The Santa Who Walked Again: A Story of Amputation, Resilience and Support

I'll never forget that time I took care of Santa Claus.

I'm an infectious diseases doctor. That means I take care of complicated or unusual infections. A number of years ago, I was on call and I got a new consult for a patient with a foot infection. I walked into the room and the man in the hospital bed had a larger-than-life personality that filled up the whole room.

Meeting Rusty

Rusty Disney was very sick, but friendly and jovial, and asked me about myself and my family. He instructed me in no uncertain terms that he had to be healthy by December. His favorite thing to do was to play Santa for local businesses and families. Rusty raved about how much he loved it. He shared with me the tricks he'd use to connect with shy kids, the gentle but firm way he'd rein in the troublemakers. When his friends brought their kids and grandkids, he'd get insider info from them ahead of time, then wow the kids when they sat on his lap. He'd even make good-natured suggestions about which behaviors the kids should work on, winking at the parents.

Rusty was one of those people with a unique gift for personal connection. His innate generosity and goodwill were obvious to me even as he lay in a hospital bed with a giant bandage on his foot. He charmed me and I hoped I could meet his goal - get him better by December.

A Life-Changing Diagnosis

When I unwrapped the dressing on his foot, my stomach dropped. It was one of those rare situations where the infection was extremely dire. He had contracted a 'flesh-eating bacteria.' It started in his foot but was trying to come up his leg. Even though he was on the right medicine, it wouldn’t be enough. If he didn't have surgery, he would die.

I called the surgeons and they were able to remove the infected tissue and save his life. Rusty's infection was cured, but unfortunately, it cost him his foot and ankle. I remember seeing him in clinic a few weeks later. He was healing; he didn't have an infection, but he was now an amputee.

He was sitting in a wheelchair. He was still healing, waiting for his prosthetic. We mourned the loss of his foot together. I knew it had been necessary to save his life, but I was so terribly sad. I hadn't been able to 'fix him by December' like he asked me to do.

From Patient to Santa Once Again

A funny thing happened. A few months later, in December, Rusty called my clinic and asked my receptionist to relay a message for him. He'd be at the grocery store that weekend playing Santa, did I want to bring my kids?

I called him back, intrigued. He asked for info about each kid and told me he was doing great. He had gotten the hang of his prosthetic, he was back on his feet, and he was back to work. I took him up on his offer, and that Saturday, my kids were dazzled. He was the best Santa I'd ever seen. The prosthetic leg underneath the red pants was not noticeable at all.

Turning Pain into Purpose

A few months later, I got another call from Rusty. Could we have a meeting? He ambled into my office proudly and capably, not even using a cane. He sat and leaned forward on his knees. He had been working a lot with the group that made his prosthetic. He'd learned a lot about resources for amputees. He told me that when he lay in the hospital bed waiting for the surgery on his foot, I had been a great comfort. But you know what would be an even greater comfort? Someone like him. He was a registered volunteer for the hospital. He was HIPAA trained and would love to come visit the patient next time I see someone in that situation.
He handed me his cell phone number. Call anytime.

Over the next few years, when I was in a hospital room and I was caring for someone with a brand new amputation, when I saw the heaviness and pain in the patient's face, I would ask if they would like to talk to someone who had been through it. I got used to seeing Rusty saunter into a patient's room, no limp, no cane, sitting down in the chair by the bed and asking, "So have you named it yet?" (He encouraged everyone to name their stump.)

I got used to hearing laughter ringing out from what had previously been a very somber hospital room. He provided a comfort none of the nurses or doctors could. He showed them what it could look like on the other side. He would tell them tips and tricks for their new life, all while explaining how he kept doing the things he wanted to do. He kept living his life. He kept playing Santa.

Carrying on Santa's Legacy

Rusty passed away a few years ago, and I still feel the loss.

Another one of my patients who has become a friend, Deborah Branson, is now starting up a support group for people living with an amputation. I have a lot of knowledge, but nothing beats personal experience. If you have had an amputation and want to share what you’ve learned and how you’ve coped, they’d love to see you there.

If you’ve had an amputation and you’re still struggling with your new life, they’d love to see you there.

I’ve been encouraging my friend Deborah in her plans to get this going, but I am also hoping to find more people who are willing to do what Santa used to do for me.

I’d love a list of people who would be willing to stride confidently into a hospital room, show off their prosthetic, and make someone’s dark day a little brighter. That would be my kind of Christmas List.

Join the Step Forward Amputee Support Group

The Step Forward Amputee Support Group meets the second Tuesday of each month from 5 to 6:30 p.m. at the Clara McLean House at 20 First Village Drive in Pinehurst.