At about this time in 1989 I was checking into the grown-up hospital in downtown Atlanta. I wasn’t scared, maybe a little anxious.
I knew what was happening that day.
I was also eight and a kid. The same age as my own second-grader who I helped on the bus this morning.
It’a my amputation anniversary.
It is a day I remember and celebrate. My amputation saved my life. I don’t suffer from it or feel helpless because of it. I just live my life a little differently.
I’m going to put more pink in my hair and take my kid to her end of the year picnic.
And I’m here to do it because of one surgery that irrevocably changed my life on this day in 1989.