The Amputee

The festering wound. Too deep to fully heal, resonating pain equal to its repulsiveness. The girl harboring this wound insisted on action. Prolonging the pain waiting for medicine to take effect didn't seem necessary to her. No medication could tame the wild burning pain, no one person could help. She had known what had to be done. A simple procedure, removing the limb. Her suggestion refused time and time again by those with the years to make decisions for her.

It was the only option, she was more than sure of it. Removing the suppurating wound entirely was the only way to completely remove her pain. She would learn to walk a little differently than others -- nevertheless, without a painful limp for the first time in years. For months she thought on this, pleading to many doctors "please, remove the limb. Please, please remove the pain.” None were willing to give in to her request, presenting the condescending reassurance “you’ll be fine! You’ll see,” instead.

Nothing anyone said was of any comfort to her. "Wait it out, it'll get better." Empty words when they're not sharing her pain. No one else had the same deep throb, or burning aches resonating from that hideous wound through their entire body. This was her pain. It was a personal experience that couldn’t be shared or explained, they simply didn’t understand.

Relief soon came to her with a developing plan, she'd seen that she was left with no other choice.

"It is the only choice," she repeated to herself, sometimes out loud as reassurance. It had to be the only way. It had to be done tonight, she couldn't take any more.

Preparations were made; a candle lit, a cord tied tight, ice administered to numb. A saw. A long slender saw with what seemed like a million serrated teeth sent to rescue her. This tool was a godsend, a release from her torment. Heat it a little, it will cut flesh as though it were butter. She rehearsed the procedure for an hour, maybe two.

She let out a deep sigh of relief as she began, it might finally be over!

Before long however, the saw was no longer fast enough, the ice no longer cold enough. A burning rush of blood pours from the saws point of entry, the makeshift tourniquet was not twisted tight enough, the saw wasn’t sharp enough. Heat rushed away from her fingers, her hands, her arms, her face. She could hear her heartbeat in the back of her mind. Slowing, crawling, quieting. The pain was more now, much more than before. Pure terror gripped the girl as her red life poured all about the floor.

Was this still the right choice? Was it not rehearsed enough in her mind?

The saw stopped at bone, her hands were too cold and void of life to move. Her throat grew tight from the shock, no sound came when she called out. Anything now would be too little, too late.

If only someone had listened. If only she hadn't been forced to take these actions herself. Maybe, just maybe, she'd still be alive and in much better health. If only...