Seafoam rushes between my five toes. Sand settles, heavy, on my prosthetic foot.
When I swing my thigh to kick it off, it takes so much force that — for just one instant — it feels like it’s my real foot out there, flinging sand into the tide.
Later, I will dismantle my “beach leg,” as I’ve been taught by my prosthetist, Tim.
I’ll rinse it in a cascade of fresh water in the bathtub and watch the day’s residue erupt, volcano-like, from within the footshell.
A mixture of sand and shells and ocean -- seemingly pounds of it — will thunk into the tub like wet cement. And I’ll spend more time bent over, chasing it into lumps and scooping it up with paper towels, than I did in the actual waves.
But for now, I’m here. Wading.
Feeling, with wonder, my two feet in the water.
I had forgotten how much I love the beach...
I call my beach leg “Sandy.”
She’s different from my regular prosthesis which is a computerized microprocessor knee. Bringing that knee to the beach, and into the ocean, would be a mistake as foolish (and expensive) as bringing my laptop.
Sandy is an “activity-specific” leg.
With a simpler free-swing knee, I have to be more careful and use more energy when walking. But she’s mud-proof, sand-proof, and even ocean-proof, as long as I rinse her off afterward.
For years after my amputation, I could only go near the beach, not on it.
It took time to get a water leg like Sandy. But once I had her, it was absolutely freeing!
Her first dip on the beach was a cloudy, windy, 55-degree Memorial Day in Chicago because I just couldn’t wait.
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| Plus, I had the very best cheering section! |
It’s strange though, how we get used to privilege and, over time, take it for granted.
In recent years, I’ve gotten lazy about bringing Sandy along.
Travel is so complex already, it’s easier to resign myself to doing less.
Even on a recent trip to California, when I knew the hotel would have a tantalizing pool, I weighed my options:
How often I would actually go in the pool? Was it really worth dragging Sandy through the airport in my carry-on? Would a few minutes of swimming be worth the hassle and weight?
All things considered, Sandy stayed home.
But this is just a car trip. So I dig her out of hibernation and give her a peptalk.
Then I grab my sandals and swim shoes because it’s been so long I can’t remember what we walked in last time. (Adaptive Travel Tip: It’s OK to overpack!)
My friend Jasmine and I tuck Sandy into the car to drive — as we say in Philly — “down the shore.”
We find street parking one block from the Ocean City beach. We’ll stay for a few hours, as long as our parking meter (and probably I) will last.
I do a Clark Kent leg-change in the back seat.
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| Have Allen wrench, will travel! |
Just a normal day at the beach, adaptively speaking!
We’re at the ocean’s edge for maybe 10 minutes when a dark cloud covers the sky.
Raindrops spot the sand. Sunbathers scatter. Jasmine and I laugh.
It’s just rain. Bring it on! I have my beach leg!
The drizzle builds to a drumroll. Families dash toward the boardwalk. We keep laughing.
It becomes a full-on downpour, drenching our hair, soaking our shoulders. We glance around for shelter, and that’s when we see them...
Empty umbrellas, everywhere!
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| We take our pick! |
Over my 15 years with amputation, I have fallen out of love with the beach.
A beach day is…. well, it’s a lot.
Amputation leaves your body with less skin which makes it difficult to cool down in the heat. I get dehydrated easily. Sweat breaks the suction of my prosthetic liner. Sand is itchy. Bathrooms are slippery.
And, even after all this time, I’m still self-conscious about adjusting my leg on a boardwalk bench.
In life with a disability, everything is a trade-off. To borrow a phrase from Prosthetist Tim, “Sometimes, the juice just isn’t worth the squeeze.”
(Even here, where Bob’s Lemonade is the best squeeze on the boardwalk.)
The rain lets up.
Kids return to dig their holes, now tide pools. A teenager poses in the surf, arms high, red hair sailing, as her boyfriend snaps photos.
Jasmine and I walk along the shore. And Sandy kicks the waves.
Ideas shift beneath my feet.
I remember all the fun I used to have here — or, wait — all the fun I am having here. At this moment. Now.
It’s not too hot. We’re not staying too long.
The mix of sun, and rain, and sand, and sea are… just right.
I don’t know why I hadn’t though of it before. As with other aspects of life and travel, there are many ways to enjoy the beach.
And if that’s true, maybe I do love it still — just not in the way I used to.
And if that’s true too, maybe I’ll come back again soon.
Maybe, in the cool of the off-season, Sandy and I will return for another wade together.
Walk on,
Rebecca
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