Faceless Blog

The other day, as I lay in my hospital bed, recovering from the amputation of my right foot (and about half of my calf), I was visited by the Prosthetics Guy(tm).  He was dropping by to give me a brace for my leg that would make sure my knee didn’t get drawn up, which generally (apparently) only happens to older patients.  He was also kind enough to explain what was going to happen in the coming months as it pertains to me and prosthetics.  We talked about the exercises and conditioning I’d have to do on my leg to get it ready to handle a prosthetic.  It makes sense really, that part of the leg is not used to carrying your weight, so it needs to be toughened up a bit.  The end of your leg also needs to be coaxed into the right shape for your shiny new prosthetic.  He answered several important questions of mine.  No, I would not be getting what I’d been calling a “mannequin foot.”  (one of those carved rubber feet that looks like you stole it off of a mannequin)  No, your foot won’t be one of those crazy J feet you see on professional disabled track and field runners.  Those feet, not surprisingly, are designed specifically for track and field, you can’t really walk around in them.  He went on to explain all of the options in covering your leg, camouflaging it so that people wouldn’t be able to tell you were wearing a prosthetic at all.  This is where I stopped him.  “This is going to sound a bit odd,” I said to him, “but I’m from a community of people who, shall we say, is less impressed by a ‘normal’ leg, and wants to see my prosthetic.”  He laughed, and said that he’s been surprised that more and more people have been saying that same thing.  He then went on to explain options of carbon fiber feet, brushed aluminum support rods, etc.  I’ll have no problem, it would seem, making this foot a part of me.  That’s when it struck me, only part of this was the desire to make a cool, cybernetic foot.  The rest of it was similar to my desire to decorate and customize my wheelchair.  You have to own it.  When you’re handed a condition like this, you can fold up into self-pity and depression, or you can turn around and make it a part of you, like it really is.  The truth is, I don’t want to hide my prosthetic.  My prosthetic will be a badge of honor that I won in a war against cancer that lasted over two years.  I want people to know that having a fake foot is nothing to be ashamed of, any more than being in a wheelchair is…or was (shortly).  Personally, I guarantee that my foot is going to rock.