Moving Right Along

We can't all be as cool as Tammy Duckworth...

...but if you live in the Sixth District of Illinois, you can vote for her today.  I hope you will give her your vote, so that after she fulfills her promise and serves you as passionately, responsibly, and effectively as it looks like she means to, she might someday run for a national office so that I can vote for her, too.

Don't vote for her because she's an amputee or a war veteran, even though it is precisely these facts of her life which have made her available to represent you in Congress at this time.  Vote for her because she has character, which it looks like she had plenty of before she got her legs blown off in Iraq, even though lots of us out here in the public at large might not otherwise have discovered this quite so soon about her.  It's not about the double amputation, you see, or the war record, though they have revealed her dramatically.  It's about her appearing to have always been the kind of person not afraid to look scary bad stuff in the eye and fight it, physically as well as intellectually, and not to let even personal loss on a daunting scale stop her or end her drive to be of service to others.

Vote for Tammy Duckworth because it looks like she's smart, brave, and really seems to care about you in her district, what you really need and want, as well as the health and future of the country at large.  Vote for her because her "Outrageous Earmark of the Week" is not only hilarious and audacious, but a very interesting dialog starter.  Vote for her because it seems as though she listens and thinks, and because she frames her thoughts on national arguments in terms of you, what she's heard you say you want and need, and what she's seen firsthand.

I've got more to say about her, and about the symbolism and sheer phenomenon of her in this race, and I may amend this post later to include it.  But for now, the polls are open in a lot of places, and you need to get to yours if you haven't already, not sit around reading blogs.

Naturally, I've already been to mine (she said smugly).

Good luck, and wherever you are and whatever races you may be looking at, may the wisest, strongest, bravest, most responsible, and most compassionate candidates win.

Open Mind, Open Eyes, Open Heart

This extremely moving NPR story has nothing to do with amputation in particular, but everything to do with life.  This is about the power of being open to the possibility of solutions, and of change within yourself, even when other people have told you it would be wiser to close off a hope forever. 

Listen, and enjoy:

Going Binocular: Susan's First Snowfall

A toughie:

In the last 24 hours, two different people have found this site using the following search queries:  "How can one get along with both legs amputated?" and the much more difficult -- and heart-rending -- "multiple+amputee+how+life."

I am going to assume when answering these queries that the people asking are either recent multiple amputees, people facing multiple amputations, or people with loved ones suffering or facing multiple amputations, not just curious onlookers.  But regardless, to answer the question honestly?  I don't know.   People do get along without legs, though, and without even more.  They just do.

Hey, I didn't know how people got along/lived with just one leg amputated until I was faced with the choice of living that way myself and decided to go ahead and find out.  And yes, as I've said before, it was a choice.  My other choice was dying.  This choice, whether to continue or not, is always there, for anyone, amputated or whole, and it's a choice we each must ultimately make for ourselves (and some people actively make it on a daily basis), even though others may feel qualified to make the choice for us and will not hesitate to tell us what they think our choice should unquestionably be.  We have to each pick it for ourselves, though, or else it doesn't stick. 

Sure, part of my decision to go ahead and try living this way was that I didn't relish forcing the people who love me to suffer through my impending slow, painful decline into utter uselessness and then death.  No, asking that of them was not reasonable.  Still, though, I truly do love my life and want to keep it as long as I can function.  I did what you're doing, looked around to see if there was any way to tell in advance whether it would be possible for me to keep my life -- what I really thought of as my life when it came right down to it -- without my leg.  That's how I decided to go forward even though I was sad and afraid.  So hey, good for you for asking.  You're on the right track.  Keep asking, not just this question but every question you can think of.  Questions are a sign of hope, the expressed desire for information, for answers, for guidance along a path forward.

I still don't know how people live with fewer limbs than I have, and I certainly hope I never have to find out firsthand.  I can guess from my own limited experience with limb loss and from talking with several multiple amputees I know that it starts with making the choice to try.  After that, it's simply a matter of figuring out how, just like it has been for me.  So my first recommendation, once you decide that you, too, want to try, is that you narrow the scope of your search. 

Think about what makes you sad to be an amputee, what you think you've lost or will lose.  Think about what you'd like to keep or get back, no matter what, in terms of activities and skills.  Think about what makes your life worth living besides just not being dead.  Then change your search language to "amputee+[fill in the blank]."  You can put anything in that blank, whether it's golfing or skydiving or gardening or jogging...  Anything, really.  Origami.  Skipping rope.  Animal husbandry.  Eating lunch.  Just because you will have to learn to do it differently than you used to or than you anticipated when you dreamt of doing it before does not mean you won't be able to do it.  And if you can't find the answers, narrow your search even further and build your own answer skill by skill.  Of course, it's even better if you have someone who can show you, a physical therapist, occupational therapist, prosthetist, or even another amputee -- or all of them, the more the merrier.  Don't be afraid to ask them.  They may not know the answer, but it might be really great for them to help you figure it out -- and then they can show others, as can you.

Here are links to information about some people who've made the choice to go ahead and live with two or fewer limbs.  Some of them I've posted links about before in some way or other, but maybe when you look at them all together with yet others they will present a coherent picture of what might be possible for you, or for the loved one you're worrying about.

Ronan Tynan, M.D., a champion disabled athlete, physician and celebrated tenor

Andrew Bateson, a teenage hockey player even after bilateral amputation below the knees

David Toole, a world-famous dancer with no legs

Maria, a 26-year-old traumatic bilateral transfemoral amputee, mother of two small children, starting a new business out of her home in El Salvador, with a little financial assistance

Max Cleland, an activist for peace after serving as U. S. Senator, after losing both legs and part of an arm in Viet Nam

Dr. Ken Rutherford, author, consultant, speaker, activist, bilateral amputee via landmine

These are just a few people who have survived multiple amputation and gone on to start building meaningful lives.  So look, yeah, it is possible to live -- really live -- with two or fewer complete limbs.  Is it tougher than living with all of them?  You know, it's certainly more challenging than anything I've ever had to do, or anything I ever hope to face, but I have observed that ultimately concepts of ease and success really depend on each person who encounters each challenge.  Some people have a hard time living with every physical part intact.  And some people blossom in the face of increased adversity, though I really don't recommend seeking it out.  (Adversity has a way of finding us whether we look for it or not.)

But...is it fun?  Can a person this physically damaged even have fun?  Well, again, that really depends on the person.  Everybody has to give stuff up.  It's part of life.  We lose each other.  We lose pieces of ourselves both hidden and obvious.  Some losses are more obvious to the outside world than others, and some make many of the physical acts comprising existence more complicated than others.  Ultimately, we will each give up life itself.   Can you know this and still be happy?  Can you still somehow manage to have fun even after horrible, permanent, potentially crippling physical loss on a scale few people experience before death? 

Yes, eventually.  Or immediately.  Regardless of your physical status, sometimes joy is easy, but sometimes it can only come to you after you've decided it's worth working for.   You might want to leave yourself open, either way.

On my list of people who give me an inkling what I can do if I bother to try:

Sarah Reinertsen

I barely knew it was possible for above-knee amputees to run before I saw her on the cover of the December Runner's World at my store.  I certainly had no idea we could run this well. 

Sarah doesn't just run.  She competes with "ordinary" people in triathlons, like the Ironman Challenge in Hawaii.  She thrills me (though I frankly covet the fit of her socket).  Seeing her on that magazine cover made me start teaching myself to run again, not competitively or anything 'cause that's never been my bag, but, you know, just well enough to chase the neighbor's dog back into her yard if she gets loose or to escape danger if I ever encounter any.  (Hey, don't laugh!  It could happen!  Or maybe I'll drop a bagel sometime and have to catch it before it rolls away.  Okay, I admit it; that really is more likely.)

I've been practicing with the shopping carts at work, using them as sort of wheeled walkers -er- "runners," I guess, to support me while I got used to going faster and faster.  (And it worked pretty well except when my fake foot kept hitting one of the wheels instead of the ground...but that happens when I shop, too.)  Yesterday, even though I looked like a total dork doing it, I even started trying without anything to hold me up at all.  My prosthetic is too short, I don't have a spring-like fake foot, and I am not innately graceful, so it will be awhile before my pitiful hopping and flapping resembles actual running, but hey, it's a start, and I owe it all to Sarah Reinertsen.

By the way, while you're there, you might as well check out the Össur site if you never have.  I don't have any Össur equipment, but while researching my options prior to amputation, theirs was almost the first site I came upon, and that month the cover story was about a woman who'd climbed a mountain using a foot of theirs. The picture on the home page of the website was of that woman, just about my age, I think, standing on top of that mountain in shorts and her prosthetic limb, facing away from the camera and off into a gorgeous vista. That picture alone, with all the promise it implied, was enough to make me strong enough to go forward, get more information, and even go through with my surgery, which I'd sworn to two surgeons just hours before that I'd rather die than undergo.

And if you need another boost, try this place:  Challenged Athletes Foundation.  The kid on the home page right now, eight-year-old Rudy Garcia Tolson, won gold in the 2004 Paralympics running on two above-knee prosthetic legs. His motto?  "A brave heart is a powerful weapon.”

You said it, kid.  Rock on.

On my list of people who remind me to get off my butt and move:

David Toole dances with no legs.