Present Perfect (42 page)

The operating room was freezing and extremely bright. Once I was on the table, the nurses got to work. They reminded me of a NASCAR pit crew. Everyone had their specific job. One nurse made sure my IV had the right medicine going. One nurse covered me in warm blankets. One nurse attached electrodes to various parts of my body. Then I saw Dr. Smiles hovering over me.

“Amanda, I’m going to put this mask on you and give you a little oxygen. Just breathe deeply.” I did as I was told. It was unnerving not being able to look up at what people were doing to me. Turning my head slightly, I could see a tray covered with a blue cloth. I assumed those were the surgical instruments. Me being the masochist I am, I looked up information on the type of saw used to amputate legs. The thirteen inch stainless steel bone saw sold for $17.99 and had a five star rating on Amazon. Customers who bought this also bought a $39.90 chef’s knife. There was something very wrong about that, but I was too drugged up to figure it out.

I turned my gaze back up and saw Dr. Smiles hovering again. “Amanda, we’re almost ready. I’m going to give you some medicine that will put you to sleep.” I looked up at him. I could feel the tears, falling down the side of my face. This was it. There was no turning back now. The time had come and things were completely out of my control. The medicine took over and my eyelids closed as I left my old life behind.

Your strength and character grow stronger and deeper while you wait for hope to return.

I was at Emily’s place, sitting in an almost exact replica of my bedroom at home. My parents had basically moved my bedroom from our house over here. They wanted me to feel comfortable and thought being surrounded by familiar things would achieve that.

My hospital stay lasted four days. The first two days, I was so drugged up with morphine, I didn’t know what was happening. Day three, my head was clearer and physical therapy had started. They got me out of bed and had me using a walker to walk to the recliner in the corner of the room. It was probably six steps away from my bed. I was exhausted by the time I got to the chair.

I had only glanced down once, very quickly, at my residual limb. I was informed it’s not politically correct to call it a stump anymore. I figured if I wanted to call it a stump, I would. It was my stump after all. I still hadn’t built up the courage to look at the stump side-by-side with my right leg.

Mom stayed with me all day and Dad and Emily visited at night after work. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow Noah managed to sneak in my room and stay with me all night. No doubt, he flashed his sexy smile, winked his bright light blues a few times, and completely charmed the panties off of the night nurse.

Day four, I was discharged. Physical therapy would come to me three times a week. In two weeks, if my surgical site was healed well enough I would start the process of being fitted for a temporary prosthesis and start chemo. Good times.

The two things that I was most afraid of right now were starting chemo and having phantom pain. It felt like the lower portion of my left leg was still there. It was a mind fuck when I looked down and saw no leg, but felt it. Dr. Lang said not every amputee experiences phantom pain. I was hoping that would be the case for me.

Day one of physical therapy was exhausting. I walked around the apartment using the walker, did some stretching exercises, and that was it. I was resting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, with my legs stretched out in front of me.

My eyes trailed down and froze. This was the first time I had allowed myself to look at my legs side-by-side. I stared for a long time feeling very detached from my lower limbs, as if they didn’t belong to me. It felt like I was staring at someone else that I didn’t know.

Slowly the realization washed over me. This half leg was mine. Quiet tears started flowing out of me. It was gone. A part of me that had always been there, wasn’t coming back. All I could do was adjust.

I told myself that I hadn’t ever given much thought to that portion of my leg in the past. I told myself, that part of my leg would have definitely killed me if I had kept it. I told myself once fitted with a prosthesis I’d be able to walk again. All of these reasons ran through my mind as to why I shouldn’t be upset. Why I should be grateful.

The problem is you can’t reason with loss, you can only feel it. No matter how valid your reasons, they don’t stop you from hurting and mourning the loss. In that moment I didn’t think about the advances in prosthetics. I didn’t think about the intense pain I had experienced over the past two months. I didn’t think about the cancer. In that moment all I thought about and all I felt was how much I missed my leg and maybe I had made a huge mistake.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Talking about it with someone wasn’t going to bring my leg back, nothing would. I don’t get a do over or a second chance. Sadness and frustration consume you when you’re forced to accept your loss and you’re made to adjust.

Six days had passed since the surgery. Emily, Noah, and I had ordered pizza for dinner and we were now watching a movie. I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t have a headache or stomachache. I just felt uncomfortable in my skin. My mind and nerve endings were still telling me that the amputated part of my leg was still there. The sensation started to change into feeling like I was wearing a tight shoe. It wasn’t painful, just annoying.

“I’m going to go to bed,” I said.

“You alright?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired.” I started rolling away in my wheelchair.

“You need any help, Tweet?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

I got to my room, threw on my pajama pants, t-shirt, and got into bed. The tight shoe sensation kept getting worse and worse until it felt more like a vice had been clamped on to my leg. Then out of nowhere, a jolt of pain shot through the lower part of my leg that wasn’t there. I let out a blood curdling scream.

Noah was the first to burst through my door followed quickly by Emily. I was screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn’t tell them what was happening. Noah sat on the side of the bed and scooped me into his arms. The pain was relentless. Someone needed to take the vice clamp off my leg, but there was no visible vice to remove.

I kept screaming into Noah’s chest as the pain got even more intense. My body convulsed with every jolt of electricity that shot through me. Emily stood at the end of my bed looking helpless, tears running down her cheeks. There was nothing anyone could do because there was nothing there. Noah started rubbing my back trying to calm me down.

One hour turned into two, turned into three. By the time we were headed into the fourth hour, I thought I was going to lose my mind. The pain started to ebb and flow. I got some relief for fifteen to twenty minutes and then the vice would start to twist and tighten again, and the shockwaves came from nowhere, surprising me each time.

As the sun started to come up, the pain subsided. Noah still had his arms wrapped around me, rubbing my back. My head rested on his chest, my eyes were closed, but I wasn’t sleeping yet. I was completely drained. I had never experienced anything like that in my life.

I heard the door open and Emily come in. “Noah, I think she’s asleep now. Why don’t you go home and try to do the same. You look exhausted,” she whispered.

“I’m fine. I’m not leaving her.” Emily didn’t force the issue. The next sound I heard was the click of the door closing.

On Christmas day my parents, Mrs. Stewart, and Noah came over to Emily’s to exchange gifts and have dinner. I had wondered what had been going on with Noah and Brooke. He had been with me almost constantly since my surgery. He never brought it up and I never asked. I was afraid if I did, he would feel guilty about being away from Brooke and disappear.

Wine was poured and gifts were exchanged before dinner. I felt bad. The past few weeks had been such a whirlwind, I hadn’t been able to get anyone a gift. All the ladies retreated to the kitchen to get the food ready while Dad went to open another bottle of wine, leaving Noah and I alone.

“There’s one more gift.” He handed me a small black velvet jewelry box. “Merry Christmas, Tweet.”

“Noah, you and your mom already gave me a gift. The cashmere sweaters were from both of you,” I said.

“Yeah, my mom picked those out. Today was the first time I had seen them.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you anything.”

“Would you shut up and open the box.” He smiled at me.

I lifted the top of the hinged lid. Inside was the most beautiful pair of yellow diamond stud earrings. My mouth literally dropped open. I was speechless. I looked up at him, stunned.

“I take it you like them?” he asked, smirking.

“I don’t know what to say. This is too much.”

“Do you like them?”

“I love them.” I smiled at him.

“Seeing that smile, made them totally worth it.”

I bit my bottom lip, trying to hold the tears back. I didn’t think it was possible to love him more than I already did, but I was wrong. His arms are the only place where I find peace and comfort. I feel safe when they’re around me, like nothing can get to me.