How I Became an Amputee

When I was just shy of five, my father left my mother with $4.00, a house payment and a car payment. With my newborn brother, my mother was unable to work to make these payments. Shortly after my father left, our car got repossessed. My grandfather worked at a car dealership, and knowing the situation my mother was in, he was kind enough to buy her car back. To thank him, she made a dinner and brought us out to their house to enjoy it. It was a beautiful day outside, so before we ate dinner, my grandpa wanted to mow the lawn. He hopped on his mower and took off. My mother asked me to stay in the house until he was done, but like any four-year-old who wanted to play on a beautiful day, I didn't want to. My mom then ordered me to stay in the garage with my grandmother. I wasn't having that either. Against my mother's commands, I started following my grandpa behind the mower. We went around the house two or three times before I jumped up on the patio to wave at him. He waved back and continued mowing the lawn. I jumped back down off the patio and continued to follow him (a little too closely). At one point, my grandpa decided to go over an area he missed. He had no idea that I was behind him when he put the mower in reverse.

I clearly remember looking up to see the back of the mower two inches from my face. From there I was slammed down on the ground while the mower continued swallow me whole. Thankfully I screamed loud enough for my grandpa to hear me. If I hadn't screamed, I wouldn't be writing this. Chances are, I'd be dead. My grandpa shut the mower off, and at that point my grandma came to the back porch. I will never forget the look on her face when she saw half of me under the mower. She screamed for my mother on the top of her lungs. I've never heard such intensity in her voice before. My grandfather lifted the mower (which was quite a workout for an older man who smoked many cigarettes) while my grandmother pulled me out from under. They had no idea what they were going to find when they pulled me out.

Luckily, I only lost a few toes. My big toe had been severed in half, and the three middle toes were thrown into the grass somewhere. I specifically remember looking at my big toe and thinking to myself, that's what's inside of me? I was fascinated, not scared. In fact, I was the calmest person during this entire fiasco. The only time I screamed or cried was when the mower was eating me alive. Maybe it was because I was in shock, or maybe it was because I was extremely interested with what I was looking at. Either way, there was no pain.

The doctors tried to reconnect my toes, but it didn't work out so well. They turned black a few days after reconstruction, and they were forced to remove them again. The only toe they were able to save was my big toe. Because it had been severed, it really didn't serve a purpose. But they saved it, and apparently that meant the doctors were semi-successful.

I was okay without having toes when I was five. I relearned how to walk, and I could still do everything any normal kid could do. I truly did not care back then. It wasn't until I reached puberty that I truly started to hate my imperfections. I was not accepted among the popular crowd. Instead they found names to call me, such as "Two-toed Tomlin." I began to obsess about having toes. I would stare at my left foot in the mirror, as to get a sense of what my right foot would look like if I was normal. I would make myself feel worse, saying things like; if this hadn't happened to me, I bet I would be accepted. All of this obsession ruined my happiness during the extent of my teenage years. My self-esteem became so low, that I decided to have the remaining two toes amputated so I could finally get a prosthetic that would actually fit around my foot.

I have to give it to the man who worked on my prosthetic. He did a great job with the coloring that it looked real. I was extremely impressed. I started wearing high heels and sandals; things I had literally obsessed about for years. I thought that this would help bring me self confidence, and it did, but only on a superficial level. Within a few years after receiving that prosthetic, I stopped wearing it on a consistent basis, because I realized something.

I never really wanted to be accepted by the collective minds in high school. I was too unique for small talk and meaningless conversations, even though I didn't know it back then. Looking back on the dark days of high school, I'm glad that I wasn't accepted. I was looking for that acceptance from the outside, instead of finding it within. And that was the main cause of all the misery I had been swimming in for years. I eventually accepted my physical imperfections, and in doing so, it essentially freed me from a form of mental slavery I was sick of being imprisoned by. I rarely wear my prosthetic anymore. In fact, at times I forget that my foot is missing toes. And when I do finally pay attention to my foot, it is out of love instead of hate. I like my foot. To me, it is a sign of strength and evolution. It's not only on a physical level. Because of this accident, I have proven to myself that I can accept myself, even the shocking and ugly parts without being too hard on myself. I'll never be able to change the way my foot looks, but I can change my attitude towards challenging life situations.

I think one of the best things I got out of being an outcast, was the fact that I eventually started questioning our government. I had a reason to. I was no cheerleader, and although I wanted to be back when I was in school, I've realized that those people are not the first to question the motives of others (especially the government). They were treated very well in the system, and thus probably will stay in it. I don't think I'd be very happy with myself if I was stuck in that kind of lifestyle. I probably wouldn't have considered experimenting with psychedelics. I wouldn't have met the beautiful and intelligent people in this movement who have taught me so much and have brought me so much joy in the recent years.

I try to see the good in every situation. Losing part of my foot put me through difficult and challenging life situations that taught me lessons of self-acceptance and empathy towards myself and others. These lessons have not only brought me inner peace, but also helps me move forward in my goals of doing my part to heal our world.