When I arrived to have my legs amputated, I was wearing bright purple nail polish on my feet. Might as well go out in style, I figured. A month had passed since my right arm decided to auto-amputate, just dropping off into my brother-in-law’s hands. A few months before that, my left arm had been amputated as well. Now it was time to move on.
I had been a successful 32-year-old, doing well at work, happily married and newly pregnant. I was just back from a vacation in Cambodia and reveling in ticking one off the bucket list when I fell sick with a fever. It all began rather innocently. And then it escalated, and how. Fever became organ failure. Organ failure became a brush with death. Months later, I had lost both my arms and legs to a bacterial infection that the doctor had heard of only in his exam.
I raged. I was angry and hurt and upset. Why did this happen to me? What had I done wrong? I thought it was karma, but I couldn’t think of anything I had done *this* wrong. But finally, I decided it was time to move on.
And so I ran. In the beginning, it was just to lose weight and get fit, but the challenge was addictive. When I run, I feel like I win over my body. I can look back at Destiny and swear at how wrong it was about me. It didn’t win. I still get to call the shots. My life, my decisions, my dreams; limbs or no limbs.
PC: G Kumaran