Dear Sir, - In the letter which "Ruth" sends from South Africa narrating some of her experiences of life with one leg and one arm, I am very greatly interested. It is the first experience I have ever come across describing single-handedness in someone else, for I, too, have only one arm, though I am more fortunate than your correspondent in still remaining two legs.
Also, unlike Ruth, it is my right arm which is missing; and though this may seem strange, you will understand when I explain that I am naturally left-handed. This means that I am still possessed, like Ruth, of the hand with which I have always chiefly done things all my life. If I had lost my left hand I should have had to learn again how to write, use a knife, and shave, wash, dress, etc., with untrained, clumsy fingers. I agree absolutely with Ruth that no artificial arm in the world is of any use at all if the amputation is above the elbow. Even the finest and mechanically cleverest arm is more a burden than an aid if the elbow joint is gone.
All that is left of my arm is about two inches from the shoulder; and after long, patient trials with an artificial arm (it cost 50 Pounds), I abandoned it nearly two years ago. For a girl to lose a limb (not to say two) seems infinitely harder luck on her than it is on a man.
It would be veritably interesting to exchange experiences with another one-handed person and compare the different dodges we use to do the daily things that everybody else uses two hands for. There are three, at least, ways of tying one's shoe or bootlaces single-handed.
Washing, shaving and one's toilet generally are, of course, quite easy, though the operations take about a third more time to carry out with one hand instead of two. For a woman in the same plight the handicap must be much heavier I imagine.
Of course, you cannot brush one's hand, so you have to hand the brush. That is to say I place the nail-brush on the washbasin ledge with the bristles upward. I soap the brush and then rub my hand to and fro on it, instead of rubbing the brush on my hand.
I wonder how Ruth gets on for manicuring. I think I am prouder of being able to do that than almost anything else. When first I lost my arm I used to go to a manicurist to get my nails cut and cleaned. After a time, when I discovered they charged me 1s. 6d. for one hand though their price was half-a-crown for two, I determined to fend for myself.
And now I tend and trim my finger-nails myself - my hand clean itself, in this way. To cut the nails, I slip a manicure file between the pages of a book, sit on the book to keep it and the file steady, and then rub each finger-nail in turn along the file.
With practice I have come now to have as shapely nails as any normal two-handed man. With an orange-stick held in the same way in a book, I achieve the final clean and trim.
It is the little unexpected things which Ruth and other singlehanders (and I) find most annoying and difficult. Opening an envelope, for instance - try it yourself with one hand only. Or putting a letter into an envelope, or separating one postage stamp from another. See far yourselves, two-handers, what you can make of such trifling jobs with one hand only.
Eating is quite simple with a special knife-fork. The outside prong is replaced by a small knife-blade, so that with this fork one can both cut up the food and then raise it to the mouth.
But no one-handed person in the world can butter a piece of toast on a plate. The toast slips and flies off. Yet it is quite simple if you place the toast on the table-cloth for the slice gets a grip there, and you apply butter without a mishap.
A very strange fact to end with: Though it is over twelve years since I lost my arm, I still feel my hand and fingers. They are no longer there, but despite my knowledge and reason, I feel that they are. Indeed, I can feel and even move each finger, the thumb, the palm of my hand, and my wrist.
This ghost-hand is a conscious fact. Everyone who has a limb amputated knows it as a reality. Doctors admit it and explain it as the subconscious working of the nerves to a hand or limb that
no longer exists. And it pains, too.
Dame Nature can be very stupid - I am sure Ruth will admit that, even against her own sex.
Yours truly,
Single-Handed.