The Right Stuff

Someone asked me if I had braces.

Alas, no. I don't.

The answer to "why not?" is very simple: I've been unemployed for over eight months. I have perhaps two months' worth of expenses in my bank accounts and then I'm skint. If you do a little research on KAFOs, do the math. The ones with all the bells and whistles that I want would add up to about $2500 - $3000.

There are many, many things I could do with that much money and none of them involve stainless steel uprights and leather cuffs.

Besides, I can't find the right shoes I want with them. If I could find them, I would buy them and wear them. It would mean something to me.

I have two pairs of crutches. One pair reaches to just under my armpits. The other is a pair of forearm crutches and as I've mentioned, when put to hard use, they don't fit me and leave bruises on my forearms. Still, I'm grateful to have them.

This past week, I went shopping in thrift stores and found a pair of shoes. These aren't the shoes, but they're an acceptable substitute. They appear to have been made on a straight last. They are black and boxy and ugly. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I used to walk three miles every day in 3 1/2" heels.

I bought the shoes, in a rush because the store was closing.

When I got home, I discovered their subtle charms. For one thing, they have very thick orthotics in them. The orthotics are removable. With the orthotics in them, they are the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn. If I leave the orthotic in one and take out the other, I instantly have a shorter leg. I've been able to make the taller shoe even higher. Somehow, I feel that it's necessary.

It's funny to me that I'm exploring this. I allow myself to slowly feel around for what feels right.

My long-repressed image of my body is an L2 - L4 polio para. Because I did such an excellent job of repressing this for so many years, I wonder if there's anything else I forgot. So I ask myself questions - arm amputations? And I'll go around for a day at home with one hand behind my back. I know fairly quickly what fits and what doesn't.

It's somehow reassuring that I keep coming back as that initial version of myself. Somehow it says that this is real.

With the exploring, I feel like I'm advancing. Having the right equipment, no matter how cobbled together - isn't that what most people have to do, anyway? - matters greatly to me.

There is a good chance that I'll be getting a wheelchair. I want this so much that I can't think about it for too long, knowing my thoughts would be completely taken up by it.

That, I think, will help, too, and I'm looking foward to the day.