The Stump

Four years ago, apparently what loomed large in my mind was the stump, what it would look like, what it would be like, and how I would deal with it.  Part of all marriages is physical attraction, and for most people, stumps are just not attractive.

I should probably mention that his leg was ugly to begin with.  The accident that ruined it happened long before I knew him, so I have always known him as a man with an ugly leg.  That never kept me from loving him, and I knew that the stump would not, either.  But still, my reaction to it worried me.  Would I gasp when I saw it and hurt his feelings?

In the early days, I did all I could to avoid it, to avoid seeing it or even thinking about it.  I had to help with bandage changes, and as long as I focused on the wound and not the limb, I could handle it. It made me laugh that after all my years of avoiding the medical field, I had become someone's personal nurse.  It has never been the gore that bothered me about medicine, it is the caring, and since I already did care, I could handle the duties.

It took me a while to actually look at the stump without focusing just on wound care.  When I did, my worst fears were confirmed.  It was ugly.  To me, it looked like a ham attached to my husband, but a ham that could move.  The way it moves offends my sensibilities, as if it is something from a horror movie.  The other end of Thing, perhaps.

At the same time, looking at it confirmed that I could handle it.  As ugly as it is, I have never looked at him and been horrified that he no longer has a leg.  He is still Doc, still my husband.