Body parts

If you're like me and have one limb different from its counterpart, you may tend to assign it the characteristics of a being in its own right, a separate entity. 
"Nope," you might say, "the old left arm just isn't up for tennis today. He needs to take a few days off."
In my case that limb has been my shortened right leg since childhood and in less than twelve hours from when I'm writing this it's going to be amputated at the hip. As inferior a limb as it's been, and despite the pain and embarrassment it's caused me over many of my 59 years, I regard it benignly. Its execution tomorrow, which will be done to try to stop the spread of a fatal, untreatable disease, seems like a harsh solution, though I know it's the only thing to be done if I want to have a slightly better (twenty-five percent versus zero) chance of living longer than another year or so. 
It's part of my body. It has nerves but no brain. It's a living thing but without any ability to survive on its own, to feel pain, or to be aware of its fate. Its removal tomorrow will mean nothing to it, yet much to me, of course.