When I was in the third grade I was diagnosed with a very serious condition: Astumphobia, literally, the fear of a stump. This is a rare ailment, afflicting few people. It occurs when one comes in contact with and/or is closely associated with a stump. A stump, by definition, is a fleshy mass of skin formed at the rounded end of an amputated appendage. It was when my older sister Carrie acquired one such stump that I developed my phobia.

When Carrie was six months old she broke her leg and through the expertise of several specialists, she was diagnosed with neurofibromatosis and pseudoarthrosis of the left tibia. In layman’s terms, Carrie had genetic neurological disease that affected the growth of her bone. Throughout her childhood Carrie underwent more than fifteen surgeries, leaving her confined in braces and casts. Several times her leg was bound in a cage-like apparatus attached with pins that were tightened daily to straighten the bone. A time came when Carrie’s doctor told her that her left leg would never reach the same length as her right, and she would have to continue having surgical procedures throughout her life. It was then, when she was only twelve years old, that she decided to have the lower portion of her left leg amputated.

It was hard for me, the day Carrie brought the stump home. Where I expected to see a leg, there was none. There was just this make-shift leg that contained the stump. A vessel in the form of a bandaged bulge that rested on a metal rod, complete with a plastic foot. I was suspicious from the start. Carrie would often complain of “phantom pain” when her non-existent foot would tingle and hurt. In order to cease this phantom pain one would have to rub the plastic foot, or in some cases, remove the vessel and caress the empty space that was void of a leg. I despised this job. The stump, being released from the vessel, taunted me to touch it. The thought of rubbing the fleshy blob on the end of a bone gave me goose bumps upon goose bumps and made my spine shiver. But unsatisfied, the stump constantly tingled with pain, needing to be massaged. It was this sort of behavior that made me cautious of the stump from the very beginning.

After the stump had healed, Carrie was issued her first real vessel: a prosthetic leg. This suited me much better then the initial stump receptacle. It was soft and spongy, conveying the form of a real leg, flesh colored even. It seemed to be a much more natural concealment of the stump. But even so, I had my doubts. I still did not trust the stump. Though I knew it was safely tucked away, inside the vessel, I was certain that it could smell my fear, and would do anything to expose itself to me.

Throughout the eight or so vessels that Carrie has worn and grown out of, there have been several incidents in which the stump has escaped. The first episode I will share occurred while the stump resided in Carrie’s premiere vessel. It happened at the top of a long staircase. As Carrie began to descend the steps, her newly fitted leg slipped from its place and proceeded to roll down the stairs. There she stood, atop the stairs with no leg, and the stump dangling free of its vessel. I was shocked at this sight, to say the least.

Another incident occurred while spending a weekend at the lake. Carrie donned the vessel we affectionately named Artie, and the stump once more craved to be released. As Carrie positioned herself upon a Jet Ski, she was mysteriously thrown off balance and toppled head first into the water. As we scrambled to pull her up on the dock, we returned not empty handed, but empty legged. Artie was drowned and had perished in Lake Erie. The stump then remained unclad and spent the rest of the weekend basking in the sun.

The final, perhaps most horrific incident of leg annihilation performed by the stump happened at the state fair. The victim was the leg known as Prosthestia. The scene of the crime, dare I say it, was the Sky Ride. In attempt to reach the opposite end of the midway in a short amount of time, my family opted to purchase seats on this chairlift-like device that ascended high above the crowd. Needless to say, this presented a perfect opportunity for the stump to once again rid itself of its vessel. All was well until we neared the end of our ride. Until then Carrie had maintained a firm grasp on her leg, but somehow it managed to slip from her hold. We all watched in horror as Prosthestia plummeted to the ground. Mind you, by now the ground was only several feet below us, but nonetheless, plummet it did. Carrie was astonished, the crowd of people standing in line for the ride was astonished, but I was not astonished. I knew all along that it was the work of the stump.

And so were the escape attempts of the stump. These things among others have all accumulated into my fear. Not only does the stump itself taunt me, but my sister has at times used my fear against me. When we are in the midst of a brawl, she will remove the vessel and kick at me with the naked stump. When we are swimming in the lake she will sneak around and let it float up beside me. In all these ways she mocks the fear. Some don’t believe in Astumphobia, but I know my affliction. I have witnessed the evil acts of the stump. I know that harm it has done to innocent prosthetic legs. And so I am reaching out to all those who suffer, as I suffer, from fear of the stump.