In case you’re reading this and don’t know me very well, please take my word for it — I’m one of the most clumsy people around. So prone to accident, in fact, that my roommate wants to cover me in bubble wrap so I stop getting hurt.
A few months ago, I took a hard fall. I was nearing the end of a 9-mile run when I tripped on some uneven sidewalk. Before I even knew what was happening, I was face-to-face with the concrete and in pain.
My knees took most of the impact, and I managed to keep my face from hitting the ground. I immediately rolled to the left into the grass and evaluated my injuries. My left arm was fine, but my shoulder would have some bruising. My right hand had some scraps. Both my knees were bleeding. The right was worse than the left.
I’ve been clumsy my entire life, and I have the scars to prove it. There’s one on my chin from sledding, another on my arm from a bike accident. I’ve never thought much of it. Some people are just clumsy, and I’m just one of those people.
But this trait became a little problematic when I lost my left hand. When I fall, I can’t catch myself on my hands. This is only a theory, because it happened so fast it’s hard to know, but I’m betting I braced myself with my right hand and then without a left to balance on, my left shoulder took the hit on the sidewalk.
This fall certainly isn’t my first in nearly six years of being one handed, but it might be one of the worst.
I find it kind of fascinating though that in all my falls since my car accident, I don’t ever remember my left arm going out to stop the impact, as if my hand is still there. I’m grateful my body has never reacted in that way, because it would be extremely painful given that there’s not much skin protecting my bone there.
But it’s interesting because when someone has an amputation, there are phantom pains. Basically, the brain believes that limb still exists and tries sending signals to it. It might seem silly — and if I had never felt it I’d think it’s silly too — but it’s extremely painful at first. Phantom pains fade, but I’ve noticed the little tingles in my arm haven’t gone away. If someone puts their hand in front my arm, maybe as if to shake my non-existent hand, I can feel it. My arm tingles just a little bit, as if my brain still expects the hand to be there.
So I have no idea why or how my brain doesn’t think to use this “hand” when I’m falling, but for my sake, it’s fantastic that it can tell the difference because I’m sure this latest stumble won’t be my last.
Lindsey Erdody 