Almost Four Years Later

If anyone had told me that my life would still be this unsettled four years later, I am not sure I would have believed them.  It turns out that post-amputation life is never the same.  There are some things I may have been able to anticipate, and others that took me completely by surprise.
The first months actually went much more smoothly than I expected.  Not that they were easy, but he learned to walk with the prosthesis relatively quickly, and was proud of himself for that.  Learning to use it turned out to be the easy part.

I thought that once a prosthesis was fitted, that was it and wearing it was just a matter of getting up in the morning and putting it on.  There are people who wear their prostheses all the time.  It turns out that it isn't that simple.  Tissues swell and shrink; weight is lost and gained; a perfectly fitting prosthesis one day may not fit the next.  The bucket may crack, the battery may not charge correctly, and it may just be too hot to imagine wearing 7 lbs of metal and plastic on the end of your sweaty stump.  It seems that we spent more time getting the leg trimmed and reshaped and refitted than he spent wearing it.

As the months wore on and he was still unable to do much more than walk around the block or through the grocery store, he became depressed.  He tried to do less and less.  Every time he looked at the things he hadn't finished, instead of becoming energized to do more, he became dejected and did less.

Always one for big plans, he kept talking the big talk.  He was going to do a marathon.  He was going to do the Boston.  He was going to learn to swim with one leg and go diving again.  He was going to ride a bike.  In reality, he became more and more confined to his bed.  I became more and more frustrated.

It is possible that I said things I should not have said.  That I have yelled more than anyone should.  I have tried wheedling, cajoling, bribing him to do something.  I spent too much time sitting next to him in bed, getting depressed myself.

It would be nice if I could tell you some story of a huge turnaround, but the fact is, I can't.  I have started doing more things I enjoy, finding alternatives to the architecture career that hasn't materialized, and forcing myself to do things outside the house a little more.  In response, he is trying a little harder.  The depression has lifted a little bit, but it is still lurking.