Choices


I originally heard about it on the radio a couple of days ago--and to say I didn’t cringe would be the biggest understatement made this week.
A rock-climber amputated his own arm to safe his life.
Since hearing, and later reading about this story on the internet I have been asking myself how far I would go to safe my own life (read; how much is my life worth).

Anybody who has ever cut himself with a knife, whether a sharp butter knife or with a razorblade or whatever, knows that there is this strange sensation that occurs when blade enters body. Your skin kind of pops, there is a short yet decisively sharp pain, and then warmth as the blood starts to seep out.
Of course we are talking little cuts here, an occasional deeper gash, but not going so far as to cut through tendons with a Swiss Army knife TM.

Studies have shown that under extreme duress a person is able to perform great acts—be they of heroism, bravery, strength or any other adjective you can muster—oblivious to the negative repercussions these might form concerning ones body.
One story I remember was of a mother who, in order to save her child whom was stuck in a car surrounded by broken power lines, lifted one of these lines up while thousands of volts went screaming through her body. Both mother and daughter survived the ordeal and lived to tell the story. If I would go out in search of a broken power line and let a couple thousands volts up- and down-load through my body I am sure they will find my shoes and some ashes where last I stood.

Back to our rock climber and his death-de-fi-ing-stunt. Somehow he managed to get his hand stuck under a boulder that weighed 500 kilos. I could be wrong here, when I originally heard that story I thought they said the boulder weighed 100 kilos—I know this for a fact as I kept on wondering what kind of pussy rock climber couldn’t lift a 100 kilo piece of rock. Later, on some decrepit TV show they said the rock weighed 5000 kilos. Who knows?
After a couple of days sitting and waiting for a rescue team the climber started running out of water. He had already run out of food, and he could definitely tell that if no action were undertaken the grim reaper would soon be tapping his shoulder.
Out came the little red life-saver, and the rest is history. Can you fathom? Can you see yourself sitting there in some canyon cutting off your own arm? With a Swiss Army knife?

I have never climbed rocks as a sport, closest I have come was doing a little showing off during school trips. So I also have no idea what the etiquette is concerning gear a rock climber is allowed to take with one. But my girlfriend automatically pointed out the obvious—of course again a woman has to show the way—being that if this wasn’t the best example why somebody should always have a cell phone with them we might all just pack up and go back to living in caves.

So how far would I go to safe my own hide? What appendages am I willing to forgo in order to live another day? What kind of disability doesn’t seem so bad? Or should I look for the hurt in a  more materialistic sense; blow up my house knowing I have no insurance, can I go through life without the Fender Strat my late grandfather gave me for my birthday?
Many years ago a friend of mine suffered a paralyzing motorcycle accident. During the half-time break of a Dallas Cowboys game he decided to race to another bar to continue the consumption of frothy beverages. He never made it to the other bar. He ended up in comatose in a hospital for many weeks, lying in a bed that rotated to keep the blood flowing through his veins. The doctors were not sure how bad the neurological damage went, but it was obvious that my friend would never walk again. By the time he awoke and started revalidation a psychologist was assigned to his case as it seems that many paraplegic patients become extremely depressed at the prospect of living the rest of their lives in a wheelchair.
I do not know what became of him, I moved to another town and country and truth be told was never that close to him, but every now and again I wonder how Dick is doing.

I remember thinking about this for months on end; would I want to continue living if I lost the ability to move around freely? Truth be told, no. But then again I have full control of my limbs—barring moments of total inebriation or a stoned mind—and that kind of makes me partial.
I can tell you that I have admiration for Dick, and our rock climbing adventurer for surviving what could have been terminal ordeals… how they deal with it, I don’t know and honestly, I never want to find out.

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