Since I was a small boy I have occasionally maintained that at some point in the future I am going to lose my right hand and my right eye. Whilst drunk at University and in melancholy moods I would contemplate cutting my hand off so that I was somehow in control of the action I felt convinced must surely occur sooner or later. Sometimes my contemplation would include a knife, and yet somehow I’m sat here typing this two handedly.
I have recently become distressed by the notion that I may have got the wrong side. When asked whether a certain freckle or a scratch which adorns my face is on the left or the right I become confused. This is surely because my familiarity with my own image is wholly dependent upon mirrors which reflect my mirror image rather than my true likeness.
Can you imagine my future distress if I’d lopped off the right only to have an accident which causes me the loss of my left!
For the benefit of readers of a sensitive disposition, I’m going to resist my rather gruesome urge to describe previous contemplations I’ve had relating to the removing my right eyeball.
Anyhow enough of my curious childhood auto-amputee -ism. I’m just trying to give you some background to events that culminated in my trip to A&E last Saturday. Read Part 2 for more details.