what I had lost.  To be reminded of who I wasn’t anymore.  So instead of a talisman of heartbreak, the surfboard is his souvenir of our carnal encounters.  

I have to take rests now, my go go go days are gone. 

I can see you.  I can see you.  You jet past me going wherever it is that is so important.  I’m left lumbering along on the right.  Thank you, by the way, for not brushing past me.  I could fall down.  When I see you go I could die of envy for how fast you can go go go.  I feel as though I could scream at you and you’d never hear me.  Like I’m trapped in an aquarium; my muffled screams trapped in water and behind glass, while you walk by staring holding your children’s hand.  

I’m angry.  Anger is part of this process where I might find deeper acceptance of my disability.  Where is this acceptance?  What language do they speak there?  Can I get a lot for my dollars?  I don’t know, because I’ve never been there.  Perhaps I’m at acceptance now as the rain falls outside, and I write this.  I gaze at my cane wondering how many steps I can get in today. 


© Copyright 2020 Corrine Sandoval. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments: