I put the phone in my pants pocket and take the knife with my right hand and pick a spot on my left arm - halfway between my shoulder and elbow and I start cutting away with the steak knife that I had brought.
I try to reassure myself by thinking about the countless people who survived being amputated and are able to adapt with little constraints.
Then I think, cutting an uncooked piece of meat is going to be extremely difficult and what if I pass out half way through? Will “they” still kill my kids?
I take a quick look up and then look side to side to try to spot who is trying to harm me and my family.
As hard as I look - I see no one.
The sweat drips off my face as I’m about to make one of the biggest decisions of my life.
“My kids come first!” I blurt out to myself - Trying my best to talk myself into mutilating myself.
I look at the knife then I look at my left arm and start to cry.
It’s not like I’m going to lose my trucking or pilot’s license on account of having only one arm.
In the grand scheme of things, I likely will never have to work again so losing one arm will just be an inconvenience. And with that sentiment, I grip the knife with my right hand and give myself the green light to cut away.
I try my best to keep my adrenaline racing as I start to slice through muscle and tendons.
With each cut, I yell out as loud as I can.
I cut as vigorously and as fast as I can.
I try not to picture my arm as part of me but rather the fish I used clean and cut up when I was a kid.
Blood is all over my right hand and I yell out even louder with each time I make a cut into one of my nerves.
I finally get to bone. I know I only have seconds left before my deadline is up, as I cut as fast as I can. The blood on my hand is making it difficult to grip the knife but I manage anyways.
Darwinian thoughts go through my head, as I force myself to think that my offspring are more important than me.
I finally cut the last piece of bone and then my left arm dangles with only some skin and muscles holding it up.
I cut away the remaining pieces of flesh and then my arm falls to the ground.
I yell out “it’s done - you see I cut my left arm off! Let my girls go now!”
I feel a sense of accomplishment almost like I made it to the top of a mountain.
Then my mood changes, as I look down on the ground at my left arm
My mind doesn’t compute that the arm is gone and is sending signals that I’m opening and closing my left hand. I know my hand isn’t moving because I’m looking down at it on the ground.
I now feel shock starting to kick in as I have lost a lot of blood. I lay down against a tree and try to use my shirt as a tourniquet.
Katie will be here any moment to take me to the hospital - I keep telling myself.
I’m starting to feel really weak as I just want to pass out, but I know I have to stay awake for Katie to find me and also so I don’t fall into a comma and never wake up again.
I can’t tie a meaningful tourniquet around my arm, so blood keeps gushing out.
It feels like an eternity has past, where Katie should of been here already. I slowly take my phone out of my pocket and am surprised that I don’t see any missed calls from her. I look at the time and estimate that at least 20 minutes has passed since I have cut my arm off.
Why isn’t she here? “Katie” I yell out with the little bit of strength, I have left.
The woods are completely silent. I feel like an animal that hides itself right before it knows it’s going to die.
I manipulate the phone with my right hand and attempt to call Katie.
It rings and rings - “why isn’t she picking up?” I think the worst and convince myself that now someone has harmed Katie.
If I had the energy, I would walk out of here and flag someone down but I don’t have enough energy to even stand up.
I pick up my phone again in an attempt to call 911.
As I dial the 9 - a call comes in from my mother.
“Mom, is that you?” I barely whimper out.
“Oh, hey Tom - Yes, it’s your mother and Sarah really wants to come home! Do you want me to drive her?”
“What?” I say completely confused.
“Sarah and the girls are bored and they want to go home.”
“Why are they over your house?”
“They been here since yesterday. When Katie dropped them off. Tom, why do you sound so weak?”
My mind was so focused on the county workers as being the ones who concocted this whole scheme and who did this to me that I didn’t even consider my wife as being the culprit.
I think about dialing 911 again but then I realize that they will never find me in time and all i’ll do is say “my wife Katie did this to me along with her mother” - then what will happen to my kids - Foster care?
My mother has struggled with emphysema for years and is probably laying down on the couch as the kids run a muck of the house, which makes me shake my head in despair knowing that she couldn’t be a guardian for my kids.
I should be focusing on how to get out of these woods, but instead I think why Katie did this to me?
My next best move has to be to get water and get medical attention for my arm.
I’ve become close to my dog’s veterinarian, that I have paid thousands of dollars to pay for everything from diabetes to a broken paw, so I’m sure if I paid him enough money he would stitch me up and give me antibiotics. Most of all - using the vet would keep the cops out of this.