Tahirah Uqdah Falah ’96, is founder of the grassroots nonprofit MS Mommies, Inc., dedicated to new mothers (and couples) living with multiple sclerosis. This essay is about coming to terms with her diagnosis of MS at the age of 23 and having to periodically use a cane to walk. She now lives in Las Vegas with her husband and young son.
by Tahirah Uqdah Falah '96
I found myself in Walgreens on Friday looking at canes. I was kind of in a trance, staring at them thinking, “Will I need a cane? If so, when? Do I need one now?”
I held each of the different styles of canes in my hand. There was the fold-out cane, the aluminum cane, the contoured-handled cane. I found the maple-handled cane to be quite nice and I walked with it as far as the knee braces and Band-Aids. Next, was the metal quad cane with the four prongs on the end. That one was no good. I’d be so embarrassed if I tripped over one of the prongs. I think it would make me look more desperate than I was feeling. It might even make me look years older than I am. I mean, I’m only twenty-nine.
My mind continued to race… “Will I need a dress cane, a hiking cane, a formal one or a walking cane? Do they come in different colors?” I was not up on the latest cane couture.
The questions began again…“Can I get one to match my Louis Vuitton purse? If people see me with a cane will they think I’m hiking or maybe “Mr. Biggs” from the soul musical group the Isley Brothers?”
I did use a cane once, during my first experiences with Multiple Sclerosis. My neurologist gave me the ugliest, dark maple cane with an oversized black rubber tip. As I boarded a plane from Maryland to California for a visit with my sister, I struggled to reach my assigned seat. The flight attendant, in her most sincere voice said, “Aww, did you hurt your ankle?” I smiled, then lied and said, “Yeah”, as I tried to stuff the cane under the seat in front of me. I used that cane for about a month or two. It ended up in the trunk of my beemer.
Fast forward to April 2005… I stood at the doors of the chapel as the wedding coordinator told me and my dad to walk slowly down the aisle so everyone would have a chance to see us. The processional music began, the doors opened and my right leg immediately became stiff! I guess I was nervous. I hadn’t seen my fiancée in 24 hours and I didn’t know how I would make it all the way down the aisle without inciting wedding day rumors about the crippled bride. I held my dad’s arm as if my life depended on it. I walked as elegantly as I could in my white flat leather shoes.
Again, the questions began in my head, “Do I need a cane again, and this time, for how long?”
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