There are some words and terms I never thought would apply directly to me.
Amputation. Stump. Prosthetic leg. Bedpan.
Turns out, as time goes by, you can sometimes find yourself facing, or experiencing, these sorts of concepts. (I didn't actually have to face the bedpan ... but there was one there, in the room, mocking me).
Three weeks ago I had my right leg amputated just below the knee. I asked for this to happen. In fact, I pressured my doctor to speed up the date of the operation, once I told him I wanted to have it done. I bent him to my will, and he moved the date up by a week.
Why would I do this? Had I succumbed to the ultimate absurdity ... a desire to disfigure myself for no good reason?
I'll try to nutshell the reason. I asked for the amputation because I have spent almost 9 years dealing with the fallout and domino effect of learning I have a genetic nerve disorder called 'Hereditary Sensory Autonomic Neuropathy' (HSAN) Type 1. This inherited thing lurks within genes (mostly men) and surfaces on or about the age of 40.
My HSAN erupted at the age of 42. It desensitizes extremeties (feet usually, sometimes hands; other Types can include hearing and eyesight). My feet rapidly went numb, and while mountain biking, I broke my right foot (several hairline fractures) and didn't feel it happen. After walking around on a broken foot for a month, the foot swelled and the toes and bones started to mutate in unusual and absurd directions.
It took some time to find out I had HSAN Type 1 ... a neurologist had to look it up, it's that rare. It also took a lot of time for me to come to terms with what the follow-on effects are, and how I went from "It'll get better, I can deal with this" to "Can we hurry up and amputate this leg NOW?"
Follow-on fun with HSAN and a broken bone include weird bone mutations, and massive infections. This meant lots (20+) hospital stays to fight the infections with IV drips and surgeries. And a steady diet of anti-biotics.
Somewhere around June 2010, I noticed I was suffering from what felt like low-grade flu symptoms. The big red flag that had previously heralded the need to be hospitalised was high-grade flu symptoms (raging fever, chills). By August, these low-grade ones hadn't gone away, nor gotten worse ... a GP visit punted me over to my usual orthropaedic surgeon, and after a few tests and a consultation with the ominously-named Infectious Diseases doc, it seems anti-bees no longer work on this infection.
The leg needed to come off. It didn't take me long to decide to make it so.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Who in the what now? What is '5 Foot 19'?
Hi. The title of my Blog is one of many "snappy answers to inane questions" I like to whip out when asked. The inane question in this case is "How tall are you?"
This question is usually asked by people who have just met me – usually within the first 30 seconds. My answer is "Five foot 19." I then like to give the inquisitor a few seconds to comprehend what I've done, then I follow with: "Come on, do the math!" (The answer is: I'm 6'7").
Most can eventually figure it out. Of course, some faster than others. For the fast ones, I sometimes follow with: "Wow, high school wasn't wasted on you!"
The umbrella idea here is: I love absurdity. I find absurd things, people and scenarios fascinating. I like how a question like "What's that on your face?" or "Who dressed you this morning?" or "Just what in the hell is wrong with you?" are usually off limits between people who just met. But "How tall are you?" is perfectly acceptable. A person may have a gigantic mole on their face, be wearing excessively bizarre clothing, or be behaving like a drunken monkey blazed on magic mushrooms. Most folks wait a bit before weighing in on querying about those sorts of things.
Another thing I like to do when asked: "How tall are you?" is answer: "Six foot seven". Then I immediately ask: "How much do you weigh?" The smart ones instantly 'get' the situation. It's the same sort of question. But unless the person asking me how tall I am is male and in great physical shape, most people (women and fat bastards, in particular) think "How much do you weigh?" is going too far.
So I'll be blogging about the absurdities I regularly encounter.
I just recently agreed to (in fact, asked for) the amputation of my right leg, below the knee. After an 8+ year battle with the collateral damage following on from discovering I have a rare genetic nerve disorder, I finally went for the option my doctor suggested a few times over the years.
My first concept for this blog is to chronicle how this is going for a first timer (first major limb amputation!), and the things I note as unusual or absurd that have ensued.
As I launch this blog, it's been three weeks to the day since the amputation.
I'll start a sort of running diary about that, but along the way, I'll interject with any other absurdities that materialise.
Oh, and note I didn't say "welcome" at the top. I hate websites and blogs that start out "Welcome to [insert blog name here]". Who would start such a thing and NOT want people to start reading and feel welcome?
(Now there's an idea for a bizarre blog: "Go away, you're not welcome, don't read this! I'll sue if you do!")
It's two days before Hallowe'en. Let's get scary.
This question is usually asked by people who have just met me – usually within the first 30 seconds. My answer is "Five foot 19." I then like to give the inquisitor a few seconds to comprehend what I've done, then I follow with: "Come on, do the math!" (The answer is: I'm 6'7").
Most can eventually figure it out. Of course, some faster than others. For the fast ones, I sometimes follow with: "Wow, high school wasn't wasted on you!"
The umbrella idea here is: I love absurdity. I find absurd things, people and scenarios fascinating. I like how a question like "What's that on your face?" or "Who dressed you this morning?" or "Just what in the hell is wrong with you?" are usually off limits between people who just met. But "How tall are you?" is perfectly acceptable. A person may have a gigantic mole on their face, be wearing excessively bizarre clothing, or be behaving like a drunken monkey blazed on magic mushrooms. Most folks wait a bit before weighing in on querying about those sorts of things.
Another thing I like to do when asked: "How tall are you?" is answer: "Six foot seven". Then I immediately ask: "How much do you weigh?" The smart ones instantly 'get' the situation. It's the same sort of question. But unless the person asking me how tall I am is male and in great physical shape, most people (women and fat bastards, in particular) think "How much do you weigh?" is going too far.
So I'll be blogging about the absurdities I regularly encounter.
I just recently agreed to (in fact, asked for) the amputation of my right leg, below the knee. After an 8+ year battle with the collateral damage following on from discovering I have a rare genetic nerve disorder, I finally went for the option my doctor suggested a few times over the years.
My first concept for this blog is to chronicle how this is going for a first timer (first major limb amputation!), and the things I note as unusual or absurd that have ensued.
As I launch this blog, it's been three weeks to the day since the amputation.
I'll start a sort of running diary about that, but along the way, I'll interject with any other absurdities that materialise.
Oh, and note I didn't say "welcome" at the top. I hate websites and blogs that start out "Welcome to [insert blog name here]". Who would start such a thing and NOT want people to start reading and feel welcome?
(Now there's an idea for a bizarre blog: "Go away, you're not welcome, don't read this! I'll sue if you do!")
It's two days before Hallowe'en. Let's get scary.
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