duskwatcher

August had brought me the aftermath of two oral surgery sessions, a flu joined at the hip with a nasty cough, and, just when I thought I could let out a sigh of relief, a sprained ankle on the very last day of the month.

By day two of the sprain, I came to terms with the fact that clinging to walls and furniture like some big lizard whenever I had to go anywhere just won't do. I sent out for a cane. And a few hours later, I had me a P95 rattan walking stick that, perhaps in the effort to make things more interesting, was varnished in a tan shade then embellished with black stripes.

It looked like a tail chopped off a bamboo tiger.

Still, a cane is a cane. It didn't make much sense to get one of those expensive aluminum or steel sticks for something I'll be needing for two weeks tops.

It serves its purpose.

Aside from helping me walk, the cane is as excellent visual aid for the herds of Makati office workers -- it alerts them not to trample the limping guy in their stampede to their offices. It restrains them from pushing me down the underpass stairs I have to descend a step at a time. It serves as a reminder that I actually have a reason for taking time in reaching elevator doors.

Plus, it also earned me the (temporary, of course) nickname Dr. House.