June 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 3

This is a story about the transition from walking without assistance to a cane and how a walker lessened inhibitions, stereotypes, and false images. I was never a graceful child. Thus, the “G” in my name applies to my graceful way of seeing the world from a different viewpoint. The ground floor, you might say. Age increased the number of times I fell, slipped, tripped over real and imagined things as the light shifted, and found a solid object loving my nose, hands, or knees. I lost my naïve, virgin image when I fell in the middle of the street, and several people rushed to help, saying, “Are you all right, old woman?" Or, "Ma'am, do you need a hand up?” I wasn’t embarrassed but rather amused that Y2K was real and time had indeed stopped and messed with my life. The EMTs insisted I have my knee and arm checked, as they were concerned about possible fractures. My daughter was called as I was being examined and took me home with plenty of bandages and warnings not to fall again, get a cane, and call my primary. On Monday morning, I called my primary care provider. and was seen later that day. His first was to refer me to physical therapy and have me pick up a cane at the clinic’s pharmacy. I cried, I laughed, I fumed that four days after my 46th birthday I was considered old and frail, and I used the cane.

Over the last twenty-six years, I have averaged losing a cane every two years. Forgetting that I needed the cane. Until once again, I had a love affair with the ground, a wall, or any solid object. I have kept the current cane for six years, mainly because I transitioned to a walker sixteen years ago when diagnosed with idiopathic peripheral neuropathy. Here, I am very rough on walkers and make them work for their intended purpose, and I have broken at least one every three years. I am currently back to walking over a mile a day after being sidelined for two years with a lumbar burst fracture. Oh, the pain of screaming muscles is still there. Physical therapy has helped, but there is always one of those doubts with physical therapy, isn't there?

As I learned to maneuver the wheeled object, I found I generally outpaced my friends. The stability and freedom of knowing I probably would not fall increased my walking from a mile a day to five and sometimes six a day, often completing four miles in a sustained ramble. I do still occasionally forget to scan ahead of me and hit rough patches in the sidewalk, sometimes going to the ground as my walker goes on ahead of me. I carry my cell phone, and I have a fallen, I can’t get up button; however, physical therapy again has taught me how to fall and how to get up if I cannot reach something to get me to standing upright.

The most interesting thing about using a walker is that people older than me ask how I function. Of course, this was before I was a granny with white hair. I remember a time visiting a church, where an eighty-three-year-old woman asked if I would mind her borrowing IT IS Walker to see if her provider was correct about using a rollator would not hurt but would give her freedom. So, off she went. I sat there talking to the church members, and suddenly someone said, “We need to lock up.”

“Oh,” I said, "I seem to have misplaced my walker; one of your ladies took it for a spin and hasn’t come back yet. Is she trustworthy, or do I need to buy another?”

Then, she showed up beaming.

“Sorry, I stopped to chat with a few people who complimented me on my wise decision to leave my senior image behind and get rolling with a new look. I am going to ask my doctor for a walker. Thank you for sharing Christ’s love.”

This scenario happened often as I was driving a 22-foot RV. I would carefully go down my steps, grab IT IS Walker, and proceed to travel to where I needed to go. Seniors ask me how I functioned with wheels. In fact, going to church, I made a badge saying

Good morning. My name is Dianne, and this is my faithful assistant, IT IS Walker.

That rollator was from 2013, and now I have had two in my house. One is new but has lost one of its handle bolts, so the handle will not stay up. The other one I have had for about five years; I traded my heavier one, which was ordered because I was using a rollator outside and not only inside, like I was supposed to be in a care home and only using the wheels to go to the dining room or functions, for a lighter one I could easily heave into the car.

Today, I walk with my senior dachshund, who often rides in the basket, as he is thirteen and I am sure he has arthritis. We make an amusing pair as we ramble in our neighborhood every day.

The takeaway is I am not disabled; I am able to function. I just do not like having love affairs with inanimate objects, so I rely on assistance with a cane or walker.