One Arm is Better Than Three

Two Prehensile Thumbs are Ideal – Three Would Be Overkill

As a one-armed man living in a largely two-armed world, I regularly receive a peculiar brand of unsolicited aid and comfort from strangers. It's a lot like what we typically consider a "common courtesy," but with a twist. That is, it has an element of awkward persistence.

Case in point: The man purposefully entering a building ahead of me opens the door with gusto then, with just the right amount of magnanimity pauses to hold the door open for the person behind him-me.

Rightly expecting someone with both arms, the man stops as if he'd hit a brick wall when it turns out to be me.

 In the two-armed mind,   that is,  f I were more than a few strides behind, the man would let the door close on an

Having once been a part of that two-armed world,

If those strangers who went out of their way to help me say, run ahead and hold a door open, or reach out to help me pick up something or hold it securely while I still had two arms, I might think I was being assaulted.

If I were to respond in kind to such a person, who was really only trying to help, a fistfight might ensue. While I’m not a violent person, I might naturally feel the need to defend myself from a physical attack.

It’s been five years to the day since I lost the use of my left arm. Often, people have asked me if I miss having both arms and my usual response is “If it came back tomorrow, it’d just be in the way. I’ve already adapted to life without it.”

So profound. But it’s true. And, most of the time it’s quite a point of humor. For example, when anyone asks “How are you?” if I’m feeling clever that day, I might reply “I’m all right, thanks.” Most of the time, people never get the joke.    

Still, I pondered this notion of my apparent need for extra help “extra help” for the sole reason I possess one arm. Then, for some reason, I wondered if strangers might also feel the same need to assist me if I had an extra arm or leg or digit or whatever.

My conclusion is that all of their same questions and statements would likely apply:
“Don’t you sometimes miss having both arms, or legs, etc.?” And “It’d be awful tough for me to do that. I don’t know if I could.”

Of course it’s tough to do but, as anyone who has lost a body part can attest, our minds are as adaptable as our bodies and, if we wish, re-defining our concept of “normal” is only, well, normal.

As an amputee for only four years, I spent a year with a dead arm in the hope that my severed nerve would regenerate into a healthy one again. This put me in the unique position of having plenty of time to contemplate life forever with just one arm. Provided, of course, that I don’t lose the other one, or an arm or leg or whatever later on.

Without knowing any statistics about this but having heard lots of anecdotal evidence, my understanding is that most people who lose a limb do so in some violent and/or traumatic fashion. As such, the limb loss is immediate and final.

Very few people experience their injury the way I have, I believe. And, despite the violent trauma associated with my own limb loss, I never believed I could get my arm back anyway.

It due to wasn’t futility, frustration, or do to some weird twist of fate, just my intuition. I might as well say that “a little birdie told me.”

Nonetheless, I saw my limb loss as immediate as any, though it’s presence as a remaining part of my body made it seem less final.

My conclusion then is that anyone who wonders how those of us with limb loss manages, it would be just as constructive to respond by saying “Imagine if you had an extra arm or leg or whatever. You’d probably find it’d only be in the way, right? Well, that’s how I’d feel if I had my arm/and or leg back again.”

One of my heroes, a world-class athlete named Hector Picard, survives and thrives quite well despite his quadruple limb loss, thank you very much.

He’s rightly an inspiration to all of us. However, I think he wholeheartedly exemplifies the physical power we all have to thrive in this world as he does.

The only remaining question is if we have the mind power to do so. Do I think I could? I don’t know, but I might be inclined to ask him, but only after asking him how long it first took him to change a tire tube on his road bike.

As a fellow amputee, I think I might have more reason to do so, if only out of a sense of common experience.

How about you? Would you have the mind power to do it? Think about it. I bet you’d be surprised at the honest answer.