Voices of Limb Loss: Meg’s Story

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Content note: This interview includes candid discussion of medical trauma, severe pain, amputation, healthcare failures, infidelity, and explicit language.

Q: Tell us about yourself. Who are you outside of limb loss?

My name is Meg. I’m 30 years old, a bilateral below-knee amputee, and Autistic. I’ve been described as a loyal golden retriever. Even though my friendship circle is small, I would drop anything for the people I love.

I’ve always been interested in healthcare and dreamed of becoming a doctor. Both my mother and I have lifelong autoimmune diseases, and I always wanted to be the person who could help us. I began working as an enrolled nurse at 18, studied phlebotomy, and, after losing my legs, went on to study Prosthetics and Orthotics. I wanted to better understand the devices we use, learn how to troubleshoot my own problems, and find a way to give back to the amputee community.

I love the community we have. I’ve made lifelong friends who understand the struggles that come with limb loss. Although I decided that becoming a certified prosthetist-orthotist, or CPO, was not the right path for me, that will not stop me from giving back to the community in a way I have not quite figured out yet.

I’m also an artist. I enjoy 3D modelling, drawing, and anything involving hand crafts. Because of my autism, I’m usually very shy. I tend to stay in an “online bubble” unless I have a support person with me in public.

I suppose being an amputee who is also Autistic is a laughable shame, because perhaps if I weren’t Autistic, I would be okay going out in public with my disability on my own.

Apart from self-deprecating humour and creating art, I enjoy playing video games and living vicariously through woodworkers on YouTube.

Q: What is your limb loss or limb difference story?

When I was 23, in 2019, I developed pain in my left calf, Raynaud’s disease, which I thought had been brought on by my rheumatoid arthritis, and a small “blood blister” on my foot.

It took four emergency room visits and five doctors, and I still had no answers. I couldn’t sleep with my leg on the bed. I was doing wound dressings and packing the inside of my body, which destroyed my mental health.

I went to nursing school, so I was comfortable with wounds, but watching my foot die was fucking awful. Unlike with some diabetes-related ulcers, I didn’t lose sensation. Every bit of pain was heightened. I wasn’t advocating for myself as much as I should have because I was tired and completely over it. I was fatigued, nauseous, and done with the entire situation.

Finally, instead of cutting into my foot like every other doctor in the ER, the scalpel-thirsty fucks, I was taken for an angiogram. It revealed that every artery in my leg had collapsed below the knee.

By then, it was too late.

Over the next seven months, that small blood blister turned into necrosis and hospital-acquired MRSA that was spreading rapidly. I had multiple angioplasties that were excruciating and failed almost immediately, infusions that felt like fire, and debridements that made me throw up.

Ultimately, after months in hospital, they decided there was nothing else that could be done. An above-knee amputation would have given me the best results, but I begged for a below-knee amputation just to see how it went.

My left leg was amputated on my 23rd birthday.

When I woke up, my mum walked in and told the nurse, “It’s just another year of her getting legless on her birthday.”

I instantly cracked up laughing.

I laughed until my epidural slipped out. The nurses told me I was confused and that it hadn’t. I begged for a doctor to take a look. He came in, took one look at the measurement guide on the epidural, and said, “This is useless.”

Thankfully, I was so zoned out from the ketamine that I wasn’t screaming for dear life just yet.

I healed without issue, despite having my drain tube wrapped around my leg like a hogtie, cutting through the skin and cutting off my circulation. An on-call doctor eventually ripped it from my leg without taking the bandage off. It was one of the most painful things I can remember, and it still makes me feel sick.

Within two years, at 25, in 2021, I went back to my surgeon and said, “It’s happening again, but to my other leg.”

They said, “That’s nothing we don’t know.”

You knew I would lose my other leg, and you didn’t take it then or even tell me about it?

Angry, confused, and disappointed, I chose to have that leg electively amputated. I knew I didn’t want to spend another seven months in hospital. I don’t regret my choice. I would have been wheelchair-bound if I hadn’t gone through with it.

Now, in 2026, I have lost both arteries below my elbows, with only collateral blood vessels providing enough circulation for my arms. I am on a lot of medication to prevent me from losing my arms, having a stroke, or having a heart attack.

I was diagnosed through a process of elimination, meaning there was no definitive test that could say exactly what was wrong with me. I might never know.

On paper, my health history is extremely complex. I have genetically small blood vessels, about one-third the size of an adult’s, a clotting mutation, high blood pressure, a history of smoking in my teens, and an autoimmune disease that constricts and inflames my blood vessel walls.

Potentially, if even one of those factors had been removed, I might have been okay.

Looking back, I wish I had stood up for myself and advocated for myself better. But I have never regretted my decision.

Q: What parts of adjusting to life with limb loss have been the most difficult?

Life is a lot more challenging since losing my legs. Uneven terrain, stairs, slopes, and hills are all extremely difficult to navigate.

I’m still unable to walk long distances or stand for long periods, so finding work has been difficult. It wasn’t only about finding a job that allowed me to sit. It was also about my unpredictable new life, full of medical appointments and flare-ups from my autoimmune disease.

No one really wants to hire someone who can work only two or three days a week and requires substantial accommodations for both autism and a physical disability.

It’s unfortunate, but I’m hoping to create an online source of passive income over the next year. I’m still sorting out the finer details.

But yep, it’s been hard.

I’ve also been very lucky to live in Australia. I know how much more difficult insurance can be in the United States and how entirely lacking it is in many other countries.

The cost of living has affected everyone, but I’m looking forward to the day when I can stop sinking and support myself financially.

Q: What has surprised you most about living with limb loss?

The kindness strangers show.

It truly has opened my eyes to the good in humanity. There will always be bad experiences, and I’ve had my fair share, but the good experiences really outshine the negative ones.

Q: What role have prosthetics, adaptive devices, or other accommodations played in your life?

When I was a unilateral amputee, the iWalk 2.0 was brilliant.

While working in prosthetics, I had the pleasure of trialling different systems, and I’m a huge fan of the pin-lock system. My direct socket is the most comfortable socket I have ever used.

Ethnocare overlays and underlays are also amazing. The overlays eliminate the need to add socks throughout the day.

Studying Prosthetics and Orthotics also gave me a better understanding of the profession itself.

Unfortunately, the field was not as accessible as it should have been for someone who was both an amputee and Autistic.

I looked around at the able-bodied CPOs who could effortlessly get down low to complete castings or pick up 20-kilogram plaster bins and walk with them. I felt physically out of my comfort zone, and the places where I worked had no interest in trying to understand my autism.

I worked well with patients and formed amazing relationships with them, but some of the CPOs I worked with were cruel to both me and the amputee patients. Hearing the way they spoke about their patients made me realise how incredible my own prosthetists were. Not every prosthetist is equal, and I learned that firsthand.

My decision not to work in the profession does not mean there isn’t hope for it. My personal prosthetists, the prosthetists I met through university, and my former classmates who are now CPOs are amazing human beings. I’m happy that, for the most part, the good outweighs the bad.

Q: How has limb loss affected the way you see yourself and relate to other people?

I struggled with my self-image in the beginning. I dwelled on negative thoughts like, “No one will ever love me,” and believed I had become a burden to the people I loved.

Over time, I realised those thoughts were not true at all. If anything, my value has increased because of my strength and endurance.

I’m now pretty confident in myself, and I no longer wear long pants to hide my legs. I’m finally proud to show them off.

Because of my autism, I was never independent to begin with. That hasn’t changed, but that’s okay.

Apart from the strange people who fetishise amputees, my interactions with strangers have been mostly positive.

During my first hospital stay, a lot of my friends dropped off. They didn’t visit me or check in. It wasn’t that heartbreaking because it showed me their true colours.

What did push me closer to the edge was my partner cheating on me while I was in hospital. Unfortunately, when I had my second amputation, my new partner cheated on me as well.

It was easy to think it was because of my limb loss, but they were honestly just not good dudes.

My current partner is absolutely wonderful and supportive.

Q: What do people without limb loss often misunderstand?

What annoys me most about assumptions from able-bodied people is when they suggest that I have an advantage because I have prosthetic legs, as if that means I experience less fatigue or pain.

I am 100 percent certain that my prosthetics are not an advantage. Saying that is extremely offensive and invalidates how difficult it is for me to walk.

There are studies showing that amputees expend more energy when walking, and I feel that in every step.

Q: Where have you found support, belonging, or community?

My prosthetists, university friends, doctors, Reddit communities, and Facebook communities have all been wonderful.

The most incredible support I have received has come from my prosthetists, both of whom I appreciate so much.

When I lost my first leg in November 2019, the first wave of COVID-19 soon followed. Amputee clinics across the public hospitals shut down, which meant COVID-19 decided when I would receive my first prosthetic leg.

Six months went by. I heard from other amputees who had been fitted within eight weeks, and I fell into a rut. I was at my lowest.

My mother called a private prosthetist named Barry Leech, who is renowned across Australia. He immediately took me under his wing. He called the head of the public department and asked them to send him whatever leg they had made for me, whether it was finished or not.

Within two weeks, Barry had me in my prosthetic leg.

Without Barry, I would have waited an entire year in my wheelchair, with no hope of knowing when I would finally receive a leg. COVID-19 continued, but instead of waiting for the public system to reopen, a private clinician stepped in to help me. He didn’t expect anything in return.

Barry is also the reason I wanted to become a prosthetist. He showed me true passion and love for his art and for the people he helped.

Q: What has limb loss taught you about yourself?

I’m still learning how to accept my gait for what it is and understand that it is not the same as it was before.

I find it difficult to go to hospitals. I was once looking after patients in one, and then I became the patient. It’s not a fun feeling, but I know a lot of people can relate to it.

One thing limb loss did not teach me was humour. Humour has always been my go-to coping strategy. Even before losing my legs, whether I was sick, felt different, or was experiencing trauma, humour was how I processed it.

Even when it sounds as though I’m making fun of myself, it is healing me.

Since I was younger, I have preferred hearing about world events and life’s tragedies through the lips of a comedian. The world is so much less scary when we can end the discussion by making someone else laugh.

I’m also hoping to overcome my fear of hospitals by becoming an amputee advocate and visiting new amputees. I would like to talk with them about what they might expect and the feelings they may experience.

The world is so much less scary when we can end the discussion by making someone else laugh.

— Meg Faithfull

Q: What would you say to someone who is new to limb loss or currently struggling with it?

Phantom pain can potentially be rough during the first eight weeks, and you’ll have so many thoughts running through your mind.

Stop the negative ones. Focus on something positive.

My biggest piece of advice would be: Don’t leave your humour behind in the operating theatre. It comes back out with you.

Laughter has been the greatest medicine I could have ever wished for.

That, and an epidural. 😉

Complete this sentence: Life after limb loss is…

Finding a community, grieving a loss, and laughing it off.

The experiences and opinions shared in this interview belong to the participant and should not be considered medical advice.