In Sickness and In Health

Sometimes when we go someplace that isn't conducive to the walker, D helps me walk and we leave the wheeled contraption in the car. For example, Jimmie Cone, the local soft-serve ice cream place, is essentially a shack surrounded by a bunch of beat-up old picnic tables under a huge, gnarled, old tree, whose massive roots make the ground all around bumpy and uneven. When we go to Jimmie Cone, D walks me over to a table first, then goes with the kids to the window to order our cones. We did the same thing at our anniversary dinner; Tio Pepe's has a ton of ambiance, but it's situated in an old basement space. The tables are on top of each other and there really isn't any foyer at all. That time, it was even dicier because D had to walk me from the parking lot across a busy city street, then down the stairs into the restaurant and to our table. The swimming pool at home is the same way -- I need help from the lounge chair to the pool steps. I'm sure some less-than-observant people see this and think I'm just unnaturally attached to my husband as I cling to his arm, or maybe they think I'm an agoraphobe or someone raised by wolves who is petrified by her first glimpse of civilization. I actually think that when we do this, it's kind of hard to tell that my problem is with walking, as opposed to fear of some kind.

Stop for a moment and try to imagine what it would be like if you literally couldn't walk from here to there without the physical support of somebody else.

Myself, I have mixed feelings about it. Specifically, what I do is walk beside him, holding his hand with my closest hand and grasping his upper arm with my other hand -- so I am clinging to him as if he were a lamppost, maybe. Most of the time, I'm really only focussed on nagging at him to slow down or whatever. Sometimes, though, walking this way sends me into a trance thinking about what a metaphor for marriage it is; you take turns holding each other up, and there is no question that you'll get the support you need. Once, it made me think of our wedding. When I was walking down the aisle, I was scared to death for some reason -- probably my natural fear of commitment. When I got up to the altar, without really giving it any conscious thought, all I wanted to do to ease my fear was to grab on to D's hand and not let go. I knew I'd be safe. When I realized that's how I felt, I knew I was marrying the man for me. Every time I walk with D now, I know I was right.