I'd Give My Right Arm For

This is a true story. It is shared to remind us all to enjoy life and good health if we are blessed with it. In this case, the story I share is that of friend whom I admire for many reasons. Her name is Ann.

Ann enjoyed good health and happiness until age 38. It was at this age that she lost her husband to cancer. She was then a young widow with two small children. Ann persevered, establishing her own business and raising the kids as a working, single mother. Time passed, the kids grew up alright. She continued to experience professional success with hard work.

At age 49 years, Ann began experiencing health issues, mostly pain in her right collar bone area. The diagnosis was a malignant but non-metasticizing tumor that would need to be cut out. Over the next 28 years, the same wicked tumor would regrow 18 times. Each time, it would need to be removed with a bit more surrounding tissue, a bit more radiation and occasional chemotherapy treatment dispensed by a pill to swallow. Ann continued working and living with occasional interruptions in her life to deal with the tumor.

Ann took advantage of the earliest retirement she could afford.

Then off she went on adventure after adventure! Mostly solo bicycle trips in various parts of the world. England, Italy, France and lots of places in America. She camped in her car for two weeks in Glacier National Park in Spring. The woman had adventures and felt she should keep moving, never knowing when the tumor would reoccur.

When she wasn't traveling, Ann lived in a small cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. She never much liked humans, neither do I. That's how we bonded. Over mutual disdain for each other.

We traveled together for business and I could talk or not talk. Didn't matter to me. She said one day, how much she appreciated that about me. She said women usually took too much. I laughed and we became friends. Friends who spent time together, or didn't for long stretches. Didn't matter. And that was always okay with us both.

One day about two years ago, Ann phoned me.

"Hey, what's up with you?" I inquired.

"Well, my issue is back. And this time, it's not as simple as just cutting it out. I've decided to go with the next logical step that has been presented to me by the extensive medical team that has taken on my case."

"Okay." I stated, hesitantly. I was half afraid to hear what was coming. A medical team brain storming rarely turns out good.

"Im going to have surgery next week. I am having a quarter-amputation, which means they will remove my entire right arm, all the way up including the shoulder, the collar bone, eight ribs, the right breast with muscle and the shoulder blade." she sighed rather heavily.

"Holy shit!" was my eloquent reply.

"Yes holy shit indeed and that's why it's called a quarter-amputation, because it's about a quarter of my freakin' body."

"Damn! I am so sorry!" I lamely responded, what could I say to this?

"Yeah, thanks. I will lose by right arm, my dominant arm. I am right handed. Here I am 77 years old and I have to learn how to write with my left hand!" She laughed. I am not sure how she managed even a chuckle.

Ann went on, very matter of factly.

"So. I will close up the cabin. I will not be able to live there by myself with only one arm. It will now be a place that I can only vacation at with someone along. It's too remote; in case I'd have an accident plus I will have many medical appointments and all that."

I heard another soft sigh.

"I have taken an apartment near the medical complex. First, I will go to a rehabilitation facility after surgery for a few weeks. They will teach me how to maintain my balance, apparently that will be a challenge, you know, losing that many pounds on one side. Then there is the possibility of "phantom limb" to contend with. Plus, how to dress myself. Fixing my hair should be fun!

I will have to have some modifications made to my car and learn to drive with just the one arm. There will eventually be a prosthetic shoulder fitted that I can strap on like a bra, so my clothes don't fall completely off my right side. And of course, the wound itself has to heal sufficiently."

I know Ann well enough, I could hear that her intellect had taken over. She may be part Vulcan, like Mr. Spock. Very logical. She didn't need any help there, she'd already managed the nuts and bolts of the situation.

"Well, how are you psychologically feeling about all of this?" I asked.

If there were any wobbly areas, it would be her emotions. Maybe I can be of some use in that area, I thought.

"I feel bad that my right arm will be gone. It's a nice arm, it has served me well and there is not one thing wrong with it! A perfectly good limb to be thrown out with the trash! But, reality is I have no choice, well...I can skip the surgery and the tumor will grow and press into my lungs and heart and I will die. Or I can give up the arm and live a while longer. The tumor will most likely recur eventually, then that will be as they say, THAT. But, I am not ready to give up yet."

Now, reader you might think my response would be one of surprise to hear her say that. But, I know my friend and you don't. Thus, no. I was not surprised.

"Well, if anyone is up to the challenge my friend, it is most definitely you. Make sure to send me your new address. Let me know how I can help, okay?"

I knew fully that she would need nothing. It's just not in her to need much from anyone. She is a self spinning top. To appease myself, I brainstormed on something I could send to her new apartment as a house warming gift. So when she finally moved in, there would be a box waiting for her filled with something pleasant, but more importantly useful. Sending something useless would be absurd. After an extensive web search, I found an attractive set of snack canisters that required only one hand to open. The tops popped open by pushing a large button. This would help with her independence as an amputee and keep her favorite snacks readily available and fresh. I was much pleased with myself, the feeling of not being helpful to her was diminished.

We kept in touch through her daughter for the first two weeks following the surgery. Then, one day I received a short, cryptic text.

"I am irrning to texy with the left band!"

I phoned her.

"Hi!" her cheery voice answered.

"Hello, superstar! How is it being the one armed bandit?"

"It's easy due to my nifty new canisters! Thank you!"

"Oh, I'm glad they are of use." I was delighted to hear it.

"I can tell you one thing, the phantom arm thing is freaky and REAL. That is not a made up phenomenon. I was sort of hoping it was! But, I am living with it daily. It's odd, I have learned that if I "lift" the missing arm with my left hand and lay it over my belly at night, the "phantom" arm calms down and so do I. Then "we" can both sleep. The tough part is during the day, I keep reaching for things with the arm only to miss the object, like I am part ghost. It's a very odd sensation."

My friend is still chugging along, three years later. She has a new bike, it's a three wheeler with two seats. She ropes other old ladies into riding with her, she commandeers the left side. On Kentucky Derby Day, she wears a hat, drinks a mint julep and yells at the horses on the television. Ann wears Mardi Gras beads at the right time of year and drinks green beer on St. Patty's Day. She attends a lot of tribute band concerts. She goes to political rallies and cheers on her Green Bay Packers. Cocktails are at 4:00 p.m. daily. Ann says she still finds comfort in cradling her missing arm, as it lays across her belly and she falls asleep.