We’re learning to reframe mobility aids as freedom, not constraint

When my husband, Jared, was growing up, people in his community didn’t always speak kindly about mobility aids. Crutches, wheelchairs, and canes were often seen as signs of helplessness, things you turned to only when you’d run out of options. That perception stayed with him well into adulthood. He did use a wheelchair in school when absolutely necessary, but it never occurred to him that other tools — including canes or crutches — could be part of daily life with hemophilia.

But something shifted recently. After a fast-moving ankle bleed left him barely able to walk, Jared found himself torn between two instincts: rest and participation. He remembered a passage in an old hemophilia manual, which warned that muscles can start to atrophy after just 48 hours of immobility. That hit him hard. He didn’t want to sit out another weekend, wasting away while life went on without him. He wanted to be there — present, involved, and moving, even if a little differently.

So he asked me to head to the drugstore to buy him a pair of crutches. “I’ll figure it out,” he said.

The next day, we went to the mall for a small get-together — just us, some friends, and our daughter’s best friend. Jared moved slowly, but surely, supported by the crutches and wearing a pair of stiff mountaineering boots, which served as a makeshift cast for his bleeding ankle. We even made an impromptu stop at a café. People noticed. Some offered help. Jared politely declined. He appreciated the gesture, but he knew he had it under control.

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Recovery doesn’t have to mean stillness

Living with hemophilia means making daily trade-offs. Even walking from one room to another can take a toll during a bleeding episode. On good days, Jared moves around just fine. He can even play sports and lift weights! But on days when he’s recovering from an active bleed, mobility aids help bridge the gap between staying still and staying connected.

We’ve both come to see mobility aids as part of something we now call active recovery. Recovery doesn’t always mean complete bedrest for multiple days on end. Sometimes, it means showing up whenever one feels the slightest bit capable — just showing up a little differently. Bringing a crutch to a social gathering. Walking from room to room with the aid of a cane. Making space for the body to heal without shutting down completely.

It’s not weakness — it’s wisdom

There’s a quiet kind of strength in knowing when to ask for help, how to accept it, and, in the case of mobility aids, how to surrender to it. Jared now acknowledges that using mobility aids doesn’t have to mean surrendering his power. In fact, they’re quite the opposite! Nowadays, we both see them as empowering and strategic. And for someone whose life has long been shaped by unpredictability — from joint bleeds to seizures — a strategy can be a form of empowerment.

These tools don’t make him less of himself. They help him stay more of who he is — present, independent, and able to live on his terms. And if that means using a pair of crutches to get through a weekend with our daughter while nursing a bleed, so be it.

Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.