There’s a tendency to take particular note of the biggest or the worst tragedies happening around us.  They make the news.  They grab our attention.  In the process, we may forget that for every monumental nightmare that comes onto our radar, there may be a hundred, a thousand, smaller, more personal nightmares about which we hear nothing. 

At a blog called The Tales of an Amputee Mommy, Peggy Friedman Chenoworth writes about life as an amputee with a four year old son.  Having a number of friends who are challenged, I’ve come to appreciate that each has its issues that those without the challenge can’t appreciate.  Often, the little things we take for granted become their daily hurdles.  With just the right amount of intransigence, a hurdle becomes a brick wall, or worse yet, a test of humanity. Peggy writes of such an experience at the hand of our government’s blue-shirted protectors against terrorism, the Transportation Safety Administration.

I was nervous maneuvering the airport with Robby in tow. Scott was able to secure a security pass to help me tame Robby when we departed last week. I was thankful for his help because, being an amputee, getting cleared through airport security can be a lengthy process. I have never gone through security with Robby by myself, so I was apprehensive. Little did I know that my fears were founded.

As predicted, and as is typical, I was directed to the Plexiglas waiting area after I triggered the metal detector. Robby proudly walked through the sensors, running into my arms. Apparently that was a mistake, because he was taken back through the sensors again because he had been “compromised” by touching me. He was not pleased.

Who can’t appreciate the threat of the dreaded four year old boy?  But that was merely the beginning of the joy Peggy was about to experience.

When they were done clearing a four year old for explosive materials, they turned their attention to me. I was taken through the normal pat down procedure to which I am accustomed. I was then informed, in a matter of fact tone, that the rules have changed as of today (Friday, May 28, 2010) and that further screening was necessary.

I was instructed to remove my leg. I refused, stating that it was against procedure to insist that I remove my prosthetic. Another man was brought over, who lectured me about the increased security risk and the need to keep screening procedures current. He reiterated that the rules have changed, and that he needed my prosthetic. Looking at my frightened little boy and knowing that we were becoming pressed for time, I begrudgingly removed my leg and handed it to the rude agent.

Rules are rules, when you’re a monkey with a checklist.  But when it’s not a rule, but some nonsense crap that a guy in uniform makes up to justify his off-the-cuff demand, then it’s hardly a rule.  But anybody with some petty power can call it a rule and force the issue.  Wanna bet it wasn’t nearly as easy to get away with telling an amputee to remove her prosthesis when he was dishing out ice cream at Dairy Queen a week before?

“What’s that?” the man asked while pointing to my liner. I explained that it was my prosthetic liner, and that I wore it to keep my prosthetic attached. He insisted that he needed to run my liner through the machine as well.

I don’t think that the general public understands how personal a residual limb is to the amputee. It is on par with one’s genitals. I simply don’t remove my liner in public exposing my limb, and I was humiliated by the request.

Aside from the humiliation of being forced to expose herself in public, there is also the issue of infection caused by removal and exposure to the unsanitary conditions of public bins, where Peggy’s liner was carelessly tossed so it could be x-rayed. 

For all she endures, Peggy remains relatively sanguine about it, acknowledging that it’s possible that a terrorist could hide a weapon in a prosthesis.  They could hide one in a sphincter too, and most of us have one of those.  But there are far fewer amputees, so the burden of humiliating them won’t come back to bite the TSA in the butt nearly as much.  As long as they aren’t humiliating the rest of us in the quest to keep us in a perpetual state of terrorist alarm.

If you care to express yourself about what happened to Peggy, you may want to leave a comment to her post and let her know how your feel about the humiliation she and her son endured.  I bet she would appreciate knowing that someone cares. 

Update:  As word of Peggy’s post spread, no doubt to Balko and subsequently to me, it likewise spread to others as well.  Apparently, this unleashed a barrage of disgraceful and disgusting comments from the wealth of empowered idiots that spend their time on the internet to compensate for their lack of real lives.  They littered Peggy’s post  with the worst garbage the internet has to offer.

I trust no one who followed the link from here would do such a thing.  Sadly, this caused Peggy to take her post down, which is a loss to her and to all of us.  The link in the main post is now dead. It’s a loss for everyone.

H/T Radley Balko