The Wheelchair

 

THE  WHEELCHAIR

A DUBIOUS TALE BY STRZEKA

Good things come to those who wait. Stephen waited for his parents to die before getting his first tattoos to avoid their disapproval and loved seeing his arms inked jet black from shoulder to wrist. He might now even have the backs of his hands inked. He bought his first ever pair of long leather and steel leg braces the next year and gradually transitioned into a man who had obvious problems walking. He wore trousers to cover the braces but ensured that several inches of mirrored steel was visible at his ankles. He bought several pairs of boots with thick leather soles to be adapted for use with his callipers. His lower legs were always held rigid from his knees to his toes and when he wished to appear more disabled, he engaged locks at knee height and made his knees rigid too. He ordered several pairs of walking sticks and began to use them both at home and in public.

 

Stephen retired from working life after a career spanning forty-four years. He had earned a rest. However, walking with two rigid legs was anything but restful. He noticed his legs deteriorate from strong and muscular to weak and flabby, their atrophy accelerated by the leg braces. The steel struts he wore from morning to night every day supported him without needing muscular strength and he used one of his walking sticks to correct his balance when he stood for any period of time.

 

Years passed. Stephen had almost lost the ability to walk any distance without leg braces. The two hundred yards stretch to the local shop and back was enough to cause his thighs to ache and his knees and ankles to falter alarmingly. He relied on his walking sticks although they inconvenienced him when carrying purchases. He was pleased by the loss of the use of his legs. The heavy callipers he relied on were both a symbol of the way he felt he should always have been since childhood and a triumph of his will to live the rest of his time coping with physical challenges, which, he hoped, would help stave off mental deterioration. He looked at his hands and arms and wished they could also be braced by steel and thick black leather. He had searched for a manufacturer of such equipment, unsuccessfully.

 

His opportunity to render his arms disabled came when a friend agreed to sell him an unwanted pair of non-amputee arm prostheses complete with hooks. Stephen had long admired the appearance of men, especially young men, who had lost their hands and chosen steel hooks. He was always envious of such men but only partly understood the disability which losing one’s hands entailed. He wore the artificial arms every day. Each morning, he fed his near-useless legs into their steel callipers and boots and his left arm into its prosthetic socket and hook. Having dressed and prepared a breakfast, he donned the second prosthetic arm and enjoyed being thoroughly disabled for several hours until lunchtime. Initially, Stephen had tried using both hooks for his waking hours but compromised by removing the right until after lunch when he inserted his hand into the socket again and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening wielding hooks. Rising from a chair wearing leg braces without hands required forethought and experience. His semi‑prosthetic body was a joy to him and he loved both the genuine and simulated disabilities he had achieved for himself.

 

His next disability was not so welcome. Stephen noticed that his vision had deteriorated. He waited a couple of months for it to return to normal. It did not. He visited an ophthalmologist. A few weeks later, Stephen learned that both eyes, especially the left, showed signs of macular deterioration and possibly glaucoma. Further tests would be necessary.

 

The left eye had been damaged by a tiny protuberance in a blood vessel near the nerve which fed visual information into the brain. It distorted vision in such a way that straight lines seemed to bulge. Stephen was booked in for a series of three injections of a drug which would arrest the deterioration – into his eyeball.

 

Months later, it was apparent that the drug had worked. Stephen was left with a severely myopic but healthy eye, his right, and the left which viewed the world as if through a low resolution kaleidoscope. Together, his ruined vision made it unpleasant to read for pleasure, next to impossible to read small print and turned watching tv into a head-swivelling exercise trying to focus. The greatest disadvantage was that Stephen could no longer walk safely using his braces and walking sticks because he could no longer reliably judge the condition of the surface in front of him. It all looked pocked and pot-holed and uneven, including surfaces like a parquet floor which he knew must be perfectly flat. Walking over unfamiliar surfaces with two completely rigid unfeeling legs began to tire him mentally more than his physical disabilities warranted. He would adopt a wheelchair.

 

Stephen had considered purchasing a wheelchair before but there was precious little space in his small apartment for him to be able to move around in one. His easy chair was in the way in the middle of the lounge and the office chair at his desk would be superfluous. But they could be taken to storage. He watched several YouTube videos by wheelchair users giving advice on buying one and placed an order for a model with a plain steel frame, solid tyres, large casters and a wide grip ring. The ring could be ignored. Stephen did not intend to ruin his shoulders by wheeling. He wanted to operate his chair with levers which he could pull and push back and forth to propel himself. It looked more unusual and the levers could be operated by artificial arms with steel hooks. He imagined himself in the chair with his steel leg braces inserted into thick-soled boots, operating the chair’s propulsion levers with two steel hooks. Perhaps he could also wear a leather eyepatch to negate the destroyed vision from his left eye. With his shapely white beard and shiny shaved head, he would be a striking figure wherever he went. The wheelchair would arrive within a few weeks along with the auxiliary propulsion levers.

 

There was a summer festival in town. Stephen was too old for candy floss and toffee apples but there promised to be a procession through the central streets of a musical troupe playing samba. He decided to make the effort to go and see it. Samba music was always fascinating and he could see something exceptional at the same time.

 

He was wearing his leg braces, as always, and decided that, for once, he might wear the pretender hook on his left arm. He rarely used a hook in public, simply because of the illogicality of being seen with a hook one day and a natural hand the next. If he were an amputee, he would have no hesitation in displaying his artificial arm or arms to all and sundry. He took his favourite walking stick in his right hand and walked slowly and stiffly to the town centre. He waited about fifty yards beyond the town square where he could hear musicians tuning their instruments. On the opposite side of the street there was a tall blond man, standing alone with his muscular arms crossed, watching the crowd and peering towards the square. Stephen found him attractive and watched him. The stranger suddenly made eye contact and held it. He gave a broad grin. Stephen raised his left hand in acknowledgement. His left hook. The stranger raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and looked again towards the source of the musical notes.

 

The stranger had noticed Stephen’s arrival. The odd gait caught his attention first, then the walking stick and the hook visible in the left sleeve. The stranger was an enthusiastic devotee of disabled older men and his eye was trained to notice subtle abnormalities. He was interested in orthotic and prosthetic equipment and decided that before the day was out, he would chat with the old man out of compassion, naturally. He was also pleased by Stephen’s appearance. He was a great admirer of daddy figures and yearned for a long-term relationship with a good-looking senior who relied on mobility aids. He turned his attention back to Stephen and crossed the road to stand beside him.

            – It sounds like they’re almost ready. It won’t be long now.

Stephen looked up at the stranger’s clean-shaven face and attractive blue eyes. He had folded his arms again. It was an unusual gesture but it lent an air of insouciance. The eyes turned towards Stephen’s.

            – Do you enjoy samba music?

            – Yes. I’ve always liked it. I love the massed sound of lots of drums and samba has so many rhythms going on. Plus the dancers are a sight for sore eyes.

            – Yes, I agree with you. I think they’ve started.

            – Can you see them?

            – Yeah, they’re spreading out first. Ah! Here they come.

The first drumbeats sounded, the interaction between a solo drummer and the rest of the troupe answering his beat. The dancers twirled their costumes, waiting for the samba rhythm before they threw themselves into their flamboyant dance. The solo drummer answered the troupe’s drumming with his insistent reply, waited… and the samba began. A shiver of pleasure ran up Stephen’s back and along his arms, giving him goosebumps. He tried to manoeuvre his legs to face in the direction the troupe was coming from and would have liked to have a cane in his left hook. The stranger noticed and stood behind Stephen with his hands on the old man’s shoulders. Stephen was surprised and glanced up for a moment. The stranger kept his eyes on the dancers. It felt pleasant to sense the stranger’s firm support. The troupe arrived directly in front of them and Stephen again altered his stance. The stranger removed one hand but kept the other around his other shoulder. They watched the drummers and dancers passing by for two or three minutes.

            – That was fun, wasn’t it? Do you want to follow them?

            – It would be nice to walk along with them but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the music anyway.

            – Shall we go for coffee somewhere? I’d like to chat with you. My name is Dominique, by the way. Everyone calls me Dom.

            – My name is Stephen. Not Steve.

            – Pleased to make your acquaintance, Stephen. Shall we walk along until we find a café? Take my arm.

Dom stood on Stephen’s left and Stephen put his arm prosthesis through Dom’s cocked arm. Dom glanced at the steel hook and felt sudden excitement at escorting a handsome daddy with such obvious orthotic and prosthetic equipment. He walked slowly, letting Stephen manipulate his rigid legs, gripping the artificial arm tightly with his own muscular right arm.

            – Let’s go in here. They do some very nice cinnamon buns and I’m feeling a bit peckish.

            – I’ve not been here before.

They sat down and Stephen ordered coffees and buns. Dom insisted on paying. Stephen rested his hook on the tabletop. Dom liked seeing it but made no comment. He had also enjoyed the way Stephen stood and released his knee locks before sitting. Other customers watched them with varying levels of shock or interest.

            – It’s good to have some company. I don’t think I would have come here otherwise.

            – It’s always more fun when there are two of you. I hope you didn’t mind me holding you when we were watching the band. I was a little worried about your balance.

            – No, I didn’t mind. I quite liked it. It did help. I felt safer.

            – That’s good.

            – Dom, you are a young man. I like that, don’t get me wrong. But I have the strange feeling that you are almost flirting with me.

            – I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give offence. I have to admit that I find older men more to my taste than people my own age. I’m thirty-three, by the way. You are a handsome man and I was attracted by your disability, if I may say so. I hope you aren’t offended.

            – Not at all. I am disabled but I struggle on. I think my legs are giving out. I used to be able to walk a little without callipers but these days, I dare not even try. They do make walking a lot more strenuous but they also keep me secure. But I’m afraid that I shall soon be in a wheelchair.

            – Really? You might well find that a wheelchair actually gives you more freedom.

            – Yes, I realise that. I should be taking delivery of one fairly soon, in fact.

            – Is that so?

            – Yes. I have already ordered one and it should be delivered in a few days.

            – Perhaps I could help you assemble it, if you like.

            – You know, I would like some help, actually. I’m not entirely useless with tools but it would be good to have a little assistance.

Stephen lifted his prosthetic arm and let it drop back onto the table in way of explanation.

            – This doesn’t help matters.

            – No, I would assume not. Would you like more coffee?

            – Thanks, but no thanks. I should make tracks for home.

            – Would you like me to walk with you?

            – You really don’t need to, Dom. I can manage.

            – Yes, I know. I thought we might continue talking.

            – Come on, then. It’s a pleasure to have a good-looking escort.

 

Stephen rocked slowly back to his home. Dom walked beside him, enjoying the squeaks and thuds emitted by Stephen’s callipers. They spoke of other musical venues where they had enjoyed impromptu displays of creative dance and unexpected presentations. Stephen released one of his knees to allow him to negotiate a few steps outside his apartment building.

            – This will be difficult if you are in a wheelchair.

            – I’ll still be semi-ambulatory though. I won’t have lost all ability to stand or walk. Just that a chair will be more comfortable and faster for me.

            – You’ll still have to be able to drag your chair up the steps.

            – True enough. Dom, thank you for your company and help today. I’m very grateful to you. I’ve enjoyed talking to you. It’s not often I have someone sensible to talk to.

            – Thank you. If I give you my phone number, you can call me when your wheelchair arrives and I’ll come and assemble it.

            – That would be very kind of you.

Stephen and Dom exchanged phone numbers and Dom left. He glanced back at the crippled arm amputee with admiration. Perhaps Stephen would let him into his life. They had so much in common.

 

Stephen’s wheelchair was delivered the following Thursday. He slit open the package and looked at the myriad parts which would need to be assembled and adjusted. He could do it himself well enough but Dom had offered and it was an excellent opportunity to see his handsome new friend again. He sent a text message and waited impatiently for a reply. It came within an hour.

            – shall be delighted to help. will saturday afternoon be soon enough?

            – perfect. Any time after 2.

 

Dom arrived at two fifteen. He carried a satchel containing a wide variety of screwdrivers, Allen keys and wrenches, although the manufacturer had included all the necessary tools to assemble the wheelchair in the package. Stephen was wearing his kafos as always and the pretender prosthesis on his left arm.

            – It’s good to see you again. I hope I’m not too early.

            – No, not at all. I’m pleased you could come. I was just about to make some coffee. Would you like a cup before we begin?

            – I’d like that very much, thanks. Do you need any help?

            – No, I can do this well enough.

Dom watched Stephen busying himself in the kitchen. The coffee was good.

            – I dare say you are looking forward to trying out the chair. I would have come earlier but we’ve been busy at work and the schedule was full.

            – What is it you do, Dom?

            – I’m a paediatrician. A children’s doctor.

            – Oh. And you work at the local hospital, I suppose?

            – Yes, I have a subsidised apartment which is a little too big for just me – in fact, there’s a whole room which I use only to exercise in.

            – And you live alone?

            – I live alone. I think I told you that I am not attracted to men of my own age. And naturally enough, older men are reluctant to uproot themselves from their homes to move in with me. They have their own homes and their own furniture and prefer to remain where they are. It makes cohabitation unlikely.

            – Yes, I can see how that might be a problem. Is that why you’re still single?

            – Partly, I suppose. I’m not sure but I think older men have the idea that people my age are incapable of forging a relationship with someone older. I’ll admit it is unusual. But that’s enough of my troubles. Let’s get your wheelchair up and running and we could go out for a walk to try it out.

            – That would be good. I’m going to sit and watch you.

Stephen engaged his right calliper’s knee lock and stood up. He moved to the lounge and released both locks before lowering himself into his easy chair. He held his hook with his right hand. Dom sat cross-legged beside the pile of components still in their cardboard box and read through the assembly instructions. He checked that all the necessary parts were present and began. The wheels and casters went on the frame first, then the footrests and the push handles. The armrests were next and gradually the wheelchair took shape.

            – Come and sit in it, Stephen. I need to adjust the position of the seat so you’re not too far forward or in danger of tipping over backwards.

Stephen pushed himself up and walked across to the wheelchair. He held on to the armrests as best he could and sat. As his hips slipped down into the chair, he noticed that at least the seat was the proper width. He hooked his left callipered leg onto the footrest and then the other. His hands reached down for the push rings on the wheels. Dom looked at him from one side and decided that the seat could be moved back a couple of inches.

            – I need to make a couple of adjustments, Stephen. Can you get out again?

            – Sure. Pull me up, will you?

Stephen put his feet on the floor and offered his arms to Dom. He rose and Dom placed his arms around him for a quick hug as they stood chest to chest. Dom made the adjustment to the seat and Stephen sat down again.

            – Ah, that feels better. I can reach the wheels more easily.

            – Good. Your body weight is centred over the axle now, so you have to be aware that if you lean back, your chair might topple backwards if you lean too far. You have to remember to lean forward slightly when you are pushing yourself or when you go up a kerb.

            – Don’t forget I have fairly heavy braces on my legs. They might help to keep my balance.

            – Yes, they might. OK. Give it a go. Can you manage the left wheel with your hook?

            – Not well. It doesn’t grip round shapes very well. I ought to come clean with you, I suppose, Dom. I am not an amputee.

            – Oh? What’s going on, then?

            – I always wanted to use a hook, you know, to have an arm stump. This is the best I have been able to do. My left hand is bunched up inside this socket.

            – I thought you had lost your hand. Would you really like to be an amputee instead?

            – It’s the one thought that has followed me all through my life. The desire to be an amputee. I started using leg braces as a way to feel what having artificial legs might feel like. But most of all, I always hankered after a hook. I’m sorry, Dom. You probably think I’m crazy.

            – No, not at all. I’ve heard about paraphilias before. You’re the first man I’ve met who admits to one, though. I expect we see others around us every day without realising it. So you’d like to have your hand off?

            – Yes, I would, especially now when I know what it’s like to use a hook.

            – Well, keep this under your hat but I might be able to help you. Since I work at the hospital, I can probably fake a few papers to get your name on the patient list. And when they have a slot for you, you’d go in for your amputation.

Stephen stared at Dom, not knowing what to ask next.

            – Really? You could get me an amputation? How is that possible?

            – Well, it’s a matter of having access to the records and the right papers. You don’t need to know how it works but if you wanted to lose your hand, we could arrange it for some time in the autumn.

Stephen stared at Dom. He might be able to have a genuine artificial arm at last. Better late than never.

            – So you just need to give me the word and I’ll set things in motion. Now, shall we go outside and try out your wheelchair? Do you want to take your hook off first?

            – Yeah, I think I will.

Stephen took his pullover off and removed the harness from across his shoulders. The socket loosened and he withdrew his fist from it.

            – May I see that? It’s made pretty much like the genuine article. I think the shape of this socket is the giveaway but I have to admit that I didn’t notice.

            – And its length. It has to be long enough to contain my hand which the genuine article does not, obviously.

            – Very interesting. I can see why you enjoy wearing it.

Stephen dressed again and sat in his wheelchair. He rolled forward a little and turned to face Dom who stood watching with his arms crossed.

            – I’m ready. Shall we go?

Dom helped negotiate a couple of low steps but otherwise allowed Stephen to propel himself. Stephen was trying to use the chair in the way he had seen so many users explaining – regular strokes from back to front in a circular motion, take a rest when you can use the momentum, keep your head up. It was comfortable and a relaxing way to get some exercise. Dom walked along beside him, admiring the outline of Stephen’s kafos through his trousers and the sturdy black leather boots holding his kafos in place. Stephen’s legs were as immobile as any paraplegic’s. If Stephen intended to use the wheelchair permanently, perhaps he might consider further amputations to rid himself of his useless and burdensome legs.

            – How does it feel, Stephen? You seem to be managing very well, not that I know anything about wheelchairs.

            – This is fine. I reckon this would build up my upper body strength over time.

            – It certainly isn’t doing your legs any good.

            – Ha! No, it isn’t. I should get rid of them altogether, useless things.

            – If you’re serious, Stephen, I can arrange that too.

            – It seems to me that we’re going to have to sit down and have a discussion about this. You realise, I hope, that I would be more disabled as a triple amputee than I am now with a pretender hook and leg braces.

            – Yes, you would but you would also have achieved the body you seem to have wanted all your life. Legless and mobile in a wheelchair with a prosthetic hook. It sounds a comfortable way of living, if you are determined to enjoy your amputations. I can see why some men might regard it as a kind of set-back.

            – Ha! You’re a master of understatement. How would I manage my life as such an extreme cripple?

            – You could arrange to have someone from social services visit you two or three times a week, give you a bath and dust the bookshelves. But I will make you a promise here and now, Stephen, and I am very serious. If you go through with your amputations, I will stay by your side and live with you as a companion and helper – or more, if you allow me. I already want to be a part of your life as a friend so I can see you more often. I hope I’m not being too forward.

            – No, not at all. I like seeing you too. So basically, what you’re telling me is that not only can you arrange for me to acquire three stumps but that you would also worship them afterwards.

            – When you put it like that, the answer has to be ‘yes’. We would always be together and I would be your legs for you, your helping hand when you need it.

Stephen stopped and twisted his chair around to face Dom again. They were on a tree-lined suburban street opposite a park. He looked up at Dom’s earnest friendly face.

            – It’s almost like a marriage proposal.

            – Yes, it is. I’d like to be with you even if you stay as you are. But if you want to have your amputations, I promise to stay with you afterwards. You can be the way you want to be and I will stay with you.

            – Thank you, Dom. Shall we go back? This has been enough exercise for one day. And I need to have a think about your proposal. I assume I would need to move to another flat somewhere. There’s no room in my place for two.

            – I hope you could share mine. It has two bedrooms, so you would always be able to have some privacy if you wanted to. You’ll have to visit and take a look.

            – I’ll do that.

 

Dom made sure Stephen was safely at home and they said goodbye. Stephen rolled into his lounge, locked the brakes and stood up carefully. His knee locks dropped into place and he walked stiff-legged to the kitchen to make some tea. He took out a notepad and pen and created a list of everything which Dom had spoken about. He divided the page into ‘Pro’ and ‘Con’ sections and would jot down relevant ideas and impressions until he had concrete ideas which he could discuss with Dom.

 

Stephen took delivery of the lever mechanisms which he had ordered for his wheelchair. They propelled the chair by a simple forward and backward movement of his arms. It promised to be a less fatiguing way of negotiating his way around. He opened the package and decided assembly was within his capabilities. He arranged the components, read the instructions twice and lifted the wheelchair onto the table. The lever mechanisms fit easily into position and after some minor adjustments, his wheelchair was ready for operation by pushing on the levers rather than on the wheel rims. Stephen lifted the wheelchair down and sat in it to test it.

 

It was immediately obvious that the wheelchair was much easier to control. His hands pulled on the levers to go forward and by braking one of the wheels, the chair turned in that direction. His hands stayed away from the push rims. Stephen was pleased with his new purchase and decided that he would transition to using the wheelchair with kafos, allowing himself to stand or walk a few steps when necessary. He would find a way to attach a walking stick or two to the chair’s frame to signal that he was still ambulatory and not completely reliant on the chair. He moved his furniture closer to the wall to give his wheelchair more space.

 

It was still more convenient to stand while working in the kitchen but for most of the time, Stephen sat and wheeled at home. He watched a few training videos featuring young people who had suddenly found themselves needing wheelchairs for mobility. He wanted to learn how to do wheelies – how to jerk the small wheels up and onto kerbs – and would ask Dom to help out by standing behind the chair to prevent him from tipping over backwards. The youngsters were impressive with their wheelchair skills, making the apparatus seem more like a piece of sports equipment than a mobility aid.

 

Dom paid a visit on Friday evening. He was impressed by Stephen’s transition and interested to see the unusual method of propulsion.

            – Have you tried wearing your hooks yet?

            – No. I’ve thought about it, of course, but I don’t want to scratch the handles. I’ve been looking around for some rings I can fix to the levers so I can use the hooks.

            – Like the rings you can get for a car steering wheel? Yes, I know what you mean. It shouldn’t be hard to find a pair of those. We’ll have a look a little later. So what else is new?

            – I’ve been thinking about my amputations. I’d like to have leg stumps first, I think. Get rid of these leg braces once and for all.

            – Have you thought about how long you’d like the stumps to be?

            – Yes. Ideally as short as possible while still letting me sit in a wheelchair without a seat belt. About six inches, I suppose.

            – Sounds about right. How about your hands?

            – After my leg stumps are healed, I’d like both forearms amputated halfway between the wrist and elbow. And a pair of hooks as quickly as possible after that.

            – You’d look wonderful. Legless in a wheelchair with two hooks. You’re a lucky man. You’re still a handsome man and you have clear skin and good features like your beard. Would you like me to start organising your leg amputations? There shouldn’t be any problems with that. It’s not unheard of for gentlemen of your age to lose their legs to some medical complication. I’m sure we can work something out.

            – How soon might it be?

            – Would you like me to rush it through? If I can find another amputee patient’s records, I can get you into theatre in a few weeks. Stephen, have you considered coming to live with me?

            – Yes, I have. I’m still coming to terms with the idea of living with another man after being alone for forty years.

            – The thing is, it would be a lot easier for you to return from hospital to my apartment and your own room than to return here and have to fend for yourself from a wheelchair, not to mention getting ready for a move as a legless man.

            – Yes, I realise that. Is your flat accessible?

            – Yes it is. More so than even this place. It has step-free access, for a start, and the bathroom is already equipped with support bars and what have you.

            – I think I’d like to move in, Dom. Shall I order a removal van for next weekend?

            – What are you going to do with your extra furniture? You know you won’t need your own bed, don’t you? All you need bring is what you’d like in your own room. I think of it as another day room, not as a bedroom.

            – Shall we both have a clear-out? I could bring all my furniture and a little later we could arrange for the extra unwanted stuff to be collected for recycling or whatever.

            – Let’s do that. So we’ll be together from next weekend? I’m so pleased, Stephen. I promise you won’t ever regret it.

 

Stephen set about organising for a move. He took delivery of two dozen removal crates and filled half of them with things of value. Old receipts and bank statements from decades ago were discarded along with unwanted trinkets, mismatched crockery and never used clothing. Dom rearranged his apartment, moving his fitness equipment into a corner of the living room so Stephen’s future room was completely empty. He also made room in his closet and cupboards for Stephen’s clothes.

 

During slack periods at work, he searched medical records for an elderly patient who had undergone bilateral leg amputations in the recent past. He discovered two cases and selected the more suitable. The patient’s resulting stumps were the length Stephen had stated he wanted. Short enough to deserve the description ‘legless’ but long enough to allow the patient to support himself in a sitting position. Dom made a duplicate copy of the file and began replacing the original patient’s details with Stephen’s, including a fictional report on recurring blood clots in the patient’s legs. Satisfied that the new file was apparently legitimate and credible, he moved it to the queue of patients awaiting urgent surgical procedures.

 

Three good-natured removal men moved Stephen’s belongings to Dom’s empty room on Saturday morning. One of them travelled in the back of the van sitting in Stephen’s easy chair holding onto the wheelchair while Stephen travelled with the others in the front. It was a short distance, barely half a mile, and the work was done before midday. Stephen thanked the lads and handed over a tip of fifty pounds and told them it should only be used for the purchase of alcoholic drinks.

 

It was not yet time for the two men to share a bed. Stephen turned the empty space into a bed/sitting room, careful to leave a path clear from the door to his bed for the wheelchair. Dom was attentive and they soon adopted a morning routine which began with the younger man placing Stephen’s limbs into his leg braces and pretender prosthetic left arm. They lingered over a long breakfast on their first Sunday morning together, planning new and necessary alterations to their shared home. Stephen’s imminent hobbling was at the front of their minds. The apartment would need to be redesigned for a legless man in a wheelchair. They rearranged the kitchen to afford access for a cripple and moved a few items which Stephen would need to a low shelf – a couple of mugs, plates and pieces of cutlery. Each alteration cemented the fact of their new lifestyles.

 

On Monday morning, Stephen received a telephone call informing him that the required medical procedures would be performed on Wednesday afternoon and enquiring whether an ambulance would be needed for transport. Stephen stated that he was reliant on a wheelchair and that an ambulance would be for the best. He was asked to pack his essentials in a small case and to be ready to leave any time after eleven on Wednesday morning. He thanked the person and terminated the call. He suddenly realised that he had no idea what Dom had entered as his medical emergency. But he was elated that by the end of the week, he would be awake and learning how to be newly legless.

 

Dom explained what his medical record showed him to be suffering. Recurring blood clots in both legs had been prevented largely by blood thinners but they still presented a risk of stroke or embolism and the patient’s sedentary lifestyle allowed for bilateral amputation as an effective and non-disruptive treatment. Stephen was impressed at Dom’s thoroughness.

            – I think your stumps are going to be very short, Stephen. I hope you don’t mind. When you sit in your wheelchair it will appear as if you are completely legless although you will still have thighbones about three inches long. They will let you sit much more comfortably compared to having disarticulations. You’ll probably need to wear a safety belt in your chair.

            – That’s alright. I don’t mind that. I’m surprised that my stumps are going to be so short, though.

            – That’s because the urgent reason for the amputations requires almost complete removal of the limbs. I tried to find a patient who matched your age and physique who ended up with mid-thigh stumps but unfortunately there don’t seem to have been any in the recent past.

            – I’ll be able to hand walk without any trouble, won’t I?

            – I should think so. At least until your hands are amputated. After that, we could get you some rubber pads to fix to your arm sockets if you want to hand walk.

            – Are you going to arrange for my arm amputations too?

            – Yes, I hope so. I’ve made a few quick searches, unsuccessful up to now, but it should be possible to use the same blood clot risk to cause you to lose your arms. The trouble is that you’ll end up with short stumps at your shoulders instead of having the forearm stumps which we both want you to have.

            – Yes, I see. I’d prefer to keep my elbows. I can’t imagine being able to operate my wheelchair handles without them.

            – Exactly. I’ll keep looking for something suitable before we go down that route. You’re not unhappy with your pretender arms, are you? If you want to use hooks, they’re adequate for the time being, aren’t they?

            – Yes, but I’d really like to have arm stumps.

            – I know. Leave it to me, Stephen. I’m sure something will turn up sooner or later. It would be best to leave your arm amputations until your leg stumps have completely healed and you’re used to being legless.

 

Stephen was taken to hospital at Wednesday noon in his wheelchair. His callipers stood in a corner of his bedroom, never to be worn again. His crutches and walking sticks similarly would never see further use and his boots and other footwear were useless to him.

 

The preliminary preparations were completed by four o’clock. Blood tests showed his general health to be satisfactory. His surgeon seemed apologetic for performing such radical surgery. Stephen assured him that the amputations had been expected for many years and he was quite prepared to enjoy further years freed from the risk of strokes. The surgical team set about their work and four hours later, Stephen’s legs had been reduced to semispherical stumps with incision scars to the rear. His lower body was wrapped in bandages and he was placed on the amputee ward to begin his recovery.

 

Dom visited every evening after work. They discussed rehabilitation first and foremost. Stephen was perfectly content to simply rely on his wheelchair but Dom insisted that he should make the additional effort to do the recommended exercises in order to build up his core strength a little. Dom mentioned having removed the mats and carpeting at home to make wheelchair use less tiresome. He also intended buying a vacuum cleaning robot which would ensure that the floor was as clean as possible should Stephen wish to walk around on his hands. Three weeks after his amputations, Stephen was discharged and delivered to his new home in an ambulance. He was carried inside and placed into his wheelchair.

 

Dom arrived a few hours later and knelt in front of his friend.

            – Welcome home, Stephen. Are you ready to continue where we left off?

            – I think so. What do you mean, though? Where did we leave off?

            – We were planning your arm amputations.

            – Oh, those! Yes, I see what you mean. Dom, give me a while to get used to being legless before going through another big change, alright? I want to experience my new body and enjoy it before I make any decisions about my arms. Don’t get me wrong – I still want to have the perfect arm stumps I have lusted after for sixty years but let me discover leglessness first.

            – I understand. I hope you’ll derive great pleasure from your new configuration. You look extremely handsome and commanding now. I hope we can be together more often. Oh, why do I never say it? I’d like to invite you to share my bed. I would love to explore your body and your stumps.

            – I have been lonely, especially over the past few weeks. I felt vulnerable, being newly disabled in hospital. I think I would like to be with you and share your bed.

Dom stood and beamed at his friend. He would finally get to see Stephen’s stumps that night.

 

Stephen was fascinated by his leglessness. The change in his weight alone was novel and enjoyable. Walking on his hands was easy, although getting out of his wheelchair onto the floor needed some practice. He loved the sensation of emptiness in front of his hips. His leg stumps were extremely minimal. When he sat, they did not extend beyond the profile of his torso. He had enquired in the hospital about wearing stubbies and was regretfully informed that his residual limbs were unsuitable for prosthetic use. He might be able to wear some kind of support below his pelvis to use in conjunction with short crutches but he would never walk independently. Stephen had thanked the professional for his opinion and was satisfied. It was enough for him to be belted into his wheelchair and power along pumping its levers.

 

Dom was attentive and paid close attention to what Stephen was able to do for himself and what he attempted to do without asking for assistance although a little help would have made his life easier. Stephen had lived an independent life for four decades and was reluctant to ask for help. The amputations had been desirable in order to achieve a more preferable body image, not to make life more difficult or to turn him into a dependent invalid. Independence was still the order of the day,

 

Stephen was able to function in the bathroom well enough. As in all the apartments associated with the hospital’s residential area, the wet rooms were equipped with bars and supports in the shower stalls and beside the wc seat. At the end of their first joint evening after Stephen’s return, Dom accompanied Stephen to the bathroom and watched him.

            – Are you ready? Would you allow me to carry you to bed? You can leave the wheelchair here overnight.

            – Yes, we can do that.

He lifted his arms and Dom cradled him. The naked men went to Dom’s bedroom and Dom placed Stephen’s torso on one side of his bed.

            – May I look at your stumps?

            – Go ahead!

Stephen revolved his thighs and the stumps moved slightly. His cock and large balls rested on the stumps and overlapped a little.

            – You are a lucky man, Stephen. You have the perfect body. I hope you like it as much as I do.

            – I hope so too. I like being appreciated. Thank you, Dom, for what you have done for me.

            – It was my pleasure. Do you want to read? Shall I turn the light out?

            – No, I can’t read any longer – not for pleasure, at least. My vision isn’t what it was.

            – OK.

Dom switched the light off and pulled Stephen towards him. The stumps were juxtaposed with his genitals and Stephen playfully kicked Dom. The warm cushioned flesh moved against Dom’s erecting penis and they drifted to sleep, Dom holding his prize, Stephen feeling the safe embrace of Dom’s handsome arms.

 

Stephen gained new energy from the new situation. His mood improved in the attentive company of a reliable friend. He did as much general housework as he could from a wheelchair and prepared simple, healthy evening meals for the two of them from ingredients which he purchased himself on independent trips to the local shopping centre. The chair moved reliably. The propulsion levers were responsive and pleasing to use, much less demanding on arm strength than the traditional way of using a wheelchair.

 

Dom took Stephen’s trousers to a seamstress who shortened all the trouser legs to small bags to enclose the stumps. Stephen was delighted with the improved appearance of his lap. Dom waited patiently for Stephen to bring up the subject of his arm amputations again but continued to search medical databases for a senior male who had received bilateral forearm amputations. Finally, six months after Stephen’s return, a case from a northern hospital appeared. The cause had also been attributed to blood circulation problems which would match with Stephen’s previous fictional medical record. Dom decided that there would never be a better opportunity for Stephen to gain the stumps he most desired and brought the subject up at home.

            – It might be a case of now or never, my friend. This is the first case I have found which could also apply to you and I have been searching the records regularly for the past eight months. How would you feel about simultaneous bilateral arm amputations? Bear in mind that you’ll be fairly helpless for a few weeks before you get your first custom pair of hooks.

            – That’s what worries me most – the in-between period. I know the hooks will not pose a problem.

            – No, I’m sure they won’t. I’ve seen how well you can use the pretender arms. Your own genuine hooks will be better fitting and more versatile. I’ll help with everything you find difficult. The only problem I see is the few weeks after the amputations and before you get your hooks. You’ll be here at home feeling pretty useless for hours on end and I don't want to put you through such a depressing period.

            – I’m sure I can cope with that, Dom. Simply knowing that it’s only a temporary stage everyone has to go through. I’m up for it if you can arrange it.

Stephen explained the length and nature of the stumps he most preferred. Dom understood and approved. His man would have forearms shortened by about a third. Long enough for good leverage and stability with his arm sockets, practical enough to use without prosthetics as individual pincers after the stumps had completely healed. Dom spent the rest of the week adapting the Northerner’s records for Stephen and copied the new file into the timetable of patients awaiting surgery.

 

Once again, an ambulance collected Stephen from his home. The reason was one of practicality. The distance was short enough for Stephen to have managed perfectly well in his wheelchair but the medics could deliver him directly to his relevant destination. He remembered why he was in hospital and had to make a conscious effort to use his hands as little and as awkwardly as possible. He was placed on a ward and had blood drawn for testing. The next morning, a surgeon explained the procedures he would shortly undertake and reassured Stephen that he would soon be back on his feet with a new pair of prosthetic arms. Stephen thought it unlikely but understood the gist. Five hours later, his healthy, wrinkled and liver-spotted hands had been amputated and he was placed in the familiar amputee ward with his fresh stumps tightly bandaged.

 

Dom visited the next afternoon immediately after work. Stephen had slept through the night for nine hours, the first time he had slept so long in decades. His arm stumps throbbed and the incisions itched but were too tender to scratch. They were both of the opinion that they were going to look superb. Dom said he was already looking through various sites for unwanted Hosmer hooks and advised Stephen to specify half inch screw connectors on his sockets when the prosthetist paid him a visit. He would be tempted with more modern systems in order to use bionic hands and the like but he should insist that good old-fashioned screw-threaded hooks had stood the test of time and that they were what he wanted. Dom could even bring the hooks from the pretender arms to give to the prosthetist so he would not need to order a new pair and the socket would definitely be suitable for a huge variety of hooks and artificial hands which occasionally turned up.

 

Stephen spent seventeen days in hospital and made his first appointment with a prosthetist for three weeks after his discharge. His stumps should have reduced in size by then to something approximating their final dimensions. The prosthetics and orthotics department was also on hospital grounds and Stephen would be able to visit it in his wheelchair – as soon as he had his first prostheses. Dom purchased a pair of ring adapters intended for attachment to a car’s steering wheel, allowing someone wearing bilateral hooks to drive safely. He attached them to the levers on Stephen’s wheelchair. They were steel, the same as Stephen’s hooks. He would make an impressive noise wheeling himself along.

 

Stephen’s arm stumps healed quickly. They no longer itched although they were tender and sensitive to even small knocks. He wore thick elasticated shrinkers to shape the stumps and to protect them. Dom collected him from hospital sixteen days after his amputations and took his limbless friend home in the wheelchair.

 

This time, Dom had a genuine reason to serve and pamper Stephen as much as he wanted to. Stephen himself gratefully accepted all help with eating and drinking, with peeing and showering and with simply moving around the apartment. Every evening, they spent time outside for an hour or so, talking about their joint future, Stephen’s rehabilitation, the prosthetic arms and terminal devices Stephen would soon own. Dom had started growing a beard during the time Stephen was away. It was blond with symmetrically darker areas on his cheeks. It promised to be distinctive and handsome. Dom wanted to feel Stephen’s stumps fondling his beard and face. Stephen’s own beard, white and curly, needed a trim but Stephen said he had never let his beard grow long before and wanted to see what it looked like. It would also serve a focal point for onlookers instead of his rather obvious disabilities. Dom brushed his beard carefully every morning. He was gentle and thoughtful and considerate. Stephen realised that he loved his giant devotee lover. Dom was not the first man he had loved but the last time it ended in a suicide from which Stephen needed many years to recover emotionally.

 

Dom was present when Stephen met his prosthetist, David Jensson, for the first time. They vaguely recognised each other. Dom had not known which department the man worked in. They occasionally saw each other in the canteen. In future, they would have something to talk about. Jensson was aware that the old man wanted the most basic artificial arms, no rotating or articulating wrists, nothing more than carbon sockets with the half inch screw wrist connectors and then hooks. The patient would have his first set of prostheses within a few working days. Jensson took casts of Stephen’s stumps since the desired end product was so basic. He could have scanned them for printing but there was no need to complicate matters.

 

Stephen returned with Dom for his first fitting eight days later. Dom had left Stephen’s existing hooks with Jensson and noticed that the rubber bands had all been renewed. Both men assured Jensson that rehabilitation was not required and that Stephen, being legless as well as a fresh upper limb bilateral amputee, would find it easier to learn to use his new arms in the privacy of his own home with the encouragement and guidance of Dom. It was of little matter to Jensson, who agreed and wished them good luck. Stephen was assisted back into his heavy winter jacket, cast an appreciative gaze at his steel hooks and fed them into the rings on his wheelchair’s levers. He propelled himself out of the hospital with Dom at his side and they went home to their ideal lifestyle which both men had longed for.

 

THE WHEELCHAIR