I had borne many wounds during my time in the trenches but none were so demoralizing as the loss of my left arm. Many times, while lying in the rickety hospital cot, I would have sworn that my arm was hurting and would reach over to touch the painful area only to find that the offending limb was never there to begin with. I had imagined the pain.
I should be happy, some condescending nursing sister told me. I should be happy that it was only my arm that the Germans have taken from me and not my life. I would never harm a woman but at the moment I seriously considered hitting her.
I felt angry and bitter. Who wouldn't? It was only an arm but it was my arm. Losing a limb is far more traumatic then people let on.
I touch my shoulder where my lost arm would have been and ignore the other patients in the ward. I don't care for them. I don't care for anyone right now.
But I realize that behaving like a spoiled child isn't very soldierly of me and I soon drop my remaining arm to my side.
"Sergeant McCullen?" A doctor and a nurse approach my cot, obviously disappointed that I haven't bothered to get up since it's just an arm I lost, not a leg.
"That's me." I say.
The doctor smiles at me. "You're going home soldier. There's an ambulance that will take you to the station."
"I'm going home?" I shouldn't be surprised; what good can a one-armed soldier serve? But I find myself dreading to go home. I don't want my loved ones to see me like this; a cripple who will be gawked at in the streets.
However, it is not some dreadful dream of mine but the reality of my situation. The nurse and another orderly help me put on my uniform and pin the empty sleeve to the side of my blouse. I adjust my cap and look to the orderly whose gaze seems to linger on my empty sleeve. She sees that I have caught her staring and looks away in embarrassment.
And that, Richard, I think to myself. Is what everyone at home will do once they see you.
On top of the stares that I will receive, people will want to know how I had ended where I am now. That is what I dread the most. I can handle staring but I don't know how I will react to people wanting to know what had happened to me.
I had lost it to German arty. My platoon was making their way through the supporting trenches up to the front when luck decided to abandon me altogether and lobbed a shell right into the trench.
The pain was unbelievable. I didn't register it at first because I was shocked at the sight of my arm lying in tatters on the ground. I saw blood soak my side and fainted. I woke up in a hospital then.
The nurse and orderly, now accompanied by the doctor, walk me out of the hospital. I am not the only soldier who is going home today and join about three other soldiers in the back of the ambulance.
None of us bother talking to one another. I think the others are too tired for conversation.
We get to the station and the train takes me and many others like me to a harbour where a ship waits to take us home. Looking at the ship makes me feel nostalgic about the first journey I had made over to Blighty at the beginning of the war.
Once the ship leaves the harbour and begins its long journey home, I am left to mull over my time spent away from home. A lot of things will be changed once I get back and that makes me quite anxious.
Will I be able to find work? How can a cripple like me make a living? I do not want to become dependent on others. I want to be able to fend for myself.
The voyage proves to be a long one and boredom only makes the days seem longer. I force myself to talk to other soldiers and play cards and listen to their tall tales of the trenches and end up being able to relax for once. They don't care if I'm an amputee since some of them are in the same condition as me.
When the ship reaches its destination, we go up onto the deck to get a glimpse of home. Everyone is silent so we are able hear is the waves slapping the side of the ship and the sounds of people and machines at the harbour.
I don't get up and follow the others at first. I'm home at last but I hesitate to get off the ship. Once I touched home soil I would have to deal with a multitude of problems head-on which makes me feel queasy.
But an orderly ushers me forward so I have no choice but to leave. I look down at the crowds of people, dock workers going about their business, doctors and nurses aiding the wounded, and groups of civilians waiting for loved ones.
No one is here for me.
With a shaky breathe I walk down the gangway, mentally preparing myself for the trip home. I don't know how I will make a living or live independently but I sure as hell will try.
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A soldier (Canadian/American/Anzac/whatever you please) of The Great War gets his arm amputated and must deal with the aftermath. He struggles to adapt to being an amputee.
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