Why My Crutch Has a Name

My crutch’s name is Molly Stick. First name Molly, last name Stick. I’ve found this to be quite a good personality test. People tend to react in three distinct ways.

1)      They totally get it. Their own car or phone probably has a name, and there is absolutely no question in their mind as to why Molly has a name. I like these people a lot.

2)      The idea of naming inanimate objects is foreign, but they’re willing to go along with it, much like they would when indulging a small child's imaginary friends. They’re easy to recognise by the slight hesitation every time they use the name ie. Do you need… “Molly”… Stick? They do tend to write “Molly Stick” in quotation marks as well. These people are really sweet for trying, though I do always wonder if they secretly think I'm an idiot.

3)      They find concept of naming inanimate objects very weird and it makes them uncomfortable. They generally refer to Molly as “your stick thingie” or some variation of such. It’s very tempting to start naming other random objects around these people just to confuse them – “And this is my door handle, Susan… and my cushion, Barry…”

Last week wasn't the best week. It started out okay, but then there was an incident involving a trestle table, and my arm getting mangled when I tried to put it up by myself. I’m not entirely sure how I thought that was going to end – me getting mangled is kind of the only logical conclusion to that scenario – but these things happen, so I’m trying hard not to be too pissed off with myself. Unfortunately, to complicate things further, it was the side I use Molly Stick on, so she had the week off while the swelling in my arm went down.

I always thought it was stupid when people said things like: “I feel naked without my (insert object of importance to them)” but that's exactly how I felt about going out without Molly. I’m normally pretty good at faking confidence when talking to people, but I discovered feeling unsteady, and physically unsure of myself, brought my natural shyness out of hiding. It also didn't help that it was a particularly unsteady week as, after several months of being fine, my legs lost the plot on Thursday and started spazzing out again. I'd been getting signs that this was heading my way for a while. I'd had some unusual muscle spasms in my arm the Friday before, and I'd been feeling generally unwell all week. But living in denial is way more fun than accepting you're heading towards a flare, especially as I knew it was going to be harder to deal with without Molly!

Five or so years ago, when I first started needing a crutch, I felt pretty resentful towards the whole thing. It was hard not to see it as losing independence, mobility, youth… all of that stuff. I was reading Diana Wynne Jones’ Howl’s Moving Castle at the time, and I really liked the relationship the main character, Sophie, has with her walking stick. She talks to it, treating it as not only a physical support, but also a companion/moral support, and, as the story progresses, as a magic wand – it is Diana Wynne Jones after all! I decided to try doing the same thing, treating my stick as a friend, that is. It worked. I felt better about it, and I've referred to her by name ever since.

A few months ago, Molly started falling apart. I’ve had to replace a couple of parts, and she’s now sporting some lovely blue electrical tape (Kiwi ingenuity at it’s best!) One of my friends suggested it's time to think about replacing her, and I surprised both of us by getting choked up at the idea. Molly really has become a friend, and the idea of losing her is as hard to accept as it once was to accept her place in my life at all. I've realised Molly isn’t the thing taking away my mobility or independence – she's the one giving it back to me. 

Thanks for reading,
Little Miss Autoimmune