The Ankle Brace of Forgiveness

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Well, it has now been about a month since I sprained my ankle fighting off the Saracens (whom my landlord sent to check on our plumbing). So, among other things, I have not been doing any yoga and bloody little exercise other than walking and taking stairs Very Slowly Indeed. This means that I also haven’t needed to wear my hand brace for protecting my arthritic carpal bones. But I have been wearing the damn ankle brace instead and it has been annoying.

It seems odd to me the love/hate relationship we have with these kinds of mobility aids. I remember walking the dog with my mother one winter and watching her hack away at some ice in the sidewalk with her cane, and I realized she hates her cane as much as I hate my hand brace. I guess it is a resentment that we need something to do the stuff we used to do unaided.

On the other hand (as it were), being forced to slow down and pay attention to bumps in the sidewalk, which can be very painful at speed, is not necessarily a bad thing. A friend with a lot of invisible disabilities always used to remind me to listen to my body and go easier on myself, and the damn braces remind me for her.