Books before food (and any sort of comfortable life).
“Mom, mom, mom, guess what? I’m driving with no hands!”
It was the first thing I said to my mom the first time I spoke on my cell phone during the first time I drove my new, shiny red car. My mom didn’t see the humor in this, just the fact that I was being careless. I had to explain to her it was funny because I only have one arm, and since I was not using it to drive, there was no other way I could be driving my car but with my stump of an arm, literally driving with no hands.
I asked her if I should get a bumper sticker. “I Drive With My Nub.” She wasn’t amused.
My mom has never appreciated my sense of humor towards my disability, and I guess I can’t blame her. Afterall, when I was little I used to spend a good half of my time thinking of what I couldn’t do, rather than what I could do. I’m pretty sure it upset both of my parents. But truth be told, it doesn’t bother me at all anymore. In fact, most the time I don’t even notice that it’s not normal to tie my shoes with one hand or type at thirty words a minute while using my elbow to hit the space bar.
Other people notice, though. Boy! do they notice. I even feel a little bad sometimes; on some occasions I can tell that my twisted nub jokes make them uncomfortable. But most people come around to them, and soon they’re laughing just like everyone else, me included.
I like who I am. I wouldn’t change myself for the world. Well, maybe for the world — I could become a dictator. (Hitler was right… donuts ARE delicious!) But other than that, not for less than a couple million dollars. Haha. I’m not unhappy with myself; I’m just human.
It would be really interesting to see just how well others could do some of the things I do. Honestly, I’ve coped so well with my missing arm that I wouldn’t know what to do in the slightest if I had one. I remember when I had a prosthetic arm. It was so uncomfortable and bothersome. It was like a wedgie — it didn’t belong and I got rid of it as soon as possible without letting on to anyone as to what I was doing. I was a crafty youngster. Haha.
All in all, I’m very comfortable being a “one-armed adopted freak” as my friend Shay so kindly puts it. In fact, next Halloween I think I’ll be a zombie. With its arm bitten off. Dripping blood. Scaring small children. How exciting. :]