Navigating Upper Extremity Amputation

Before my amputation, I loved taking day trips to the mountains and nearby open spaces to go hiking. If I couldn’t find anyone to go with me, I would stick to trails that I knew well and usually had a fair amount of hiking traffic, texting someone my location and when I would be back. (Ironically, I had seen a TV special on Aron Ralston in high school, and I wasn’t taking any chances.)

First Hike

My first hike post-amputation was frankly disastrous. My husband and I traveled out to Oregon with my family a few weeks before I was supposed to return to work after my disability leave. We spent most of the week on the beach, but decided to try a coastal hiking trail toward the end of the trip. It was rated easy to moderate, and we were coming from Colorado. How bad could it be?

The trail started off fairly wide and smooth on a slight incline, but quickly narrowed, following an oceanside cliff. To make matters worse, the trail was slick and muddy with large slabs of rock embedded in the path. The mud and rock combo made for some slippery, dirty hiking. Since both of my arms and my right hand were still healing, I could NOT fall.

About a mile in, we gave up and turned around. Going back down was just as bad, and I kept envisioning a quick stumble that led to a headlong fall down a rocky cliff. I didn’t really realize until that moment how much I used BOTH arms for balance.

Getting Unstuck

I didn’t go hiking again until a couple of weeks ago. For a while, I wasn’t sure if I was physically ready, and then other things kept getting in the way, from feeling too exhausted from work and doctor’s appointments to bad winter weather.

In December, I realized I was in a bad rut. I had been so focused on mental and physical healing that I had forgotten why it mattered: so I could live and enjoy life. I had a bit of time off around the holidays, so weather-permitting, I planned use some of it to either drive through the mountains or go on a short hike.

My husband was working, and most of my friends were either out of town or recovering from the holiday carnage, so I knew it would be a solo trip.

That morning, I almost bailed. Did I really want to go on a solo winter hike right now? I decided to drive to a nearby canyon and at least enjoy the view. I knew there was a fairly short and well-maintained waterfall hike at the end of the canyon road, so I’d drive to the trailhead and see how I felt.

I figured once I was there, I probably wouldn’t want to turn back and waste the trip.

Moving Forward

As predicted, I felt more excited about doing the hike once the trail was staring me down, so I started up the icy trail stairs. (I know. Maybe not the smartest move.)

I moved slowly, hanging onto trees, mostly for emotional support, and was filled with relief that no one else felt like taking a January hike. It was embarrassing enough with the squirrels watching.

Eventually, I made it up to the top of the waterfall, took my time enjoying the quiet morning air and the water burbling under the ice, and made my way safely back down. (Well, other than slipping briefly and pulling my IT band, but you can’t win them all.)

It wasn’t a particularly challenging hike, but it was enough for me to realize that I’d been mentally holding myself back. I was long past the point of struggling with stability and balance issues, but I was afraid to test it. I’d been making up excuses to turn down hiking invites all summer.

I tend to push myself too hard, too fast, but lately, I’ve been avoiding trying certain things that I enjoy because I’m afraid to fail. I think it’s time to stop holding myself back and hit the trails.