Even today, with all the wounded vets we’ve seen on the
news, we’re not accustomed to seeing people
with amputations.
What’s left, even after a non-violent and surgical
amputation really isn’t very pretty. The stump ends up looking like something
unfinished . . . something needing a bit more leg and a foot, to complete it. Suddenly
legs and feet became much more elegant to me, and no matter how hard I tried,
there was something incomplete about it until I tried on the test prosthesis.
Helpless, unable to even get to the bathroom of my own
volition. You can’t just jump out of bed and into a wheelchair, and I just
wasn’t strong enough to use a walker with one leg yet . . . Damn . . . the feeling sucks . . . you depend on the
nurse to sponge you down in bed, empty the plastic urinal and bedpan . . . And
kitchen personnel to bring me my meals for Christ’s sake.
You kick the sheets off, but they get tangled in your left
foot. The stump moves easily with no foot to weight it down, and it sure does
make leg-lifts easier, sans foot.
In the back of your mind, no matter how you’ve been hoping,
the nagging question remains: Will I be able to return home? It was a question
I’d pondered for weeks and weeks. Up and
down, feeling sorry for myself, then not so sorry. Negative, then positive,
often boosted emotionally by the nurses, nursing assistants and staff.
I don’t really know what I expected, but damn near to a
person, the staff at Dartmouth Hitchcock (and later rehab at Valley Regional)
was outstanding. Boy I have to tell you, that made a difference.
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