Inconvinience
Now that I'm five years into limb loss, I have a pretty good idea of how to get around things that usually require two real legs. There isn't always a super easy solution to whatever stands between you and your activity of choice, but there is usually a way to make it happen. Sometimes, my bestie needs to carry me on her back. Other times, I need to hop to my destination on my one real leg and leave the fake one behind.
Microprocessor prosthetics aren't generally waterproof. Fake feet need sand particles shaken out of them, and some surfaces are crazy hard to walk on with a fake leg. Then there is the newest roller coaster at Universal Studios that requires you to "remove all prosthetic limbs before boarding" as they may fall off mid-ride. I often have to plan ahead or think through just how badly I want to do something that is probably going to be mighty inconvenient for me.
That's the thing though. At this point, it's just an inconvenience. It's not an earth-shattering disappointment. Time and perspective really does bring acceptance and healing. I don't hate being an amputee, honestly. Sure, sometimes it's super annoying to put on three layers before I take a step in the morning. There are a million other things I wish I didn't have to deal with that are just a regular part of limb loss, but five years in, I'm mainly used to all of it being a part of my life, and the steps I need to take to live my life to the fullest. The fake leg, the wheelchair, a battery charger, an alcohol spray bottle, some serious hydrocolloid bandages (for blisters), and the occasional help of a strong person allow me to go anywhere and do anything I can dream up.
A special thank you to the strong people in my life. Nappy and Jax, for literally holding me up and carrying me when necessary. I feel extra safe when you are around.
Lacey and Sarah, your valiant efforts to push my wheelchair while carrying your luggage and mine across a slanted ramp will forever be appreciated.
Mom- my Pilates queen. You lift my wheelchair into the trunk like it's made of paper. Thank you for your endless love and support.
Victor, where do I even start? You've picked me up in more ways than one. You've pushed me around in my chair and pushed me to do scary things. You never let me miss out and take on any inconvenience I face so that mine is lessened. You are simply the best partner a disabled or able-bodied girl could ever have, and as if all that wasn't enough, you are so damn fine.
