THIS WASN'T THE FIRST time that David had tried to amputate his leg. When he was just out of college, he’d tried to do it using a tourniquet fashioned out of an old sock and strong baling twine.
David locked himself in his bedroom at his parents’ house, his bound leg propped up against the wall to prevent blood from flowing into it. After two hours the pain was unbearable, and fear sapped his will.
Undoing a tourniquet that has starved a limb of blood can be fatal: injured muscles downstream of the blockage flood the body with toxins, causing the kidneys to fail. Even so, David released the tourniquet himself; it was just as well that he hadn’t mastered the art of tying one.
Failure did not lessen David’s desire to be rid of the leg. It began to consume him, to dominate his awareness. The leg was always there as a foreign body, an impostor, an intrusion.
He spent every waking moment imagining freedom from the leg. He’d stand on his “good” leg, trying not to put any weight on the bad one. At home, he’d hop around. While sitting, he’d often push the leg to one side. The leg just wasn’t his. He began to blame it for keeping him single; but living alone in a small suburban townhouse, afraid to socialise and unable to form relationships, David was unwilling to let anyone know of his singular fixation.
“It got to the point where I’d come into my house and just cry,” he had told me earlier over the phone. "I’d be looking at other people and seeing that they already have their lives going good for them. And I’m stuck here, all miserable. I’m being held back by this strange obsession. The logic going through my head was that I need to take care of this now, because if I wait any longer, there is not much chance of a life for me.”
It took some time for David to open up. Once he opened up, he discovered that he was not alone. He found a community on the Internet of others who were also desperate to excise some part of their body — usually a limb, sometimes two. These people were suffering from what is now called Body Integrity Identity Disorder (BIID).
The online community has been a blessing to those who suffer from BIID, and through it many discover that their malaise has an official name. With a handful of websites and a few thousand members, the community even has its internal subdivisions: “devotees” are fascinated by or attracted to amputees, often sexually, but don’t want amputations themselves; “wannabes” strongly desire an amputation of their own. A further delineation, “need-to-be,” describes someone whose desire for amputation is particularly fierce.
It was a wannabe who told David about a former BIID patient who had been connecting other sufferers to a surgeon in Asia. For a fee, this doctor would perform off-the-book amputations. David contacted this gatekeeper on Facebook, but more than a month passed without a reply. As his hopes of surgery began to fade, David’s depression deepened. The leg intruded more insistently into his thoughts. He decided to try again to get rid of it himself.
This time he settled for dry ice, one of the preferred methods of self-amputation among the BIID community. The idea is to freeze the offending limb and damage it to the point that doctors have no choice but to amputate. David drove over to his local Walmart and bought two large trashcans. The plan was brutal, but simple. First, he would submerge the leg in a can full of cold water to numb it. Then he would pack it in a can full of dry ice until it was injured beyond repair.
He bought rolls of bandages, but he couldn’t find the dry ice or the prescription painkillers he needed if he was going to keep the leg in dry ice for eight hours. David went home despondent, with just two trashcans and bandages, preparing himself mentally to go out the next day to find the other ingredients. The painkillers were essential; he knew that without them he would never succeed. Then, before going to bed that night, he checked his computer.
There it was: a message. The gatekeeper wanted to talk.