Physical Loss. Mental Trauma.

It was raining, and the city felt gloomy. All the people were dressed in dark colors and surrounded by colorless buildings. They were walking fast with their umbrellas in hand.

There were no smiles that day, no laughter, and the usual hum of conversation was noticeably absent. It made me feel so sad, so lonely. All of a sudden, I started to feel cold. I then realized that I didn’t have an umbrella with me. The rain had made me all wet, and the cold began to make me feel numb. Somehow, I couldn’t move. But I wanted to, and I needed to because I was drenched. My legs felt so heavy, and I couldn’t get any movement out of them. I kept trying, pushing myself to feel anything. Then, without warning, I felt a sharp pain coming from my right foot—a sudden sting. The pain became worse, and everything around me became darker. I closed my eyes, and everything turned black and silent. But the pain was still there. I opened my eyes and saw my bedroom. I was lying in bed. I was dreaming before. I turned on the lights and tried to sit up slightly. And there was the sting again. When I looked at my right foot, I started crying.

The middle toe of my right foot was not there anymore. It was amputated after a minor accident.

All I could hear were people talking and walking past us several times. I also heard machines beeping around me. It was past ten in the evening. Even though it was not that late, especially on a Friday evening, I was exhausted. I had waited for over 6 hours in an emergency room with my husband in the hospital. I had gotten morphine a few times to ease the pain. The morphine made me dizzy and tired, but I was just glad that I didn’t feel the throbbing pain and stings anymore. It was such a disappointment that the morphine didn’t help me mentally with my pain because I was scared, hurt, stressed out, and angry.

It had always been a dream of mine to get my motorcycle license. It was only my second lesson when I had the minor accident. I fell with the motorcycle on top of me. And unfortunately, a small part of the motorcycle pierced two toes of my right foot. I was so mad at myself for falling a second time when I fell. I immediately stood up, that’s when I felt some pain, but it wasn’t severe yet. My instructor noticed that my shoe had a tear in it. He opened the tear, and all that we could see was blood. And something that resembled my toes, but they were not quite in the right place. My husband took me to the nearest hospital immediately.

The doctors first tried to fix my injuries by stitching my toes during my first surgery the same night of the accident. But unfortunately, it was too late for my middle toe. Eighty percent of it died after less than a week. Even though I could still feel a bit in that toe, it turned black. It didn’t look good. It almost looked like a dried-out and rotten french fry. I couldn’t recognize my toe anymore, and it wasn’t mine anymore. That’s how it felt. Therefore, together with my surgeons, we decided to go for amputation. My other toe was doing well, luckily. However, my middle toe could become infected, and the infection could eventually spread out through my whole body, resulting in a severe illness or even potential death. After hearing something like that, there wasn’t much to discuss or think about. I was glad to know that they tried, that I tried. I got anesthetics for both surgeries, which basically meant that I slept through it all. After I woke up from my second surgery, all I did was cry. I was so hurt, so sad that I had lost my toe: my second amputation, the second loss of a part of my body.

My recovery was not easy. I was in a lot of pain every day and not being able to sleep because of it. But the physical pain wasn’t as much as the pain that I felt mentally. I went through a rollercoaster of emotions, and I sometimes still do. The psychological journey towards recovery is much longer and harder than the physical one. I couldn’t accept the fact that I had lost a part of my body again. No matter how small it is, it still is mine. I was only eight years old when I lost a small amount of my right index finger. It was an unfortunate accident with a small firecracker. Our family had just celebrated New Year’s, and my mom and I went outside to shoot some more fireworks. But one of the firecrackers that I tried to light went off immediately. The tip of my finger was blown off, nail and all. And all we could see at the top was my actual bone. When I had the motorcycle accident, I also saw the bone of my two toes. It's a sight that I will never forget.

My physical recovery didn’t take as long as I was afraid, but it felt longer than it was. In the beginning, I wasn’t able to walk independently, and I had to use crutches. It was extremely exhausting. Just a short walk to the bathroom and back was so tiring. It felt like I had been running or did an intense training session. I couldn’t cook, shower alone, or get food or a drink without a hassle. Fortunately, I had my husband who helped me. But it made me feel so weak, so dependent, and insecure. I couldn’t do such tiny and simple things as I was used to. Somewhere, after a month or so, I started to put pressure on my foot slowly. This way, I was able to take small steps without any support from the crutches. Small steps became walking for very short distances. Which then became walking longer distances, going up or down the stairs, and driving. And eventually, I was able to dance and run again. It took around three to four months of recovery, which is fast now that I look back. But let me tell you that while I was still in recovery, it didn’t feel like a few months.

The psychological journey was much harder. This took more time and energy. And I have to admit that I still have my struggles, but with time it will heal. It took me a long time to accept the whole experience. As I said, I couldn’t accept the fact that I had lost a part of my body. Again. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t fathom why this had happened. It seriously bothered me. It occurred to me twice. First, I always thought that ‘Ok, it happened once. It will never happen again.’ But it did. Who’s to say that it won’t happen a third time, or fourth, or fifth even? That thought scared me, and it made me feel bitter. I know that people go through worse, far worse. Some people need to have an amputation one after the other to stay alive. That is a matter of life and death. Mine wasn’t.

Nonetheless, it was a horrible experience for me, and I was in pain. If I would always think about what could be worse or that there are people who have it worse, I wouldn’t be “allowed” to ever feel sad again. But this is a topic that I will go into detail about another time.

The loss of my toe. The loss of my independence, even for a short period. All of this made me feel very insecure. As a woman, as a person. I started to doubt myself, my femininity, and my capability of being a strong person. I didn’t feel beautiful anymore. I thought that my husband didn’t love me anymore, that he didn’t feel attracted to me anymore, or that he wasn’t proud to be my husband. Because how could he? Now that I looked like this. I felt ugly and dirty. Like I was trash or dirt and that I didn’t belong to this world of love and happiness.

I started to fill that empty void with food. I kept having negative thoughts. It destroyed my confidence. Somehow, I chose to show people a different side of me. But that was not true. Only my husband knew what I went through, and he usually is the only one. But this time I wasn’t able to believe him. I was so sure that my thoughts were real, that they were facts. I’d avoid looking at my feet. My left foot reminded me that I didn’t have ten toes anymore. And when I saw my right foot, it crushed my confidence. In the first month, I cried a lot when I looked at my right foot. I kept staring at it, drowning in negativity until I couldn’t take it anymore and started crying my eyes out.

Even when I went back to the office (yes, this was just before the pandemic started), I couldn’t walk fast. I had to stroll and walk the stairs with caution. When I started working there two months before the accident, I always wore high heels to work. I loved how I felt while wearing them and how elegant and sexy they made me look. After the accident, I obviously couldn't wear them anymore for a while and had to wear sneakers. This made me feel weak and incompetent. And somehow, I was convinced that everyone around me would think less of me. Or that they would feel sad for me or think that I didn’t belong here because I lost a toe and was missing the top half of my index finger. Also, I was afraid for the summer to come. I didn’t look forward to it because I was too scared to walk around in sandals. Or any shoes where my toes would be visible.

If you know me well, you know that I love to dance at a wedding or a party. I can dance for hours. At my wedding, I never left the dancefloor after our first dance. So, the first party I went to after my accident was when I couldn’t dance yet. My family was dancing, and I watched them and moved my body to the rhythm of the music. I was laughing and clapping for my family, who were dancing. But I didn’t look at my husband on purpose. I knew that he was the only one that could see my pain. He would see me smile, but he knew that I was crying on the inside. I saw that he was looking at me and I knew that he didn’t want to dance. Let me tell you one thing. You might not understand, or you do the feeling of not being able to dance. The realization that it is physically not possible. That feeling was worse than when I wasn’t able to walk. It was a punishment for me. The realization that I wanted to dance but couldn’t. It was devastating. A part of me was taken.

It took me a long time to get my confidence back. To be able to love myself again. And I still struggle sometimes when I look at my foot. Almost a year later, I’m was not able to show other people my foot. But I feel different, better than while I was going through this journey. I still have a while to go, and I have to learn to accept what happened entirely. But I do know that my body does not define who I am. People who know me, love me and love me for who I am. Not the way I look. I will be me because of my spirit and my personality.

I am proud of who I am, who I have become, and what I have achieved so far. I need time, and I will give it to myself because it is easier said than done.