Up till this point Multiple Sclerosis was my secret to keep. Because most of the disease's symptoms were not completely obvious, I had had the luxury of informing only the people I thought had a need to know. The cane would change all that. Total strangers would know that something was wrong with me. That I was weak. But as an embarrassing spill on a public sidewalk slowly shifted from possibility to probability out came the cane.
All the years I had spent trying to fit in went up in smoke in an instant. I could feel the stares. I could hear the questioning thoughts: "What's wrong with him? Why is he using a cane?" Suddenly I found myself in an etiquette no-man's land. Women didn't know whether they should get off the elevator first or let me open doors for them. I shared their uncertainty. Should I play the part and walk slower? Would people think I was faking? Was the weakness in my legs really just in my head?
All of this brought back memories of adolescence. Why was I so worried about what other people were thinking about me? These weren't even people I cared about or who cared about me, they were total strangers. People who played no roll whatsoever in my life and yet somehow I still craved their approval. It wasn't my need for a cane that was pathetic, it was my need for approval. My legs might feel weak, but clearly my character wasn't much stronger. If this is how I cowered over a stupid walking stick, how would I act over something more important and more controversial? My cane may have exposed my physical weakness to the world, but it was certainly revealing a deeper weakness in me.
Be on the alert, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. - 1 Corinthians 16:13
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