London Life

The Other Side Of The Question

Dear Sir, - I don't want you to think me disgruntled. I lost my right leg three years ago, when I was 19, and I have had time to get used to it. All the same, there are still a few things, that make me regret my loss, and I am wondering if any of your other one-legged readers can help me. Here is a list:

1. My hands. - As a result of curling my fingers over the crutch handles, I find it difficult to keep the skin soft and smooth and to prevent the muscles becoming over-developed. I'm sure my hands have already lost some of their slenderness.
2. My ankle. - Before I lost my leg I was a dancer, and the shapeliness of my calves and ankles was my strong point. Now I am told I must expect my ankle to thicken, though not necessarily enough to make it unsightly. Incidentally, I understand that if I wore an artificial leg (which would save my hands), this would be even more pronounced, and anyhow it would be tiring.
3. Evening dress. - It's a tricky business selecting material strong enough to stand the wear of the crutches under the arms without it looking conspicuous. At present I conceal the padding under a short cape.
4. Shoes. - Out of vanity, I wear a 3 inch heel, though not very pointed, on important occasions, but my ankle soon tires and aches if I have to do much walking on it. I have never ventured on to anything higher, and prefer a sandal with a comfortable Cuban heel.
5. Carrying things. - I have a little hook attached to one of my crutches near my hand, on which I can hang a bag, but people with two legs can have no idea how awkward it is carrying parcels and shopping on crutches. And if one drops something and has to pick it up! It often tempts me to try and wear an artificial leg.
6. Snow. - I'm scared stiff of walking on snow or any slippery surface - for instance, glass pavement lights outside shops.
7. Talking. - I can't help feeling self-conscious when I say "My shoe" or "My leg" instead of "My shoes" and "My legs." It's worse still when people say to me, "I hope your shoe isn't wet."
8. Staring. - Before my accident I used to attract a certain amount of attention because of my long black hair and the good Irish complexion and blue eyes which nature gave me. Now they stare at my leg and crutches. Men to a certain extent, but middle-aged women are the worst. It drives me mad when I hear them drop their voices to pass some pitying remark.
9. Holidays. - I never make a fuss of my disability and for that reason I hate people of either sex who regard me as a curiosity, no matter how sympathetically. I feel that if I go away with people for a holiday they make sacrifices to keep my company - say they don't want to play tennis or go for a long walk or dance. Last summer I went away alone, which was restful but dull.
10. Men. - I used to get away well and easily with the opposite sex. Now I feel that they are kind, or curious, or both; never anything deeper or sincere. I hope I'm quite wrong. I have a good secretarial job, and my salary, with the income from my accident compensation, makes me quite independent, so there's no real reason for my inferiority complex. Yet if ever a man shows more than a passing interest in me, I can't help the embarrassing feeling that he is only perversely attracted by my crippled self instead of by my real self.

These are my chief problems. I have minor ones. For instance washing my back in my bath without losing my balance. But if go on, you'll get the impression, I'm a dismal sort of creature which I'm certainly not. Being one-legged has its humours, and a couple of examples may amuse your readers.

I'm bad at waking in the mornings. I always sleep on my left side, having lost my right leg, and occasionally when I am still half asleep I forget about my amputation and put (as I think) my right leg out of bed first, and try to stand on it with the result that I collapse ungracefully on the floor. I assure you that until I am fully awake it feels exactly as if the leg was still there.

And on other sleepy occasions I find myself peering over the edge of the bed trying to find the second slipper! I wonder if other one-legged people have similar experiences.

I could go one for ages writing about myself, but I'm sure this letter is quite long enough, so I'll just conclude by saying how much I appreciate "London Life", particularly the letters from other one-legged girls describing their problems and adventures, which always interest me.

Yours truly

Colleen On Crutches.