Hey. How are ya? You good? Good, good. Glad to hear it.
Me? No, not good at all, really. Y'see, today makes it four years since my left foot was amputated. So, yeah. Not a great day.
I've already told the tale. How my growing concerns post-op on my left foot were dismissed, only to discover a fissure had opened up on the sole of my foot. But in a way, I was lucky. I had just over a year to grow accustomed to the idea that I'd lose the foot. A lot of other people have that kind of thing come as a surprise. I have an ex who was told she had to lose her leg, and that she didn't have much time to decide. The osteogenic sarcoma (cancer) in her knee was VERY aggressive. In fact, in the short time she thought about it and finally agreed, the cancer had moved another inch and a half up her thigh. They ended up taking 90% of her left leg.
Facebook brings up the memories from that time of my life, and I was a psychological mess.
20 Oct 18: The tears are starting to come much easier now. I was never going to lose a foot because such things would never happen to ME. Amputation was for OTHER diabetics. And while I've had quite a few scares, it was always a bullet I'd successfully dodged. Not this time. Last night, while simply sitting here, I could "feel" the foot gone. Not post-op pain, as that seemed to be beyond the realm of my imagination. I was simply imagining my foreleg coming to a sudden stop mid-way.
Two days later...
22 Oct 18: My nurse after getting a blood pressure of 112 over 68: "You are Spicoli levels of chill."
I don't know. Maybe it was an acceptance of my fate. Maybe it was only a brief calm amidst the storm of emotions I was experiencing. I knew my life was about to change radically, I just didn't know exactly how.
Well, I found out. Tasks that were so simple became tests of balance and endurance. In the hopes that my friends would understand, I would give them a simple challenge: make a sandwich from start to finish on only one foot. That is, from the moment they entered the kitchen to the moment they sat down to eat the sandwich, do it without their raised foot EVER touching the floor. If the raised foot touched the floor, it counted as a hard fall. No one ever reported back if they'd tried it. Maybe they only imagined it and thought that was enough.
Because I lived through that challenge for six solid months, it's no wonder I was so excited to be able to do dishes when I got home with my first prosthetic. Seriously, when I got home, I dropped off all of my prosthetic supplies in my room, and then immediately went to the kitchen to do the dishes.
The exciting life of an amputee.
And then there was THIS annoyance:
This seemingly innocuous picture is of me trying to cross my legs. Four years later, I still can't adjust to the idea that crossing my legs shin-to-calf is an impossibility unless I'm wearing my prosthetic.
I'm sorry there isn't any humor in this post. I usually try to crack wise at least once, but this one's just too hard. Maybe next time.
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