Partnering with COPE to help amputees.
Last spring, students at D.C. Everest Middle School in Weston, Wisconsin sent me off to Laos with several hundred dollars of “good deed” money to share with victims of accidents with landmines and bombs. They asked that some of their funds also be used to remove unexploded ordnance and thereby prevent future pain and suffering.
Last week I spent some of their money when I took four men to the National Rehabilitation Center in Vientiane to be fitted with artificial arms or legs. The men’s travel expenses from their villages to the capitol were paid by Phoenix Clearance Limited, the bomb and landmine disposal company that I work for. Student money will pay for the patients’ medical treatment at the center and for the construction of prosthetic limbs.
Considering the misery that they have experienced, the amputees were a remarkably happy-go-lucky bunch. They’ve all suffered greatly at various times in their lives and I know that a couple of them were pained by every bump and pothole we hit during our ten-hour trip. Still, they were the happiest bunch of misfortunates I’ve ever seen assembled in one carload. They made predictable “guy” jokes about getting away from their wives; about drinking a glass of beer without using your hands; about two amputees sharing a pair of shoes or gloves. It might be something in the Lao culture; it could be something in the Buddhist religion. It could be that they are all just giddy with the idea of having their mobility, their dexterity, their self respect restored. Whatever the origin of their strength, I admire them for the courage and resiliency that they show.
Two of the guys are in their early sixties. Ton lost a leg while fighting beside Americans early in the Indochina War. He’s not sure what weapon wounded him: rocket, bomb or mortar. It can accurately be said that Ton never knew what hit him. At that stage of the war, he got modern medical services that saved his life if not his leg. He was provided with a “plastic leg” that he remembers fondly. It eventually wore out however and by that time he was on the loosing side of the war, labeled as a puppet of the Americans. That distinction resulted in his being packed off to live in a distant province. For thirty years he has longed for proper artificial leg like the one he was given shortly after his injury. Instead, he’s had to get by with a wooden leg that he carved himself.
Xiengin, the other guy who is missing a leg, stepped on a landmine back in the early seventies. He knew that people could get artificial limbs at the Rehabilitation Center in Vientiane but, like Ton, he had served in an army unit advised by the Americans and was therefore marked as a collaborator. When he inquired about being fitted for a prosthesis, he was told that there were no resources available for people who had worked with the Americans. Smarting from that rebuff, Xiengin decided that it would be unwise to draw attention to himself by agitating for a leg; he simply chose to do without. Like Ton, he carved a leg from a block of wood. In the years since he has whittled a replacement whenever his current model cracked, split, or wore away. The day I met Xiengin he was sitting among a pile of wood chips carving a new leg. He boasted that he got three years of hard use out of the previous leg and cracked a joke in Lao that roughly translates as, “It ain’t the years; it’s the mileage.”
During our first conversation Xiengin reminisced about the Americans that he fought with during the war. He asked me if I by chance knew Mr. Juan or Mr. Mike; he remembers them well. I struck a thoughtful pose for a count of ten so Xiengin wouldn’t think I was dismissing his question out of hand. Then, I told him that I just couldn’t place those names and quickly changed the subject. (Being the only American doing UXO clearance work in Laos frequently imposes a sense of obligation. In spite of having no connection with any US government aid program, I sometimes feel that I should let victims of the war know that they are not forgotten by the American people. On the other hand, because I’m not confident that that statement is true, I usually skip the patriotic message and just get on with what needs to be done).
Both Ton and Xiengin share the same complaint about a home-made wooden leg. A proper prosthesis is carefully formed to the exact shape of an amputee’s stump; its cup being accurately molded to provide a comfortable fit. A wooden leg compresses and molds the amputee’s stump and is painful throughout a breaking-in period. In fact, a new wooden leg can result not only in pain but in pressure sores and infection that can result in subsequent illness or re-amputation.
Joining us on the trip to Vientiane was Khanthong, a young husband and father who lost an arm last year, not in a bomb accident, but at his work in a sawmill. It was a simple matter of a shirt sleeve getting caught in a dangerous piece of machinery and… zing… in just seconds his right arm was gone. Because Khanthong is a recent amputee he still occasionally feels “phantom pain” in his missing limb. He laughs as he explains that he sometimes forgets that he doesn’t have two arms; like when he reaches down to lift his small daughter. Or, when he reaches for a pack of cigarettes with his missing right hand.
If Khanthong were in America or Europe he could look forward to receiving a prosthetic arm so sophisticated that it would nearly restore full dexterity. However, this is Laos and there are no resources to create or maintain an expensive prosthesis. Usually, Lao victims who loose just one arm will be fitted with a foam rubber arm and plastic hand. This “cosmetic” limb has no function other than making the amputee feel whole again. That psychological benefit should not be underestimated, but it’s a far cry from regaining dexterity and does nothing to restore a victim’s economic livelihood.
I delivered Khanthong to the Rehabilitation Center with apprehension that he would come home with nothing more than a cosmetic arm. Later, I was pleased to learn that he is considered a good candidate for a more functional device. Plans are to fit him with a prosthesis that has pincher-like hooks that will allow him to perform tasks as delicate as buttoning a shirt, striking a match or turning a key. I suspect that if Khanthong didn’t have sponsors to defray the cost he might have been offered something less.
The saddest story among our travel party was Ta. Ironically, he was the happiest of the bunch: perhaps, because he has experienced the greatest loss and has the highest hopes for restoration. His grim tale is a tribute to his courage, the bravery of his young sons, and the generosity of his extended family.
Three years ago Ta and his two sons, ages eight and ten at the time, went foraging for food. Their search for game and edible plants took them far from home. First down the Nam Theun River by boat. Then, cross country on foot through the forest. Ta’s misfortune began when he happened to find an old cluster bomblet, probably a BLU 26; the device that everyone here calls the “bombie”.
Ta knew it was dangerous to handle a bomblet. He had always resisted the temptation to collect bombs and rockets to sell as scrap or to harvest the explosives that they contain. But on this day, as Ta studied the corroded bomblet, he slowly convinced himself that it posed little danger. The badly weathered casing was cracked partly open. Ta could clearly see that the bomb’s two steel halves were slightly separated from one another. (Bomblets sometimes split as they age and corrode; when they do the bomblet looks as if it is smiling. Of course, from a different angle that smile turns into a scowl or smirk). The cracked casing was misleading. It didn’t indicate a safe bomblet. With detonator and explosive intact the bomb still possessed the power to maim or kill.
Ta had visions of opening the bomb, removing its 90 grams of TNT and then using the explosive for fishing. He had seen other men light a fuse, drop a bomb into a pond, wait for the boom, and then skim stunned fish off the surface. Ta just couldn’t shake visions of himself proudly carrying a basket of fish into the market. Today, when he reflects on his decision he declares that, “If I weren’t poor I never would have touched that bombie. It’s just that I thought I could sell fish for money.”
Understanding the possible danger, the first step Ta took was to park his two sons behind a large tree. Then, he lay down behind a fallen log, assuming that it would protect most of his body should something go wrong. Shortly, things went very wrong indeed.
As Ta pried at the bomblet with a stick, it exploded. The blast destroyed both of Ta’s hands, took out one eye, and showered his chest with hot steel fragments. In hindsight, the best decision Ta made all day was to put his sons safely behind the tree. They were spared injury from the blast and subsequently saved their father’s life.
Truth be told, it took the boys a while to start moving in the right direction. Understandably, at the sound of the blast the eight-year-old took off running away from the scene. Now, years later, he admits that when he ran he had no plan to get help for his father; all he could think to do was run away from the horror. To his credit, the small boy eventually overcame his fear and returned to the site of the explosion.
The ten-year-old took control of the situation. He used pieces of cloth to bind his father’s wounds and to staunch the bleeding. Then, he and his brother half-carried, half-dragged their father to the boat that they had left in the river. They laid Ta in the front of the boat. The younger boy sat near him; the older rowed. Everybody in the boat cried: Ta in pain; the boys in fear.
As they moved down the river, people on the bank were alarmed by the sound of their collective wailing. Eventually, alert villagers waded into the river and pulled the bloody boat ashore. Adults responding to the scene offered water and fresh cloth bandages but had nothing to ease Ta’s pain. No one in that village owned a car or truck so the villagers simply piled Ta and the boys into a wagon behind a small tractor and started the long trip to the district hospital in Oudomsouk. Over bad roads the tractor crept along at walking speed. Ta estimates that he was wounded at about 9:00 in the morning; the tractor pulled into the hospital at 3:00 PM.
Staff at the small district hospital had little to offer Ta. No surgeons serve the hospital and the dispensary had no blood, morphine, oxygen or other supplies to combat shock. Once the staff determined that Ta’s condition was beyond their skills and resources they transferred him to a motor vehicle and sent him down the mountainside to a larger hospital two hours away.
When Ta returned home after several weeks in the hospital, he was blind and a double amputee. Surgeons removed his left arm a few inches below the shoulder; they amputated his right forearm a few inches below the elbow. Fortunately, some vision in Ta’s remaining eye has returned. He is proud of the fact that he is now capable of teaching his children to read words and letters.
Ta’s accident immediately drove his entire extended family deeper into poverty. To pay his medical bills the family had to sell all their livestock, a small herd consisting of five water buffalo plus every pig, duck and chicken they owned. Now, three years later, the family has no assets other than their tiny house made of woven bamboo mats.
Ta’s wife is candid when she speaks of the raw deal that life has dealt her. She says that were she starting life over she would never consider marrying a man with so many disabilities. Now that he is helpless to work in the fields or forage for food she has to do all the work alone that she and her husband once shared. In addition, she is burdened by having to feed, bath, clothe and even toilet the man who was once the family’s protector and provider. She shares credit around the family circle and acknowledges the help she gets from her children. “This one”, she says pointing to a daughter “helps to dress him”. She points to a boy not much beyond toddler age and says, “This one feeds him. He fed him breakfast this morning.”
Of all the amputees on our trip, Ta has lost the most and consequently has the most to regain with the fitting of new limbs. Ironically, he has the most modest desires among the group. He states emphatically that if can feed himself but do nothing else, he will still be happy with his new arms.
I am back in Nakai District now, and the guys are all still at the Rehabilitation Center. At least one will be ready to return to his village in another week or two. The others will need longer to be properly fitted and to learn to use their new limbs. I hope that I am in Laos to see them return to their families. I look forward to reporting back to students at Everest Middle School on how their funds have helped to restore damaged limbs and lives.