We spent the afternoon at the mall in St. Louis and did a lot of people watching. I found myself thinking that I would be so much happier if I had those cool sandals or if I could find a pretty sundress or if I could buy one of those ruffle-y blouses.
We stopped at The Cheesecake Factory for a bite and sat at the bar next to a small woman, whom at first I thought was on oxygen. With a few sly glances, I noticed that she was not wearing oxygen tubing, but an NG tube. She had it carefully draped around her left ear. And she was missing her left arm from above the elbow. And she was missing her right hand. Her right forearm was lightly wrapped in white gauze. And she was alone, drinking what she told me was called a
peach bellini - through a straw. She probably wouldn't be able to safely pick up a glass with condensation.
I watched her sip her drink. I watched her carefully fish out her credit card to pay. I watched as she used her left arm stump to hold the paper still and her right forearm to slide the pen slowly, slowly toward her right arm to hold the pen upright. Then she must have had a tendon in her right forearm that she was able to control, using her right arm as a base, to write her name with perfect penmanship. I recalled a scene from a Daniel Day-Lewis movie when he writes the word "Mother" with his left foot.
We made small talk and I learned that she had been born with a rare skin disease, requiring many surgeries. I learned that she had moved from Texas in order to be closer to the hospital that could provide her needed care. I learned that her name is Emily and that we were both planning to attend the Bold Fresh Tour that evening. As she left, I helped her with the chair. I wondered how much longer she would be able to go places on her own. I wondered how much longer she would have feet.
I realized that new sandals were not really going to make me happier.
