Tag: amputation

  • Corona Diary: Social

    SIP Day 64, wearing a black tank and brown linen pants; 85 degrees outside; writing from the living room sofa before I head to bed.

    Today held lots of socializing:

    • A socially-distant in-person dropoff of tomato plants that I grew from seed, to a friend
    • A neighbor dropping in to chat about sourdough starter with Stijn, and to share some special flour
    • A phone call with a Quaker-Friend
    • A breakfast conversation with my daughter

    I also got several tasks completed on my To Do list:

    • stripped, sanded, stained, and applied a new coat of varnish to the wooden handle of my favorite canoe paddle
    • cleaned, sanded, and applied a coat of varnish to our outdoor dining table
    • graded most of the final assignments for History class I taught this past Spring
    • chatted with Stijn about some garden priorities while he fixed the sprinklers and hand-watered the tomatoes with fish emulsion

    Thirty-six years ago today I learned that I had osteosarcoma and that my leg would be amputated. I still remember laying awake in bed that night, so many thoughts running through my head and not being able to sleep. I snuck back out of bed and wrote and wrote in my diary until my handwriting got big and loopy and drifted off the page. It was such overwhelming and impossible-to-believe news then and now when I think about it, it still seems too sad and hard to have actually happened to me.

  • sweat

    sweat

    photo of two feet, one is normal and one is roboticWhile boarding a plane in Dallas last week a man stopped me and asked if I was an amputee. This question, asked by a stranger, often makes me wary.  My reflex is to cut off contact with the stranger as soon as possible because it’s my experience that I will then be stuck listening to that person tell me about every amputee that they know and about every news story that they’ve seen about amputee Olympians.

    This time, though, went a bit different. Rather than explaining his question, he pulled up his pantleg and showed me his hardware. We were two of a kind. We spoke in our own lingo, confirmed that we were both RAKs and started talking technology. He has the latest and greatest knee, one that I will never qualify for because they are only available to ex-military. I had to stifle the urge to run my hand along his calf as I admired the sleek look of his knee and ankle joints.

    We walked on to the plane and found we were seated a few rows apart. We kept talking, standing in our seats and speaking across the seats that divided us.

    Two minutes in and we were talking sweat. He lives in Texas and I in SoCal. We agreed that there was no technology that could help as walk better as long as there was sweat–it causes our prostheses to slip and twist and slowly slide off of our bodies.

    “I pour out cupfuls every day,” he said.

    “Me too, and no prosthetist really listens to that issue, they keep telling me that if I was wearing my leg correctly, I shouldn’t be sweating so much,” I shared.

    As the plane filled I shared with him my best advice, these spendy sweat blocker towlettes that I order online and that made walking in Rome and Pompeii possible. I also use them when we have a heatwave, which allows me to survive the workday without having to pour sweat out of my socket every few hours. He hadn’t tried them, but he said he would.

    We exchanged business cards and promised to keep in touch.

    I turned around and sat down.  As I fastened the belt and adjusted the position of my fake foot underneath the seat in front of me, I marveled at how satisfying it is to be seen by someone who lives life like me. I don’t even remember his name now, but we shared more in that brief conversation than I have with many people close to me. And somehow it’s a comfort to know that my problems with sweat aren’t just mine, but that he shares them.

    Save