Nobody tells you that becoming an amputee basically turns your entire life into an Olympic event called: “Can I Make It To The Bathroom In Time?” Spoiler alert: Sometimes the answer is no. People see amputees out in public and think: “Wow. So inspiring. So strong.” Meanwhile at home, I’m one missed transfer away from becoming a biohazard. My life now revolves around timing. My bladder’s timing. My bowels’ timing. My cat’s timing. My dog’s timing. And unfortunately, I’m the slowest one in the house. Ironically, my cat seems to understand my disability more than my dog does. Which feels unfair considering the dog literally survived the accident with me and witnessed everything firsthand. But my cat watches me struggle like: “She is fragile. We must proceed carefully.” Meanwhile my dog is just out here operating under the belief that I still function like a normal human being. After my second surgery to remove hardware from my leg, I came home wearing a medical boot...
Nobody tells you that becoming an amputee basically turns your entire life into an Olympic event called:
“Can I Make It To The Bathroom In Time?”
Spoiler alert:
Sometimes the answer is no.
People see amputees out in public and think:
“Wow. So inspiring. So strong.”
Meanwhile at home, I’m one missed transfer away from becoming a biohazard.
My life now revolves around timing.
My bladder’s timing.
My bowels’ timing.
My cat’s timing.
My dog’s timing.
And unfortunately, I’m the slowest one in the house.
Ironically, my cat seems to understand my disability more than my dog does. Which feels unfair considering the dog literally survived the accident with me and witnessed everything firsthand.
But my cat watches me struggle like:
“She is fragile. We must proceed carefully.”
Meanwhile my dog is just out here operating under the belief that I still function like a normal human being.
After my second surgery to remove hardware from my leg, I came home wearing a medical boot and moving even slower than usual. My cat immediately became extra attentive. Sleeping next to me. Staying close to me. Watching over me like a tiny furry nurse.
Which was adorable… until 2:20 in the morning.
That’s when he woke me up doing the frantic “Mom, this is an emergency” scramble because he desperately needed to use the bathroom.
The problem?
My medical boot wasn’t on.
So there I am, half asleep, trying to reassemble myself while this poor cat is panicking.
He really tried to hold it.
But unfortunately, he absolutely destroyed my throw blanket on the daybed with the kind of liquid disaster that makes you question every life choice that led you to that moment.
The blanket was beyond saving.
And because I physically can’t get outside by myself yet, the only thing I could do was grab the blanket and launch it out the front door onto the patio.
Except the blanket smacked against the door on the way out, leaving poop on the door, poop on the steps, and poop on the patio.
It was traumatic, to say the least.
I ended up calling a friend and neighbor for help and had a mini breakdown over how helpless I felt. Thank God my friend reminded me I’m still healing, like this isn’t forever, because honestly it was emotionally damaging.
And sadly?
That wasn’t even my worst bathroom-related moment.
At one point, I fell trying to get to the bathroom in time and completely defecated all over myself and the floor… then kept slipping in it while trying to get back up.
Dignity?
Gone.
Another time, a friend tried helping me off the floor after I fell rushing to the bathroom, and I accidentally pooped on them during the rescue attempt.
That friendship reached levels most people never experience.
And when I first got home from the hospital, I was still wearing diapers because I physically couldn’t move fast enough yet. Except nobody tells you those things leak.
So I peed through them.
Repeatedly.
All over my bed.
At the time, every single one of these moments felt humiliating.
I cried.
I felt embarrassed.
I felt broken.
I felt like my entire life had become one long bathroom emergency.
But now?
Now I can look back and laugh.
Because this is the stuff nobody talks about when you survive something catastrophic.
Recovery isn’t always inspirational music and brave smiles.
Sometimes recovery is covered in bodily fluids.
But somehow…
You survive it anyway.
If you'd like to support my continued recovery and help me rebuild my independence after my accident, please consider donating to my GoFundMe campaign. Every contribution, no matter the amount, helps with my ongoing medical, living, and recovery expenses as I adapt to life as an amputee.
👉 You can donate here: GoFundMe
amputee recovery, life after amputation, disability journey, car accident survivor, adaptive living, healing journey, traumatic injury recovery, amputee challenges, resilience after trauma, personal recovery blog
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