This week I attended a media industry dinner where I found myself chatting to a woman I’ve known for about twenty years, a prominent Australian journalist. Also with her was another journalist, someone I recognized by name but had never met. At one point, the second journalist turned to me and said, “I saw you come in.” I found this a bit curious, realizing she must have noticed my prosthetic leg, as my trousers couldn’t be rolled down to cover it. It’ll be a few more weeks before I ger my new slimline prosrhetic, and I can wear trousers “normally”.
During this conversation I soon learned the other journalist also had an amputation and wore a prosthesis. It wasn’t visible because she was wearing a long dress. I was taken aback, but this revelation led to a conversation about our shared experiences. She remarked on my positive attitude. My response to similar comments is always the same: “I could be dead. I could have brain damage”. And truly, there are far worse places to be an amputee than Australia, with its excellent healthcare system and the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
This wasn’t my only recent encounter with fellow amputees. Earlier that evening, at a bar, a woman recognized me.Her mother and I were in rehab at St. Vincent’s together after our amputations. Again, it was a lovely, unexpected connection. We quickly got into a conversation about shared joys and woes.
A few days prior, I was boarding a crowded tram where everyone was engrossed in their phones. Needing a seat, I spoke up, asking if someone could give up their place. A woman kindly offered hers, and as I sat down, I noticed her friend she was seated next to was an above-knee amputee. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help but observe, as I’m still learning to navigate this new terrain myself. I acknowledged his understanding of my need to sit, and he simply smiled.
Another time, at a busy bar, a woman beckoned me over to an empty seat. We chatted, and as I thanked her for her kindness, she simply said, “I know,” and lifted her dress to reveal her own prosthetic leg. It was a striking moment of connection and understanding.
This past year has revealed to me a hidden community of amputees, some who embrace their situation openly, and others who are more private. It’s been heartening to encounter this shared experience, finding connection and understanding in unexpected places. One of the best things is not having to explain “how it happened” (which is sometimes fun, sometimes boring), which is the expectated conversation with many non-amputees.