Skip to main content

I'm Too Sexy for My Cane

I have put pride aside and taken up my cane. Every time I leave the house or car, I now use a cane for walking. It sounds so easy, writing about using a cane - but it's one of those life passages that's far more difficult than it sounds.


It is taking a whole lot of humility to be reliant on my cane. I try not to let the looks of curiosity or, even worse, pity bother me. But they do. I try not to let the comments suggesting I'm older than I am, bother me.(Maureen, you know what I'm talking about!) But they do. I try not to let the comments of empathy or pity bother me. But they do.


And I realize the reason it bothers me is that not only am I schlepping the cane I'm still carrying my pride. Wounded pride, but pride nonetheless. I'm trying to leave it at home or just to throw it away all together. After all, it's a lot of baggage to lug around while holding onto a cane. I'm trying not to care about looks or comments or senior discounts. Trying a little each day.


The song that often plays over-and-over in my mind, while walking with my cane, is "I'm Too Sexy for My Cane". (The original song was, 'I'm too sexy for my shirt' - but this middle age woman is definitely sexier with the shirt on!! )
I digress. The point behind my singing that song is that I don't feel on the inside like I must look on the outside - reliant on the cane. I don't know anyone in mid-age that feels mid-age - we all feel like we're still 20- or 30-something. My feeling about the cane is similar to that dichotomy. On the inside, I still feel fairly young and sexy. On the outside . . . well that's a different story!!!


I don't write this for sympathy. Really. I just want you to know that the cane is a fact of life for me these days. I'm no different than I was two months ago when I didn't use the cane daily. And if you see me humming a little tune while walking along, you can bet your sweet bippy that it's "I'm too sexy for my cane, too sexy for my cane. Too sexy . . ." Just wink and smile!

Comments

Post a Comment

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...
5 comments
Read more

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...
4 comments
Read more

Hair today gone tomorrow

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching th...
5 comments
Read more