Page 77 of Dr. Sexypants

I could have—

No!

I shook my head as if that would adjust my thinking.

If I’d learned anything in my thirty-six years, it was that you couldn’t change people. Kristy had told me what she wanted; I needed to accept that.

It didn’t mean I liked it, as evidenced by the sweat dripping down my back while trying to avoid my current reality.

The humidity combined with my perspiration made every part of my body wet, and there was probably an ecosystem growing in my crotch area.

Even my hands were slick, which might explain what happened next.

After planting my right hiking pole in front of me, I lost my grip and took a tumble forward, the momentum sent me rolling down the trail, causing my left prosthetic to come loose in the process.

I ended up in a heap fifteen feet from where I first fell, and five feet from my left leg. My water bottle lay off to the side under a bush, and my poles were scattered along the path. My elbows and palms were bleeding from where I’d tried to catch myself. I was probably lucky I hadn’t inadvertently stabbed myself with one of my poles.

Sitting on the ground, assessing my situation, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. If this wasn’t a metaphor for the shitshow my life had become, I didn’t know what was.

~~~~

“Dude! Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

A pair of hardcore hikers—based on their gear—came upon me as I scooched on my ass, six inches at a time, toward my left prosthetic still laying on the trail.

Embarrassed, I tried to make light of the situation. “Oh, just took a little tumble and lost my leg.”

“Gnarly. Here.” Hiker Bro #1 handed me my metal leg. At least my boot was still on the foot, and I didn’t have to go searching for it.

I nodded my thanks. “I appreciate that.”

Hiker Bro #2 collected my poles and water bottle and set them next to where I’d dropped my backpack.

“The humidity and rain have made parts of the trail super greasy. You gotta watch out for loose scree, man.”

I had no idea what he just said, but I used my context clues to determine that I should be more careful.

“Yeah, that loose scree is a bitch,” I quipped as I opened my backpack, then pulled out the wipes and gel for my leg. After wiping my bloody hands and elbows, I rolled my joggers up my thigh until my knee was exposed and used a fresh wipe to clean where my leg connected to the socket.

They watched, fascinated as I reattached my prosthetic, then double checked to make sure the right one was secure.

“That’s sick, bro!”

“So fucking cool. You’re like the Terminator!”

“We need a selfie with you, man.”

In an instant, Hiker Bro #2 held his camera up and the two posed next to me. Bro #1 made the “hang loose” gesture with his pinkie and thumb up, while Bro #2 made a sideways peace sign.

After a series of clicking sounds, Bro #2 checked the photos on his phone’s screen, then flashed one at me. All things considered, I didn’t look too worse for the wear.

Hiker Bro #2 put his phone away, then asked, “Are you good to get back to the trailhead, bro?”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks for your help, guys.”

With that, they both gave me a mock salute and Bro #1 called, “Stay safe, amigo!” before they headed on their way.