The YES Leg

It wasn’t the birthday week I expected.

At the hospital with my family. My dad had just been diagnosed with rapidly-spreading cancer. 

We barely had time to process when the doctor said Dad’s leg would have to be amputated above the knee.

The next morning we assembled in the hospital pre-op room, my father flat on the gurney, sporting the powder blue gown. We took turns with the hugs and suppressed our anxiety. 

“Wouldn’t it be a mess if they cut off the wrong leg and then I would have no legs at all?” 

“That won’t happen,” my brother, Davy, chuckled, patting Dad’s shoulder.

Just then a nurse entered, and pulled out a black marker. She wrote a huge YES on the leg to go, and NO on the other. As I watched, I swear I saw a glowing halo around that pen and I had an idea. My dad’s leg deserved to exit this world with artful honor.

Because of this leg, he carried me as a baby. He taught me to ride a bike, sprinted at his softball games, and showed up first in line at all my Crafty Chica events.

I clasped my hands. “Ummm, may I write a note on the YES leg?” 

“Huh?” The nurse said.

“MARY KATHRYN!” my mom whispered-shouted. She knew where this was going.

“Yes. Write whatever you want, Kathy,” Dad said to me, smiling.

The nurse handed me the pen. “We love you” I wrote in cursive on his shin, over the bumpy, coarse hairs. Gotta love those Sharpies. When my tears dropped, the ink didn’t smear at all.

I continued, “Thank you for all…”

“Kathy, that’s enough,” my mom said.

“Wait, I need to add the most important thing!” 

“Davy, please take the pen,” she said.

I dodged Davy, and quickly scribbled a big juicy heart on the YES leg, right before he plucked the Sharpie from my fingers.

The surgery crew arrived and as they wheeled Dad away, he hollered, “Hey, Kathy! You want to keep the leg? Maybe you can decorate it with glitter!”

That was one birthday week literally marked in love.