Socket to Me

A footnote to my prior rumination: I’d just like to say that my C-Leg is a spectacular specimen of technological wonder. I walk miles with this mechanical marvel of a knee; I ride the subway with it; I shovel snow; I mop the floors of my apartment—the sky's the limit. But, alas, it’s not the C-Leg but the socket that attaches to it where my greatest problems lurk. The socket, by the way, is what embraces the "residual limb," which is a welcome euphemism for the oh-so-disagreeable and ugly sounding "stump" word.

Heat and humidity have ruled this week in the city that I have forever called home, including two days that surpassed 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Now let me just say that my revered C-Leg attaches to the residual limb courtesy of a suction device made of silicone rubber. And as you might imagine, perspiration and suction are an unhappy and uncomfortable coupling....

In fact, countless times this volatile commingling has thrown me for a loop with the upper reaches of my socket invading some very unwelcome body territory. And even in New York City, it’s not considered kosher to readjust oneself in the public square—to make things right and proper—with a hand down one's trousers. So, I live and let live, and accept a little chafing, pinching, and occasional pain—the genuine article—to avoid a worse fate. And here’s hoping for cooler and drier days ahead. But then again, hazy, hot, humid are a whole lot more hospitable than cold, snow, and ice on the ground...and the very real prospect of falling on my tookus with one wrong step.