I’ll never forget day I chose to lose a leg

JOHN PAFFATT’s life changed completely at 16 when he was told he had a few months to live or have the whole of his right leg amputated to rid me of cancer.

The good news, he says, was he was still alive: The bad, was he now had to readjust to being disabled.

GROWING up in the 60s, I loved sports and was in both the school football and cricket teams.

Then, when I was 11 and during a football match, I had the most excruciating pain in the right side of my groin.

The pain periodically returned and after several visits to our local doctor, I was referred to an orthopaedic consultant, who said the sensation was psychological, and that I was simply trying to get out of school.

When I was 15, I had a biopsy on the area. It showed nothing untoward, but I knew deep down something was not right. I had experienced four years of shooting pains in my groin, and they were getting progressively worse.

By the time I reached 16, a sarcoma had been discovered in my thigh. All I understood was an operation was necessary to remove it – not the seriousness of it. It was a strange feeling to be vindicated, quite irrational knowing I was right and the consultant wrong.

So, just five months into my apprenticeship as a gas fitter, doctors operated but failed to remove all the cancer.

Despair

Shortly afterwards my parents were told I only had four to six months to live.

They shared the brunt of this because I was not told I had the disease.

I can only imagine the pain and despair for them now as a parent now myself, because when your child hurts so do you. The

cancer was eating away at me. With no appetite, I weighed only six and half stone (41 kilos). Three weeks later, after being examined by two specialists, my parents were told there was a 50/50 chance I would survive if I had my whole right leg removed.

After seeing the family doctor, who said “If it was my son, I would let him die rather than go through the operation”, they initially said no. But after a heartwrenching and painful talk with my consultant, they left the decision to me.

I will never forget the day they returned from seeing him at the hospital and tearfully told me: “They want to amputate your leg.”

It was like receiving an electric shock. I had no idea what to do, but after the initial trauma, I chose the possibility of life over the certainty of death.

For me, it was an obvious decision. What would be the point of hanging on to something that was killing me?

So, in June 1967, after five months of radiotherapy

I had a hemipelvectomy—the removal of the whole leg and part of the pelvis.

I was 16, my life was just beginning, yet now the pathway forward would be so different than anything I could ever have imagined.

Three months later, I had my first fitting for an artificial leg. It was made up of what’s known as a bucket socket, with two belts around my waist and a strap over each shoulder. I was also handed two walking sticks.

Every step was painful, as it is to this day, but after a while my pain threshold rose to meet the needs of independent mobility.

Eventually, after a difficult eight months, I managed to get rid of both shoulder straps and walking sticks.

First car

But my days as a gas fitter were over. Thankfully, the gas board transferred me to a role to the drawing office, and I was able to buy my first car.

This gave me a measure of freedom, but I wanted the fun and excitement that I knew I was missing out on.

After having a few girlfriends, I met Ann, a beautiful 18-year-old who embraced my disability without a second thought.

We fell in love and were married a year later.

In our mid-20s, we moved to a new house and Ann gave birth to our daughter, Donna, followed by two boys, Darren and Jamie. It was a wonderful time in both our lives.

To the children, their dad has always had just one leg. To me though, there were times when I wished I could chase them around the garden, play football or simply carry them in my arms.

Fortunately, my disability never impacted on my ability to work. It was never an issue.

And after switching jobs several times, I found one which I really enjoyed in the oil and gas industry, starting as a planning engineer. It was an exciting job with some travel home and abroad.

My career was moving forward, but when Ann was 36, we had the devastating news of her breast cancer diagnosis. A mastectomy was necessary and eight years of operations, chemotherapy and deterioration culminated in her untimely death in November 1995, at 44 – just 12 days short of our silver anniversary.

Love again

It left me totally shattered. Somehow, I had to be mum and dad to our three now teenage children – and hold down a fulltime job. It was hard and painful for all of us.

I never thought it would happen, but just over a year after losing Ann, I met Brenda, who had two young boys,

Lewis, 14, and Russell, 10. I fell madly in love again. We married six years later and recently celebrated our 20th anniversary.

I have been truly blessed with her.

Looking back on my life, I have learned to manage my disability, limiting my walking where possible, using the shortest routes and finding pain relief options, which worked most of the time but not always.

Nerve pain is unbearable and if you cannot manage it with medication it is very debilitating and drags you down to a dreadful place. But I still have hang ups – like seeing myself walk, for instance.

My devastating experience in life has been tough, but I believe I am a better person for it. I have more empathy and appreciate such simple things in life, like watching the birds and seeing the wonderful colours in a garden or in the sky.

I know the ravages of time on my body will further limit my walking, but I am pushing myself forever onward to enjoy life with Brenda, who encourages me and gives me such a special love.

We share and have fun every single day. What a wonderful life it has been, and I count myself lucky to this day.

And my advice to a 16-yearold faced with amputation from the same terrible disease would be: say goodbye to your old life. Your new life starts now, you cannot go back. Embrace your disability and push yourself onwards to a full and rewarding life.

Pain and heartache – but my life has been so rewarding