Amputee Fiction Stories Novels & Stories

Dismas General Hospital, ICU Waiting Room The teenager was in surgery to have her leg amputated. His partner, Randy, had gone back to the office to take care of the paperwork. The Major had called three times before Curtis had shut off his phone. An untouched now cold cup of coffee sat on a table next to Curtis. An unread Sports Illustrated sat open on his lap, celebratory Chicago White Sox players on the cover. He’d seen amputations before. On the battlefield. He still heard the screams. Charley’s were the loudest in his memory.

The pain came later—slow, creeping, before it swallowed her whole. Knile stood outside the operating room, his palms stained with her blood, his mind racing with calculations he couldn't fix. He had made billions managing crises in print, weaving narratives to his liking. But now, the only story he wanted to rewrite was one reality refused to yield. The doctors told him the truth like they were delivering the morning paper—cold, clinical, irreversible. “She survived. But both legs were crushed beyond repair. Amputation was the only option.” Knile didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Not for minutes. Maybe hours.

“Everything changed so suddenly when my parents died and my relatives ended up kicking me out of the house. Why else would I end up here of all places, trying to pawn off my amulet?” The storekeeper suddenly opened the door next to the counter and gestured me inside so we could talk. The interior was warm and cozy. He even handed me a hot cup of tea. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that his left leg had been amputated. It had been ages since I found myself in a place with proper heating. I was so touched. “My name is Job Chalmers. I would have still been herding cattle in the countryside if it wasn’t for your father graciously financing my education in the past.”

“I was back there, helpless, knowing what was coming but unable to stop it from happening.” “Stop what?” Say the words. Say them out loud. “The amputation. I woke up in the hospital and the docs said my leg was gone. But I felt it. I knew it was there but no one would listen to me. They called it phantom limb pain but they were all a bunch of fucking liars. I fought so hard to get out of that goddamned hospital bed. I couldn’t breathe and when I finally sucked air in, all I could smell was dirty flesh and blood and antiseptic. Then the nurse put me in restraints. That much is true. That really happened when I woke up. But then the dream…changes.

He was so thin that one as old as the priest she had just met could easily count his ribs without the aid of any lens. His lens and pupils were replaced with a plain milky colour with irritating discharges staining his eyes lashes. He had an amputated arm and leg. Right hand and left respectively he coughed while saying these words. There wasn't any plate nor crutches to support his begging ordeal. He was just there in an irritating position on the floor. Dale's tears flowed down her cheeks. This time she didn't sob. This time she wasn't raped. This time a loved one wasn't killed. Neither was she beaten.

All the while my eyes gaping horrified at the stump where my leg used to be—until, a sharp prick on my arm numbed my senses and pushed me into the safe embrace of oblivion. "—-Bhaabi, it's a miracle how Naveed had managed to survive with only a few fractures and no internal injuries—If someone had found him sooner then maybe we could've been spared the need to perform a surgical amputation, but the blood supply to his left leg had been severely compromised, so we were left with no other choice—But, I guess this is what was Allah's will—Usually, in rollover accidents the fatality rate is very high and even if the victims do manage to survive there's still a very high risk for spinal injuries,

If he was found, he must have a way to contact Zhang Tao. Soon, Zhou Tian drove to the hospital and went straight into the ward where Zhang Peng was. Zhang Peng had been depressed for the past two days. He thought of death and leaving this world. In fact, this idea was normal. Although he was not very handsome, it was interesting to live, and he was not married. He was not willing to lie in a wheelchair all his life. In that case, what was the point of living? Unfortunately, this was the truth. His legs had been amputated, and it was impossible for them to grow again. He was destined to be disabled for the rest of his life.

It was an endeavor that aimed to illuminate the darkness of hardship with the radiant light of hope. Abigail, drawing on her background in writing, assumed the role of the storyteller. With a pen in hand and a heart filled with purpose, she began to document the intricate chapters of their journey. From the poignant moment when Sophia had been diagnosed with leukemia to the depths of love they had shared and the resilience that had emerged from the shadows, every nuance was carefully woven into the fabric of their narrative.

Nor would she have lied to herself that she no longer loved Jay, even if she probably would not hold out much hope for him, because she had been thoroughly every time she did before. And in worse cases, she thought she could die. "It was months later when I finally regained consciousness. I was being treated abroad, and Alan Levine was there with me. He was the one who told me that my right leg was crippled." Jay smiled faintly even as he continued his story, as if all those troubled times were past him. "The only thought I had was that I no longer deserved Zoe, and I felt the same way I did when I first met her—that she was an angel I could never reach. However, while I could work hard duri

A homeless man had been forcibly ejected from the train by the police for sleeping in the carriage. The poor man had been publicly humiliated, and as he was restrained and forced from the carriage, he’d turned to the apathetic onlookers and in a deep gravelly voice, and said, “What do you want from me? Just because you don’t want to see it, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. I’m just going to be homeless somewhere else!”