There is something about the word “amputation” that renders people speechless.  Or makes them cry.  Even my GP rang me at home to commiserate when she received the letter from the hospital informing her of what was about to happen to me.   The first time I saw the word amputation in relation to my own leg was when I signed the consent form.  Under procedure was written “amputation of the left leg”.  And suddenly my mantra that “it’s not the end of the world” did not seem to have quite the power  it had up till then. But at least they’d got the right leg.  Or the “correct” leg as my surgeon pointed out.  The right leg is very definitely the wrong leg.  There are other words I’m not keen on.  Sarcoma is one.  Malignant is another.  I’m OK with stump for the moment. My physio tells me that some people are more comfortable with “residual limb” – but that somehow seems rather coy .