I bought the carved wooden cane from Dagfields Crafts and Antiques in Nantwich. It was fancier than my everyday mobility aid, and I walked down the aisle with it. My wedding day was hot, with blue skies. I stood at the top of a flight of 23 steps down to the arbor my brother crafted, Lake Erie beyond. My father took the cane in his right hand, my arm in his left. Most of our guests hadn’t seen me in my new, less-able body. Smiling, radiant, in white lace, attempting to look natural, I silently recited, “don’t trip, don’t trip.”