appendage

As he runs by, I only catch a glimpse of his arm. I turn and see his elbow where the prosthetics attach. He has some forearm below the the elbow because he’s able to hold it at ninety degrees like his left. I haven’t been close, even in proximity, to someone with prosthetic appendages. A dozens of questions, scenarios, and visuals flood my mind.

Did he lose his arm in injury? Was it lost while battling a disease? Was it a small wound that became infected? Did he have it sliced off in an accident? Was it blown off with explosives? Did he lose it during a war? Is he ashamed of it, or does he wear it as a badge of honor? How long has it been missing? Does he still get phantom pains? How dexterous is he with the two-pronged hook that has replaced his hand? Does he wish the arm was still there? Does he joke about it at parties? How long was he in the hospital and rehabilitation? How many people avert their eyes when they notice it?

He has been through more pain than I hope I ever will. My arm went through a window and the other was broken, but both were very much attached. The pain of the broken arm faded almost immediately after the bone was set. The pain of the laceration was intense until the repairing surgery and then faded to a sore throbbing within a few weeks. Are those anything close to the physical pain of losing a limb? Emotionally, the trauma of being without an arm is something I can’t even fathom.

He passed me in less than a second, but as I walked to my office and rode the elevator, I could only think of how lucky I’ve been. How lucky it was that my wrist injury didn’t end up worse. That, aside from some numbness, stiffness, and a small loss of dexterity, I still have a fully functioning right hand. Without that bit of luck, the injury could have been worse or the wound infected, and I could be jogging through downtown as the eyes of everyone I passed darted in every direction but mine.