It all started while I was on vacation in Puerto Vallarta. I noticed just a small sore on the heel of my right foot. It slowed me down a bit. I used various types of creams. “Sorry,” I said to Colleen, my friend. “I can’t go for a walk along the beach. My foot is just too sore.” Here I was in this beautiful place and all I could do was sit and read and play games on my iPad. Couldn’t even get to the pool!
By the time I got home, I had developed sores on two of my toes. At the pharmacy I found little plastic things that go between toes to separate them. Then my doctor referred me to the clinic for wound care. I went three times a week. Nothing helped. Nothing got better. The pain got worse.
On one visit, a senior nurse came to see me. She suggested to the nurses that had been working with me that they should check the blood pressure in my legs. This is called segmental doppler pressure test. It’s the first time, I had seen this. The cuffs are the same as the ones used to take regular blood pressure except there are two or more of them.
The result was that there was very little blood circulation in my right leg below the knee.
I was scheduled for bypass surgery. I knew something about bypass surgery. My dad had two open heart surgeries, my mom one. My youngest brother also had open-heart surgery. They involved bypasses. Clearly, I was now one of the family. I was relieved that mine was going to be in my leg not my chest!
After the surgery, I still had pain in my toes. The solution—heavy duty pain killers. “If you can manage the pain with the pain killers, fine. If not, you will have to come back. There’s only one other option. We will have to amputate.”
I sat in the waiting room in shock. I was determined to beat the pain.
However, it beat me. I couldn’t sit still. I paced the floor. I couldn’t sleep. I took more and more pills. By December 23, I couldn’t manage anymore and had to give in. I called Kate, one of my chosen family members. “I need to go to VGH. I just can’t manage anymore,” I said between my tears. She drove me to the ER and I was admitted. Surgery was scheduled for the next day, Christmas Eve. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t manage the pain. Lying in bed before the surgery, I took a photo of my two feet and said goodbye.
When I came back from surgery, I was relieved. As days went by, the reality began to set in. I missed Bridget, my partner, who died a few years before. I cursed her for dying on me. “Why did you leave me? I need you now.” I felt sorry for myself. I was alone. It was COVID.
From there, I was discharged to Holy Family Hospital for rehab as I only had one leg. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t get out of bed on my own. I needed help to go to the bathroom, to do much of anything for myself.
Everyday exercises. Exercise had never been part of my life. I learned how to get in and out of bed, to and from a wheelchair. I had to learn to get in and out of those heavy doors leading to the outside and to get in and out of a car with only one leg! I spent hours pushing myself in the chair, up and down the hospital driveway. Eventually, I could get to the top and loved cruising back down the hill. So much fun!
Once the wound had healed, I was fitted for my first prosthesis.
I thought it would be easy! After all, I learned how to walk once. How hard could it be? After all, it is just putting one foot in front of the other. How wrong could I be? One day, when I was standing between the bars, the physiotherapist came with two scales. I had to put one foot on one scale and the other foot on the second scale. The scales were supposed to show the same weight on each scale. No where near! I still struggle with this.
After five-and-a-half months of rehab, I came home. I had learned to get round and do most things in a wheelchair with one leg. I had a walker as I got stronger. I am so grateful for all the support from the queer community that made it possible for me to have all the physical things I needed and for me to have a physiotherapist come to my house every week. With her encouragement, I began to walk with two canes, then one and now none.
Once I lost my right leg, I lost my driver’s licence. I took some lessons. I discovered how much it would cost to adapt the car. I wondered how I was going to manage without driving. I love cars. I loved my red Kia Soul. Besides, we bought it for Bridget when she began to have difficulty getting in and out of our Mazda 3. How could I let it go? One more reminder of her and our lives together. Every time I went down with my garbage and recycling, I would look at it. Friends came and took me places in it. I took me four years to let it go.
I am so grateful. I have a four-wheel mobility scooter that was given to me. I love it. It provides me with so much independence. I can do my own grocery shopping, do my banking, get to exercise classes.
I have learned so many new skills. My view of the world has changed. I see neighbourhoods that I’ve never seen from my car. As I go down the sidewalk, I am at the same level as kids, dogs, people sitting on the street. Kids often say “Hi” and ask about my leg. “Would you like to touch it?” Most of my life I’ve had a dog. Now I don’t and where I live, can’t. But on the street, I get to pet other people’s dogs. I even bought some dog treats that I carry with me. Sometimes, I stop and talk to those who are homeless and hear their stories. There are lots of ways that I am still more privileged, and at the same time, I’m lower to the ground, not looking down on them rather able to look them in the eyes.
I’m enjoying the challenges that living with a disability has offered me. I have learned new things. My first experience of going through the door into the supermarket was a disaster! For sure, it takes me longer to do ordinary daily things.
I have learned to slow down and appreciate smaller things. My neighbours have lavender plants in front of their house. I stop and run my fingers through them and carry the fragrance with me. Often, when I’m in the grocery store, someone asks me if I need help. Now I say, “Yes, please,” and “thanks.” Riding in my scooter, is like being in a convertible, something I always longed for. I exchange greetings and waves with others zooming toward me in their mobility devices. I’m slowly discovering a new community.
