Something has to be done about this ridiculous walk,” I say to the doc, during one of our encounters at the UBC clinic. I told him that it swings and flops down while my ankle twists while my foot strikes the ground.
He looks at me and smiles while formulating his response. He’s an intelligent guy with all the resources at his fingertips. The highly evolved scientific community have put a man on the moon, I’m sure there’s a formula to keep my left leg from dancing to its own awkward tune.
The doc mentions a couple different drugs and possible benefits.
“Nope,” I respond, “I’ve tried them and all I got was dizzy and lethargic.”
We go into the hall so he can study my walk with a bit more detail.
“Perhaps you may benefit from a brace on your ankle,” he said after watching my leg flop around. He makes an appointment for me to see a different neurologist who specializes in movement. I really hate twisting my ankle so I’m now looking forward to a brace to steady things up.
I arrive at my appointment where I’m greeted by Dr. Underwood. She takes me into the back and introduces me to an orthotics specialist. The specialist reminded me of Pinocchio’s master Geppetto. Seeing this team gave me some comfort. He had the appearance of a guy who could build anything with nothing but toothpicks. She was the brains behind the operation.
They wanted to watch me walk. Happy to oblige, I walk up and down the short hallway. I notice the looks upon their faces on my fourth pass. He with his hand to his chin and furrowed brow. She appeared confused by what she saw in my walk. They quietly whispered and pointed at nothing while they spoke.
I was invited back into the exam room. I sat, they stood over top of me.
“This is it,” I thought. “They have met their match. I’m the challenge who will set them up for a Nobel Prize.”
“We don’t think a brace will do you any good,” she said, as he looked at my ankle with his hand firmly grasping his chin.
Then she tells me of a device that will assist with my walk, and over time, may improve it. She left the room for a short period of time and returned with a package. Inside was a Bioness device that was invented to help people with foot drop. Or, in my case, a swinging foot.
She pulls it out of the package. The system consists of several pieces that include a bulky main controller and several probes. I take off my left shoe, and she sets the instrument up. While pulling out the device’s manual she goes through the set up. I watch with much interest as she thumbs through the manual. She attaches probes to my shoe while the bulky device is attached near my knee. I slip my shoe on with the probes attached. She strategically attaches a couple more probes at nerve points on my lower leg.
While watching this unfold I’m thinking this has to work well for the bulk of the device. I tighten my shoe and step down on the floor. She turns the device on and instructs me that the device will send electrical impulses down my leg to encourage proper movement. The device is activated by movement. Lift the foot and an impulse will shoot down the leg to encourage movement.
She asks me to take a step. I do. Nothing happens. No electrical impulse.
The doc admits that she was at a conference about a year ago where she learned how to operate the device. We fiddle with the device for the next twenty minutes, and finally come up with the right combination to give this device the juice it needs.
I slip my shoe on, tie it firmly, and step to the floor. The doc turns it on and reminds me that it is activated by movement. There’s a setting on the device for strength of impulse that ranges from one to ten. Five is recommended for first use.
I move my foot.
I’m quickly transported back to my youth. It was on the farm where I was dared to touch the electrified cattle fence. I was probably ten at the time, and skeptical that the fence was electrified. I grabbed on to the fence with both hands wrapping the metal wire between the barbs. I’ll prove that there’s no electricity in the fence. That’s the moment in time I learned to hate the effects of electricity on the human body. The jolt went into my body, wrapped through my shoulders, down my back, through my feet, back up to my shoulders straight to my brain. I held on to the fence. My brain stopped. I tried to let go of the fence. My hands failed me. Finally, I let go. I have never touched an electrified fence since.
Now the fence is in my shoe, and reacts upon my movement. I can’t walk away from this fence. As soon as I lift my foot, the electrical (lets call it stimulation) kicks my left leg up. My brain has to bring it back down. The stimulation was powerful. The doc knocked the power down to one. Even with that is still too much. We turn it off and remove the device and probes. She doesn’t have a unit I can take home to take for a trial run, but tells me where I can purchase the device and have it properly fitted.
I think I’ll just get a scooter.
On The Road With MS 