A man shakes his hand out of a car window and honks the horn, signaling for me to stop running. Before I know it, he’s pulled over and right next to the sidewalk with the passenger window rolled down.
I was less than a mile from home, almost finished with my 6-mile run that morning, but I decided to stop. It seemed like he needed directions, and with new student orientation happening at Indiana University, there’s no shortage of lost people in Bloomington.
The man quickly explains himself, probably thinking I’ll start running again at any moment. He says he’s seen me before, and noticed my missing left hand, so he wanted to stop and introduce himself this time.
His name is Jim, and he works at the Prosthetics Center of Indiana just down the road. He’s missing the lower part of one leg, and his son, who is sitting in the passenger seat, was born without a right hand.
He goes on to ask if my amputation was the result of an accident. I say, yes, about five years ago. He asks if I’m open to talking about my situation. I chuckle and say yes.
He says he’d love to hear more about my story because some of the amputees he works with could really use a positive perspective.
As traffic started getting backed up on the two-lane road, we parted ways, but with the invitation to stop by the prosthetics center and chat with him more sometime soon.
I’ve been told I have a great attitude about my circumstances, but I don’t need or want any admiration. I have this outlook because I decided for myself that this wasn’t going to negatively impact my life. But I would love it if I could help other amputees see that point of view. Amputees can do just about anything — some just don’t realize that right away.
Some might just need someone else to demonstrate how to do specific tasks, and I know from my experience that a two-handed person trying to teach me things isn’t really helpful. I remember the occupational therapist who visited me while I was still in the hospital in Indianapolis after my surgeries. She showed me a modified way to tie shoes, but struggled herself as she held an arm away. We didn’t actually time it, but I’m pretty certain I did it faster than her on my first try. And years later, I still tie shoes the regular way because I taught myself how to do it. It was easier than learning a completely new method.
I feel like these are useful things that new amputees might not know. I certainly didn’t right away. I went to countless occupational therapy lessons, occasionally leaving frustrated because I didn’t want to have to buy special knives to cut food or do everyday tasks differently than everyone else. When I tried learning to type again, I did some lessons modified for typing with one hand and hated it. I found my own way to do it, and I type at the same speed as before.
Maybe I was more motivated than other amputees, but maybe I can help motivate those people who need it. Bottom line is, I’m glad I stopped and met the random man honking and waving.
Lindsey Erdody 