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24
years ago by a southern night I lost my leg on a highway.
While I wake up, in my hospital bed, my second thought was
that I wouldl never know love again. I was wrong. I did know
love again. I also learned to cover up my stump with a blanket
in a swift move of my good foot. Hide this absence, avoid
my partner sufferings - mine first of course... A certain
evening, a good girlfriend of mine asked me to see this terrible
stump. We were both seated naked on the floor, facing each
other. I couldn't help crying hot tears for ten long minutes.
It was the first and the last time. I knew too well i was
responsible of my present state. How my past actions had led
me there. To cry is to feel utterly powerless under the ugly
blows of a totally unfair and mean violence, its own innocence
crushed down by the whole world... and I'm not innocent no
more... as I hold nothing against the world.
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Until
I was 40, I believed that it was my inner self, my soul,
my good heart that one shall love, I didn't make any effort
to dress well, to present myself at my best - yet such a thing
simple thing: the respect of others people feelings. It was
up to the others to understand my true inner goodness, appreciate,
recognize, in a split second the gentleman I was deep inside.
My body had changed, I had put on weight, lost muscles, my
face blotted, good (greasy) food and alcohol. I just had become
another boring old fart and I did'nt know love no more.
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Then
I learned again the importance of the body, this essential
intimacy with those energies enlivening us. I accepted, appreciated
for what it was the "tyranny of the body", the price
to pay for these simple pleasures of feeling good, agile -intellectually
if physically. Eventually feeling this little inner vibration:
to be alive! I practiced a light Tai-chi, no drugs, no alcohol
and long trips overseas. I learned how to dress accordingly
with the way I was feeling. And with the quality of life came
back love, the love of others, the love to be. Yet ma prosthesis
didn't reflect my new state of being. On the beaches, wearing
a sarong, with friends. During all those moments when my prosthesis
was visible, it was not as much as a dead weight as an alien
part. Out of place. I had (re-)learn how to live accordingly
with myself but this prosthesis was telling some strangeness
about me. I had to wrap my good leg around, my good foot leaning
against it in a parody of easiness -quite uncomfortable, if
not painful after a while- as if I had to reassure others
-and myself first- of my normality. Hence a lot of energies,
of thoughts, occupied by this object while just a different
look, a presentation, by making banal its presence, would
humanize its use.
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I
started by some tattoos, some drawing straight on my prothesis.
As my prothesiste, Iris of Proteor,
found it nice I went on. I was looking for a system, a way
to make my carbon fibers leg looks more "happy".
I didn't want longer socks, imitatiing the skin, hairs, toes,
nails. That would maybe hide the prosthesis but most surely
make it obscene. Try to imitate a living limb : That's no
challenge -inert matters are no challenge to life forms- but
it's a lie to others, a constant and cruel self-deception.
I made all kind of trials, drawings, colors, different textiles,
shapes and styles, to cover properly the leg. As I was going
I met some professionals who helped me to be more efficient.
The results of that work can be seen on this website - to
be improved for sure bu tthe wheel is now rolling ; time only
will tell if it makes other people happy as it does it to
me.
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The
most surprising, once I start wearing these leggings was
that, instead of these usual looks of pity, unease, I got
ones of curiosity, then soon after would come a need to touch,
to understand what it really was -a plaster over a broken
leg, a new fashion trend?. I would tell the truth of course
("a lost leg") but once felt the light softness
of the textile, a slight, but clearly noticeable, feeling
of relaxation would ease up the face features - this is not
as hard, no cold rigidity, rather gay, not so terrible in
fact... then one feels better... and so do I...
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Once
upon a time, in order to get a job in a big corporate
company, I did hide my disability. After the first annual
medical check-up, the Manager for Human Resources had me called
in his office. He was furious. For him I was a liar and therefor
was unworthy of any trust. I asked him if he would have given
me the job, had I told him about my missing leg? He admitted
that he wouldn't have. And yet the doctor had happily confirmed
my physical ability (already well tried by the company) to
fit the job.Had I been right then to hide my handicap? That
Manager never talked to me again. Would I have to go today
again through the same preliminary interview to get that job,
I would show my prosthesis straight away, cool handling of
the situation, and he would surely tell me that they have
no problem with that. Time have changed, and so have I...
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I've
forgotten now that swift move of my good foot to cover up
my stump with a blanket in order to hide this absence. And
even If I didn't ever become this perfect gentleman I sincerely
thought I was deep inside (take times to find out what we're
made of and then do properly with it) I hope that, of my errands,
you will make good use.
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| Pascal
Viel, the 1st of August in Paris |
(Pascal
viel's blog )..... |
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