Can you still feel it?

We live in an age of wonders and marvels. Foundations have been laid that allow us to rapidly develop new applications of beneficial inventions. Powerful computing technologies allow engineers and others the opportunity to test theories through computerized modeling saving the expense of prototype development until they are convinced of its likely success. Obviously, not everything that is designed works as anticipated once a functioning model is developed, but when it does the results are magnificent.

I was so thrilled to read a news report about a newly developed robotic arm that has successfully completed clinical trials and the FDA has approved its use for amputees above the elbow. This robot arm, nicknamed Luke, after the Star Wars character who also found a need for a robotic arm after an unfortunate encounter with his estranged father. This arm functions very similarly in strength to a regular arm but it has enough dexterity to handle a single grape.

The image of this arm became more poignant today as I listened to a report about phantom limb syndrome. This phenomenon causes someone who has lost a limb to feel that the absent arm or leg is still there. Amputees report that they can actually feel the missing limb. Neuroscience has recently demonstrated that the brain actually processes signals that cause the lingering sensation. This phantom limb syndrome should be something that is easy for us all to understand.

Simple comparisons include the instinctive repositioning of glasses on the nose when someone switches to contacts. And if you have ever forgotten to wear your watch one day, you know that the hairs on your wrist serve little use in keeping accurate time. But these situations are mere inconveniences in comparison to someone who has actually lost a limb yet feels its lingering presence.

Yet the continuing sensation of the presence of something that played a significant role in our life but is now absent tends to cause overwhelming feelings of frustration and impotence. I can only imagine that the recurring reminder of the loss of a limb, stemming from the feeling that it is still there, would prove nothing but an endless source of ever increasing frustration. And oh how I hope that if we cannot end the reality of amputations, that we can create prosthetics that will allow those amputees to react to those phantom sensations and accomplish the natural desires of their hearts.

But curiously, whenever I momentarily forget that a loved one who is now gone and I have that similar phantom sense to give them a call, the initial wave of sadness lasts but a moment. And while I miss their actual presence I find enduring comfort in the power of memory to create another physical, emotional and spiritual encounter. These moments cannot be confused with the real thing, but as time goes on I not only find them enough, but intimately rewarding. No robot will ever replace a loved one but memory proves a powerful and potent prosthetic.