The first cut is the deepest and then there’s pieces of flesh and bone that gets caught in the blade and the deeper the doctor cut the smell of death is prominent in the air as he cuts through the bone. There is no other odor comparable to the amputation including bone.
My husband had is leg amputated and they didn’t just go in whack off his leg, it wasn’t that simple and mundane of an operation. There is a tremendous amount of pain like you have never felt before and the odor, the odor is death.
Bob laid in the bed for two days before the doctor bothered to come in and see him, golf was more important as was the family reunion. Bob laid there and as I came and went on a regular basis in that forty eight hour period and with each entrance into his room there was further death spreading from the bottom of his foot to each toe. Gangrene had set it and it is not green at all but black, black from the death of tissue and it spreads rapidly and up the leg.
If that stupid fuck would have come in when he was suppose to Bob would have never lost his leg but he didn’t and that changed our lives forever. The pain Bob was in drove me crazy as I couldn’t stand to hear him screaming out in his delirium.
I had to go to the desk time after time begging them to give him more pain meds and their response was always “it’s not time yet”. I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t take the lack of professionalism as the nurses sat on their fucking huge asses reading true life stories and filling their faces with cookies and candy.
When they finally did come in he got relief it was for such a short period of time that all I could do was to cry as I watched him suffer and I was powerless to help him. When the doctor told me he was going to have to amputate he told me he was leaving it up to me to tell Bob.
Do you have any idea how I felt having to tell him his life was over as he had known it? Do you think I could tell him he may die on the table? Did I know he would lose his job, benefits and pension? Did I know my husband would die on that table and another man would emerge from the operating room?
No, I did not but I never left his side and I never walked away and no, he was never less of a man to me. When his leg was amputated they had to amputate just below the knee so they had enough residual skin left over to make a “flap” which covered the bone.
The skin eventually heals over the bone and the “stump” shrinks that is why the amputee has to have knew prosthetics made because as the leg shrinks the prosthetic no longer fits properly and a new one must be made to fit.
The stump slips into the prosthetic and rests on a “spot” which is made out of rubber and protects the bone from resting on the inside of the prosthetic. The amputee doesn’t just lose a part of their body, no it is not that simple as they have fathom pains and it’s like they still have their leg or body part.
There was several occasions when Bob got out of bed and he tried to walk and fell on his face, it’s those moments that you scream and yell at the ceiling cursing the fucking doctor and asking God to make the bastard pay.
Prior to Bob going into the operating room we prayed with our friend Ron and Ron and I and the kids waited for the next three hours until the doctor came out and told us Bob was doing well. We waited in his room for him to come out of post op and I remember Ryan being afraid to sit on the bed, he was only in kindergarten at the time and he was afraid to hurt his dad.
The insurance company’s only cover ten days of therapy which isn’t enough time to learn shit and then you are sent home for your family to learn as they go along with you. Bob had to learn to slide off the bed using a board to his wheelchair and I had to constantly put the wheelchair in the trunk of the car to take Bob anywhere and there were a lot of doctor appointments and medications.
There were so many nights I had to get a wet wash cloth and wipe him down from the body sweats which accompany the loss of a limb. I have emptied more urinals and bedside commodes then I care to think of and yes I would do it all over again.
I carried more trays of food and emptied dishes then a waitress on a busy weekend and I bathed him daily in bed. It’s amazing how the body is no longer looked at as a sexual item but as a person when one is that ill and washing his penis, balls and ass was no different than washing his face.
He felt embarrassed until I started washing his penis and acted like it was talking to me and then he began to laugh, and we laughed together but it made it easier for him to accept being my patient and no it was not sexual at all.
He refused to even attempt to have sex with me until I pushed the issue and he said he could only do it doggie style. I got on all four and spread for him and he got up and finally mounted me and that is how we made love for years until he could no longer get an erection.
Life moves on even when we suffer loss and when you are able to feel compassion and empathy for another that is when life begins to heal, even though our lives never became acceptable to either one of us. I would never walk away from someone that was ill and I would always be there for them as I was for him