For some reason, we feel that using a cane or walking stick is giving in to our disease. That a walker is a sign of disability rather than mobility. And that a wheelchair has nothing but negative connotations (think: “wheelchair-bound”) — even though everyone I know who uses a wheelchair considers it just that: a thing you use, like a car, a bicycle, or public transportation to get from point A to point B.
What I Was Really Fighting: Not the Disease
For some reason — particularly early in dealing with multiple sclerosis progression — we wear our battle scars as a symbol of our grit and fortitude rather than seeing how forsaking mobility devices limits our movements and causes us to use more energy to less overall effect in the end. I myself waited until I couldn’t walk to the end of my street without being able to return before I started using a stick. The first time I took my new wooden friend for a stroll, we made it all the way around the block. I had been “fighting” the disease by not using the assistance I needed. The real casualty, however, wasn’t MS. Rather it was my physical fitness, my social life, and my sense of independence. I wasn’t fighting the disease at all. What I was fighting was my ego.
I Thought I’d Learned My Lesson …
I’d like to think that I’ve learned that lesson by now. But it would seem that even the preacher needs to hear the sermon now and again. I have used a rigid AFO when my foot drop gets particularly bad. It’s a thin, metal contraption that slides into my shoe and straps around my calf. Designed to keep my toes from catching on the slightest wrinkle in the earth and sending me plummeting, it is very effective at its job. But it can sometimes feel like overkill. When my ankle flexors are just a little bit weak, or if increased heat or humidity on a longer walk causes the symptom to worsen, it can feel like I’m taking a tank to a fistfight with MS. The AFO also doesn’t allow for any flex, so my already affected gait can become more of a spectacle. And it’s not a small object to pack “just in case.”
But No, Expert Advice Went in One Ear and Out the Other
My physiotherapist (the woman I see for other foot issues like orthotic arch supports and the like) has been suggesting a Dictus support for a number of years. I nodded and smiled, hemmed and hawed, and never pulled the trigger for all of the tried-and-failed reasons listed above. When yet another physiotherapist not only suggested it but also went to the cupboard, got one, and fitted it on my trainers while I was in hospital for my recent MS rehab week, I had to wonder: Why had I waited? Well, we know the answer to that. It would appear that I don’t listen to my own advice.
My New Device Has Been a Great Success
The device is lightweight and consists of a wrapping brace that secures above the ankle (under the leg of my trousers, so it’s discreet), two metal wire hooks that slip into the eyes of the shoelaces (which give varying amounts of support depending on how far down toward the toes they are inserted), and an elastic band that connects the two hooks to the brace. That’s it! I can even wear the brace and not attach the band to the hooks if I’m heading off for a walk and don’t require the assistance at the time. If while walking I feel the familiar sensation of lifting from the hip or hear the warning sound of my toes catching on the pavement, I simply stretch the band and loop it around the pre-placed hooks. I no longer skip walks because I might need the AFO (which isn’t all that comfortable for exercise walks). If the drop foot is significant enough before I head out, I attach the Dictus bands before I leave. It really is as simple and nonthreatening as grabbing a cane as I head out the door. It allows me to walk farther and more safely, which makes my neurologists, my physios, and, in particular, my wife far happier.
I Know What to Do; I Just Don’t Always Do It
I put off even trying a Dictus for reasons known to many of us who have to rely on an ever-expanding array of tools to help us through the day. What I should remember is the work they save. I mean, I know they do. I just have to remember that I know it. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
