Tropical Amps

Celebrating Life as an Amputee

By: teresa Bryant

I've never been much for sports. Golf bores me and I never was too fond of going downhill fast, no matter how many skis I can use. I don't think you'll ever see me on a promotional poster, unless having seven children qualifies me for some type of athletic recognition. My support group certainly thinks it does. I prefer to express myself and celebrate my individuality as an amputee in a slightly different way, for which I have taken a bit of criticism lately.

A few years ago I decided that I was going to go a different route with my new above-knee prosthesis and instead of trying to make it look real, I was going to make it look as unreal as possible. I opted for a covering of iridescent peacock feather fabric, which earned me the unofficial title of “The Peacock Lady” at the 2001 Kansas City convention. I have had such a good time with this that I decided to do it again with the new leg I am having made this summer. I haven't decided on the fabric yet, but so far, the iridescent zebra stripe is the favorite.

I also enjoy a bit of good irreverent amputee humor and recently purchased a t-shirt that sported the saying, “Don't judge an amputee until you've walked a mile in his shoe.” This was when I began hearing that some might find this offensive and in poor taste. Not only that but some could not understand why I would want to draw attention to myself with my choice of sparkling, and admittedly tacky, coverings. I became an amputee at the age of ten, due to Ewing's Sarcoma, a particularly deadly form of childhood cancer. I then spent the next fifteen years trying to pretend that I wasn't an amputee, hiding myself in jeans even during the hottest summers. I never allowed myself to be who I really was, except in the company of family and only my most trusted friends. I was ashamed to be different, less than the “ideal” that was thrust in my face at every available opportunity by media images and in my real life. Those years were difficult as I passed through my teens and into young adulthood, even though I managed to find a wonderful husband and have several beautiful children. I hated who I was and hated myself for who I was not.

Everything began to change when I met a group of ladies, all amputees, who showed me what it was to live your life in the open for all to see. Some of them had other injuries to deal with, injuries that could not be hidden as easily as my prosthesis. Spending time with them and seeing how gracefully they endured sideways glances or outright stares made me realize that they weren't living their lives based on what others thought of them, but rather based on what they thought of themselves. At once I was ashamed of being ashamed of myself, and empowered to come out of hiding, which is exactly what I did. For the next eight years I lived freely and comfortably, dressing each day based on the weather and my own feelings, and nothing else. It wasn't easy taking that first walk outdoors each spring with my “imperfection” in full view, but it got easier and easier every time.

With my decision to stop trying to make the leg look real and to go the other direction into wild and outlandish, I achieved an entirely new level of freedom, and actually crossed the line into pure, unadulterated joy as an amputee. Instead of just accepting the fact that I was different, I decided to go a step further and even celebrate in it. This is the part that confounds many people. How can I dare say that I ENJOY being an amputee? Well, what is the option if I don't enjoy it? I can be miserable and depressed, still hiding myself and being ashamed of the fact that I'm not like everyone else, and yet, I would still be an amputee. Do you see how irrational this is?

My irreverent humor and wildly decorated legs are a slap in the face to the cancer that tried to take my life. It is my way of celebrating, in total freedom and in public view, that I am alive. If some don't understand or believe that I should be respectfully mournful and sad for the rest of my life, then they have a distorted view of disabled people, or at least of this “disabled” person. Of course there is a period of adjustment for a new amputee, and the grieving process with all the stages it entails is a necessary part of that. But for every amputee, there eventually comes a day when it is time to decide whether you are going to let yourself be defined for the rest of your life by what you have lost or whether you are going to create your own definition of yourself with all that remains.

It took me fifteen years to make the journey, but I am here now, and there's no way I'm going back. Rather than forever mourning the person we used to be, why not take a chance and celebrate the person we are today? Even though your battle may not be over and even though no one knows what tomorrow may bring, today, at this very moment, you are alive and victorious! That, my friend, is definite cause for celebration! Cancer, diabetes, injury, or any number of other things can take our limbs from us, but nothing can take our joy. That can only be surrendered willingly. I, for one, refuse to surrender and I also refuse to be satisfied with merely surviving. I would much rather live with a vengeance, and a little flare.

I love to see amputees express their passion for living, whether it's on the slopes, on the golf course, or by trying to win the most bizarre prosthesis award. I had hoped to have my new leg in time to show it off in Nashville, but unfortunately it wasn't quite ready. Its debut will just have to wait for Dallas next year. I'm not sure whether the sparkly zebra stripes will ultimately win, or if I'll find something even more eccentric and glittery, but either way, I'm sure you'll be able to find me. I'll be the one laughing my head off and loving every minute of it.