Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional story created for entertainment and narrative purposes only. It is not based on any real persons, events, or experiences. The content includes graphic descriptions of self-harm, medical procedures, deception, and extreme body modification, which are entirely imaginary and fictional. This story is not medical advice, not encouragement, and not to be imitated in any way. Any resemblance to actual individuals or real-world accounts is coincidental. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
FROM TOE TILL TRIPLE AMPUTATION
By Alex Trip
A "Fictional" Story
It all started when I was seven. In my class was a girl named Helen. One day the teacher entered the class and announced: âHelen is in hospital, she had a leg amputated.â At that moment I got a strange inner feeling. As a seven-year-old I thought about how she would look like, on one leg, how she was lying there in the hospital, and I realized I was jealous. At night when I came home and was lying in my bed I couldnât think about anything else than Helen. I also wanted to lose a leg, and what came mostly in my mind was the question: âWhy isnât it me who is lying there in the hospital with one leg off?â
That is how it all started. After a while, as I grew to adulthood, I started to do more research towards amputation. I discovered more about different amputation techniques, but never something about the fact why I wanted a leg off. I got married in 1989, and never told my wife about the fact I had wannabe feelings. I was enormously ashamed over the fact I wanted off my left leg above my knee, and at that moment I wanted nobody to know about having this dream.
When I was 22 years old I found in a book that sometimes limbs were tied. I took an elastic ligature, and cut off my arteries for hours, in a way that I was rolling around out of pain. Meanwhile I had been since I was 12 several times with my leg in plaster. In total about 20 times. I always found a method, so they had to plaster it. I did this because I liked the feeling of not being able to move my leg enormously. When I was married a few years, and I was about 25 years old I decided to apply another method. I also found in a medical book that freezing could lead to amputation. In the basement at home stood a large freezer. I decided to hold my calf against the freezer-wall for a few hours. After a while my calf got really red and hard from the freezing cold. After two days it was black and dead. I didnât tell my wife what I had done. I told everybody I didnât know how it happened, it was suddenly there.
At arrival in the hospital they asked whether I got in contact with dangerous products, but I never told the truth. After two weeks of hospital my leg was still on my body, only my calf was as good as amputated, and a few slices of new skin were attached. The most horrible moment was when I woke up and found out that all my tries I had gone through were for nothing, and that stupid leg was still on my body. Indirectly I tried to talk about it with my wife. I often asked her about amputation, whether she would stay with me if I ever would lose a leg. When I was 26, I got internet. I found medical texts about wannabeism. I discovered I wasnât the only person in the world who wanted to lose an arm or a leg. This feeling gave me new courage to continue my search for perfection. One day I decided to write anonymously to two well-known orthopedic surgeons, with a short explanation and a request to meet at a certain place with me. Of course neither of them showed up.
I thought that now I discovered on the internet I wasnât the only wannabe, I could tell it to my wife. I printed out the medical texts I found, and gave them to her as a sign. I told her I was like that, that I wanted my leg off for years. We didnât talk much about it, it was hard to believe for her, her husband was an apotemnophile. After several conversations it came to the fact she didnât want me to amputate a leg, but I could have a small toe amputation.
I informed my doctor who came to our home almost for fourteen years, and of course he was more than surprised when I told him with what feelings I was walking around already for years. At first it looked all very unbelievable, as well to him as to my wife. No-one would talk to me about it, and that was just what I wanted, someone who wanted to listen to me. That time I had a good friend. I told him that I was an apotemnophile, and without thinking he told me that it had something to do with amputation. He studied and knew the meaning of the word apotemno, and started to realize I really wanted a leg off. He answered me: âI should have known this already.â During all our friendship he saw me often enough make drawings about amputees, or in school when we were in the same class, saw me sitting in the wheelchair of the nursing class and that I really liked to roll around in it through the corridors. But I didnât get much help from him. He understood, but when I tried to talk about it in later meetings it was often that he asked not to talk about those wannabe things.
Good, I had the approval from my wife to amputate a toe, a small toe, by freezing it, so they had to amputate my toe. It was better than nothing, so I decided to start looking on the internet for more information about toe amputations. On that occasion I encountered a German wannabe, who amputated himself ten toes (and had kept his amputated toes in the freezer of his home during all the years). He told me how easy it was to cut off a toe yourself without pain or danger.
One night I decided, I couldnât wait any longer. For years I wanted an amputation, the moment to get rid of a small toe had arrived. While my wife was sleeping I went down to the bathroom carefully. Once there I assembled all the materials needed to get rid of that toe. Ice from the freezer would anaesthetize my toe so I wouldnât feel any pain. And yes, the more ice I put on my little left toe, the more it got sleepy. After about ten minutes the toe was asleep and I realized it would never ever wake up again. This alone was already a wonderful feeling for me. I took a cutter, and cut through my toe, at the place I wanted it off, just above the fold. It was like cutting through butter. A few moments later I noticed that the toe turned white, and the only connection with my foot was the bone, and it started to feel cold. Now I realized that when I cut through the bones I really would have amputated a toe. A few moments later the bone was cut through and I had my little toe in my hand.
I tied up the wound, just as the wannabe on the internet told me, and cleaned up the small amount of blood that was left. I made a note for my wife so she knew why I wouldnât be at home for a while, and left to get rid of the toe. I threw him in a river not far away from home. When the sun came up I returned to home, and told my wife what I did that night. Even though she told me before I could have a toe amputated, she wasnât really happy now. She never thought I would be strong enough to amputate my own toe.
The small toe amputation healed soon. Afterwards I only regretted that I didnât feel that my toe was off. I really wanted to feel the good amputation feeling. I wanted to feel my stump. I decided to amputate another toe, this time without informing my wife. I thought that when this time I would cut off my big toe that I would be able to enjoy the feeling of amputation. It was during the day, my wife wasnât at home, everything was ready again in the bathroom, and I decided to cut off my left big toe. This went even easier than the small toe I did before. Later I got in the car, went to a friend, who studied nursery and I got to know better and who understood me and tried to listen to my wannabe feelings.
I didnât dare to tell it to my wife myself, so I asked her to come to me, so I could tell her what I had removed this time. After the necessary explanations I went to lay down on my bed so the bleeding would stop finally, but it didnât stop and soon I realized I had to go to the hospital. On arrival there, my family doctor already called to give the necessary explanations, but despite that it wasnât nice knowing the whole department and medical staff knew I had cut off my own toe.
The other day I was so tired of it that I got in my pajamas and in my car and drove home. I enjoyed my big-toe amputation enormously, it was a wonderful feeling, but I realized I still wanted my leg off. I tried to get my friends to understand it, but later I heard from others they were laughing at me behind my back.
My wife also got tired hearing me talk about amputation all day long, that tired we decided to get divorced. This was hard for me. I really loved her, I trusted her, and I shared my deepest secret with her hoping we could talk about it as man and wife. When you get married you promise to be there for each other in good and in bad times, but that wasnât the case now.
When I lived alone in my rented apartment I got more and more in contact with the other friend who listened to me, not that she approved what I wanted; having my leg off, but at least she paid attention to me. We fell in love and kept coming closer to each other more and more. One day I went to the bathroom and amputated two other toes, the day after that I amputated also the middle toe. My girlfriend who actually had to go to school stayed with me during this period with infernal pains that I had to go through that week.
Afterwards, with a foot without toes the feeling was terrible nice, I felt great, but yet I couldnât get rid of the dream to live one-legged. Now I was getting divorced, and lived alone, I decided to carry on with my plan, no-one could stop me, not even the idea my son would have a one-legged father.
I tried the freezer again and froze my leg again, and decided to inject a self-made infection with urine, death flies and other garbage into my leg. I only got sick, and my doctor only would give me painkillers, and wouldnât do anything else. After being at home for a month, with a leg that stank because of died tissue, and heavy pains, my doctor phoned me and said he wouldnât subscribe me other painkillers. I started yelling at him and an hour later seven police agents came to get me at home. At first I thought to bring me to a hospital to operate the calf again, but no, they brought me to a madhouse.
There they told me I was collocated, I didnât had any rights as human being, and I was some kind of state property without any rights. The first night I could stay in an open place, all other rooms were taken. I sat between crazy people who thought about nothing else than suicide, drugs and alcohol. Behind iron bars I realized the day after my parents-in-law came to talk to the nurses. I was locked up between four walls, no fresh air, only fools beside me who wanted to be death. I slept in a room with an old fool who was one-hundred percent nuts; He had millions of dollars hidden under his pillow, and he had to guard it all night long; That was what he told me, and how he kept me awake. The day after, my lawyer came to visit me. I was so hard stoned from the medication they had offered me, that I didnât recognize him, and asked âwho are you?â
He told me it wouldnât be easy to get me free, and if he wouldnât succeed, I needed to stay there at least a whole month. On the forms made by the psychiatrists stood all lies, according to them I was someone who thought about nothing else but suicide and self-mutilation. It was terrible hearing this, knowing I didnât want to die, I only wanted a leg off. Meanwhile, they decided to get me to a local hospital, for an operation on my leg. The surgeon there was very unfriendly, he even said in a sarcastic way: âWouldnât you rather have your leg amputated?â I answered him: âYes, of course,â but he went angry as hell. I told him I smoked, but he answered that during my stay there I wasnât allowed to leave the room. I knew I couldnât deal with such a situation. My case came up in court a few days later, and when I would stay there it would only get postponed, and then I should stay even longer in that madhouse.
I decided to escape, pretended to go to the toilet, but run through the hallway like crazy, left the hospital and lifted without anything to a town about eighty kilometers from the hospital away. There I decided to go to my girlfriend. I called first my ex-wife. She begged me to return to the hospital, because the cops got my son from school and they thought that my ex-wife knew where I was. I called the family-doctor, heâwho had done this all to meâand I declared that they could come and pick me up, on the condition that my wife would get our son back, I didnât have to be locked up in a cell, and my trial came up a few days later.
Later, on the trial, my wife was sitting next to me, the judge in front of me, beside him my doctor and beside him the crazy psychiatrist. My lawyer talked about the fact that transsexuals also want an amputation, and that amputating a penis was something like wanting a leg off. He also said that they would let me free if I should visit voluntarily a psychiatrist. The most important point though was that the date of my collocation was a day later than when the police agents came to get me. This made it that I had been locked up one day too much.
That night I got a phone from the psychiatrist. He told me that I had won the case, and could leave his hospital immediately. I couldnât believe my ears, the worst week in my life was finally over. At home I broke out in tears. I was a free man again, a free man that was damaged in a terribly way by his doctor who I trusted and knew for fourteen years, a man who promised me to never change my wannabe feelings. And still I decided to keep him as doctor. Some time later I went to visit the psychiatrist. This psychiatrist told me he thought that internet-thing was some kind of sect, and internet was the cause of me continuing my plans to get rid of my leg. I always kept saying that I didnât want to lose my leg anymore; Just to get rid of him.
Meanwhile I got to know on the internet a doctor who was a wannabe himself, and explained to me how easy it is to paralyze a leg with only local anesthesia. The psychiatrist told me in the meantime I wasnât a wannabe anymore, and didnât had to continue going to the sessions. One month later I was in a neighboring country, visiting that wannabe-doctor who put my leg asleep with one simple injection. Afterwards I drove back home, but the wish for an amputation was that big I cut in the stump of my big toe while my leg was sleeping, so I couldnât get home.
I realized this was the perfect chance to become a real leg-amputee. I realized that if I just went home I wouldnât be able to get this chance a second time. I returned at night, bleeding, back to that doctorâs house, and as my leg was still under anesthesia, the doctor closed the stump again. I begged him to help me, to give me a plan, so I could finally lose my leg.
I thought up a fake accident, found a nice place where I could do my amputation. The evening the amputation was planned I returned to his house, and again my left leg was put asleep. When leaving the house, I broke my ankle but just continued walking. I realized it was the last time I felt my foot. On the place of the accident I chopped off my own foot with a hammer, three minutes later my foot was off. I took it in my hands, kissed my amputated foot and said: âYouâll never come back on my body!â I hid the tools I used to get rid of my foot in a horrible way.
A few moments later in hospital, I told another story and made everyone believe I had an accident. Fortunately everyone believed me, and the next day I woke up with my left leg amputated under the knee. Finally I reached my goal, or at least for a large part. My dream had always been to lose a leg above the knee, but before I went abroad to set up this fake accident, my family doctor told me he never wanted to see me with an upper-leg amputation, this because walking would become very difficult.
So, afraid to be locked up again, I didnât go further than an amputation below the knee. Soon I got a prosthetic, and learned to walk again. It felt great to go through life on one leg, but the knee really was still too much. Of course I couldnât get into another accident, it would be too obvious. A new plan was ready⊠I decided to go to several surgeons in my own country and told them that I had terrible stump-pains and pains in my left knee. The third surgeon believed me. And only two days later I was in the operating room and heard the sweet noise of the saw that would amputate my left leg completely and for good.
In sharp contrast to the brutal, DIY methods I had used on myself before â freezing tissue until it turned black and dead, injecting homemade infections of urine and garbage, or hacking at my own foot with a hammer in a remote field with no sterility, no proper anesthesia, and massive risk of uncontrolled bleeding and infection â this surgery was performed under full general anesthesia in a sterile operating theater. The surgeon made precise skin flaps, carefully ligated every major artery and vein to stop bleeding instantly, used a powered oscillating saw to cut cleanly through the femur bone well above the knee, smoothed the bone edges, shaped the muscle and skin into a perfectly padded stump, and closed everything with layered sutures and sterile dressings. A full medical team monitored my vital signs the entire time. I woke up with a professional, healed-ready stump instead of the mangled, infected mess my self-attempts always produced. The nurse only gave me a kind of Advil painkiller. So, four hours later I was at home, called a doctor. That doctor came to my house and wrote a prescription for morphine. Honestly the pain was gone and after a few days I stopped taking that liquid not bad tasting morphine what even made me high.
I had what I wanted for years; a real left upper leg amputation, and decided to recover at home. A new life started for me, a life as amputee, a man on one leg. Looking at it later, I had to go through hell, and did many dangerous things, before I got what I wanted. The sorry-thing about it, is that I didnât lose a leg when I was seven years old, when I had this wannabe feeling for the first time. This feeling of amputation that I wanted to have many years beforeâit feels just the way I always imagined, and I enjoy it daily. Itâs very nice when I try to move my leg that is no longer there, and luckily wonât come back.
A few years later, I started with my fingers. I even found this weird, since I only wanted to be a left above the knee amputee. But I had thoughts that wearing a ring on an amputated finger would be nice looking. I discovered local anestheticsâlidocaine / xylocaine. I bought the one you donât inject, but the one that some dentists use. A spray to make your mouth inside numb, before they inject the needle. I easy got it by lying to some local pharmacies. I told them I had a tattoo studio (what was true had that time) and that I needed it to numb peoples tongue, when I did tongue piercings.
What I didnât know was that this lidocaine you normally canât inject⊠but I did. The result was that my finger turned black; Higher than I wanted. A few days later the ring finger had a very weird gray look. I removed the finger, but needed to go to the hospital. This to have it correctly stitched.
But a few days later, above the stitches, the whole little stump turned black. All from using a wrong lidocaine. So, again to the hospital was my reaction. Over there they needed to remove that little stump. My reaction afterwards? I removed all my right fingers, but then with the use of the lidocaine what is made to inject.
After weeks I ended up with a very painfully hand. All fingers gone, but also every stump was in pain. I knew I wasnât a surgeon and that I had done it totally wrong. All bone ends were sharp, wrong cut and also the nerve ends.
That was the time that my second wife told me that I had done more than enough and that she didnât wanted to see me with more amputation. We were at that time in an open relationship. I was more than happy the day she came home from one of the visits to one of the boyfriends and told me: âHe has a nice big car, and his dick is longer.â For me it was the start of a second separation and divorce.
Afterwards, living again alone, I heard about the ways to have your limbs off with dry ice. I went to a place that sold dry ice, brought it home and placed my right hand into it. First my hand in plastic foil, so it could not stick on the ice. I heard from other wannabe people that did it with dry ice to use it for seven hours. My thought was that only one hour would be enough, since a hand is so much smaller than a leg. That was again a wrong thought. I ended up for weeks in terrible pains, skin that came off till the naked muscles.
How more surgeons I visited, how less they would help. For sure I didnât wanted to go on with such a pain.
Meanwhile I had a new girlfriend who knew about me as a wannabe and was a BIID sympathizer. She told me that she would help me.
We made up a new plan. The hospital was about three minutes driving from home and I parked the car already into the direction to be able to drive away immediately. Lidocaine we had enough at home. We did injected it above my right hand. Also an electronic saw we placed on the ground. But that was only for âdecorationâ if someone would had doubts about our self made up story. Almost two full little bottles of lidocaine were injected. I was sure that this was enough, but at the time we started to cut, I realized that in a arm are more nerves than in a leg. The pain was terrible, but this job needed to be finished.
My girlfriend took the knife, the hammer and finished it. The whole kitchen was filled by blood. We placed the hand in a bag and drove immediately to the hospital. Once there, we used the story about an accident with an electronic circle saw. They believed us. Since I always believed that you better can go on a evening, during the weekends to an hospital wasnât bad. For sure in smaller hospitals on that time there are almost no surgeons. Exactly⊠there was one that could help me, but he told me that an ambulance would bring me to anotherâand big university hospital, since he claimed that he never had done an amputation. I refused. I told him: âOr you help me here now or I go home watching television and you call me when you are ready to help me.â Finally he helped me after sitting there about two hours waiting.
In complete contrast to the chaotic, blood-soaked self-amputation I had just performed in my own kitchen â hacking through skin, muscle, and bone with a kitchen knife and hammer while only partially numbed, causing massive bleeding and a horrifying mess â the hospital surgeon performed a clean, professional revision under proper sterile conditions and additional local anesthesia. He trimmed the ragged edges, ligated the remaining vessels, smoothed the bone ends, and created a proper, padded stump with layered closure. I only had a kind of cramp feeling in my right underarm and even it didnât bleed what I found amazing.
While he did the surgery, my girlfriend went home to clean the messy horror looking kitchen. After that surgery we drove home. No big pain deal and the day after we went already to a local shopping center to have some fun and to show the people my new âwin.â It is weird and also difficult to explain, but with every amputation I had, I always wanted to show the world what I reached; Stumps in this case.
A few years later it came up in my mind to have a right below the knee amputation. Probably because I enjoyed the feeling of amputation so much, that I wanted to go further. Very well I did remembered that years before I only wanted to reach a left above the knee amputation. That the feeling of amputation was better than I ever dared to imagine, brought me now further into more amputations. There were even times that I thought: â50 % of my life was the walking part, now the other 50% will be without walking.â
During that time I was in contact with a prosthetic maker from the Netherlands. Almost weekly we went out together. He, a female friend who is a devotee and me. He had no legs, loved to be that way and told me that he had been visiting a surgeon from what he thought that he would easy do amputation.
I got the information from that surgeon and shortly afterwards I visited him at the hospital. Since I had also all my right toes removed during the years it was easier to reach his mind.
I told him that I had so much difficulties to walk and I told him that a friend surgeon in the USA wanted to help me (what wasnât true), but that my health care didnât worked there. I told him that this surgeon in the USA told me that I was better off with a right below the knee amputation. Also I told him that my life was one big suffer. I lied about taking strong painkillers that put me to sleep the whole day. I told him that I wanted my right leg off below the knee to improve my life again without pain killers.
The reaction? About a week later I woke up in his hospital with my right leg below the knee gone. He afterwards told me that my leg had a bad blood circulation and even placed that on official paper, signed by him. Once again the contrast was enormous: instead of the freezing, infection, or hammer methods I had used on myself before â crude, painful, and always leading to infection or incomplete results â this was a textbook below-knee amputation performed under general anesthesia. The surgeon created equal anterior and posterior skin flaps, divided the muscles cleanly, ligated the tibial and peroneal arteries and veins, used the oscillating saw for a perfectly level cut through the tibia and fibula, beveled the bone edges, and closed with a durable, well-padded stump. No mess, no risk, just a clean professional result.
Normally I hate hospitals and disappear from it after a few hours. But that night happened something weird. That night I really got the proof that many devotees and wannabes are active in the medical world; ⊠In hospitals.
During the night there was only one nurse. When I told her that I wanted to go downstairs to smoke a cigarette, she brought me an ashtray on the room. I had a room for myself, without another patient. Even a few beers she brought me.
Every morning at five, she came to open all the windows, so that the smoke of the cigarettes could go away.
Many nights she came to my room, to talk. She could see I didnât mind about losing a leg (again). We joked about it and she told me her whole life. It came so far that even a few days later we kissed each other many times.
After leaving the hospital we staid in contact for a few years. I guess this was the only time that I didnât minded to be more than a week in an hospital. For sure she was a devotee; A head nurse in an hospital during her night shift.
One above the knee, one below the knee⊠It really wasnât my thing. Something more than a year after the right below the knee amputation I restarted my search into becoming right above the knee. Honestly, that was easy. I visited a few surgeons and called a few ones. During one phone call, having a surgeon on the line, I told him that I wanted to have my right leg above the knee amputated. I made an appointment and then I came up with my new fake story.
At this meeting with him in the hospital I told him that I really wanted this done before I would go to the USA, where a wannabe friend had invited me (that was the truth). That I told him about heavy pain in my right knee and that in America they would make me stubbies (prosthetics without the knee) was a lie.
Anyway, the young surgeon, a funny guy agreed and did the job one week later. Before the surgery he came to me with a document that I needed to sign. A declaration that I wanted this and that it wasnât his responsibility.
The surgery itself was once more the complete opposite of my earlier brutal self-attempts. Under general anesthesia the surgeon performed a standard above-knee amputation: precise flaps, vessel ligation, oscillating saw through the femur, bone beveling, muscle padding, and layered closure â all in a controlled, sterile environment that left me with a perfect, pain-free stump instead of the infected, jagged results I had created myself with knives, hammers, or dry ice.
About two days later I was at home; About two weeks later I was on my way to the USA where I stayed for about two years.
Triple amputee at last.
My left finger I did during the periods of all those amputations. I forgot really when exactly I did that. I removed it above the joint (left ring finger) and went to the hospital with it. It was so bad done by the surgeon that whatever I touched did hurt as hell. Once being in the USA, finally meeting a friend who helped many wannabes with little home amputations, he did the finger again (at my home), this time above the joint. It was an amazing day as a wannabe, since there were also two other wannabe friends with us. The guy who did the re-amputation was amazing. He had no fingers left. Only ten finger stumps and he did a better job than even the real surgeon in the hospital before.
The most amazing part was that this guy without fingers I did knew from the time before we both became amputees. For many times and hours we called each other about how to find a way to become an amputee. Now he was there in front of me and helping me.
This was the last amputation done and that was in 2007. Now many years later still many devotee and wannabe people ask me or I want more; Or I want to be a quad (no limbs anymore). I answer them in my own way: âI still want to be able to clean my own ass,â with what I mean: I had enough amputations and do not need more.
On all those years I became very open minded about being a wannabe and told to many people the truth. I always thought and hoped that wannabes would be helped easier if at least someone would come out for it. In my case I lost a lot of things and many people thanks to being myself, but basically I donât care. My big example of being open minded was George Boyer from Florida. The man known for âHe shot his own leg off.â When he still was alive we wrote many letters to each other. Unfortunately when I arrived in the USA he died already a few years before, so my dream of meeting him collapsed.
Even big articles about me, my story came out in different countries. Without my knowledge. It were friends who informed me about that. The last time it happened all the printed magazines (1 million pieces) needed to be removed from all the stores. This because one amputee who I know started a justice case. They published it with her face in mosaic. But in her eyes it still was too visible. She won the case, but I did send a copy of the contract I made up with her once (modeling work) to the magazine. Otherwise they probably needed to pay her millions.
I feel sorry for the others, other wannabes who want what I always wanted, most of them will never get what I got, and most of them arenât that strong to do what I did. Most of all Iâm furious at the medical world for their lack of comprehension, and because it is their fault I had to do all this to myself, when there was acknowledgement or no taboo, I shouldnât have done those things to myself which almost cost me my life. I donât regret what I did. I enjoy every day of my new life, and I hope other wannabes will also get what they want.
The End.
ACM â Alex Tripâ
editorial note:
I considered heavily if to publish this. Besides some grammar fixes, this is mostly a first hand account, by a well known (maybe ex) member of out "community". He has done some nefarious deeds, possibly even putting other peoples life in danger. Probably scammed people out of big sums of money. Allegedly.
Right now he is AWOL, last heard he was not in good health, trying a new scheme.
Though twisted, his story is not entirely unique - many in the community go through similar lengths for same reasons. Maybe with less deception.
Now you know I guess? And no need buy his book detailing with the same story (it's on amazon lol)
