No Arms, No Legs, No Problem: When life happens, you can wish to die or choose to live

by Bob Lujano, Tara Schiro

Others would quit. He kept going. In writing Bob's unbelievable story, I grew more and more troubled. I kept returning to the mind-blowing fact that he was actually grateful for this childhood that stole his limbs, scarred his face and body, and branded him disabled; a term he rejects. He says it "was the best life he could ever ask for," that "the pain and abuse and rejection was all necessary." I couldn't understand his acceptance and forgiveness. I called it denial. Why wasn't he angry about it? I wanted to believe he was living a lie. He says he is able. How could this be? Bob Lujano refuses to succumb to tragedies or definitions. He is magnificently woven with strength and kindness. And his singular story proves that no arms and no legs is truly no problem.

232 pages, Paperback

First published December 18, 2014

Reviews

[Tara Schiro · Rating 5 out of 5]

My heart jumped the day I first laid eyes on him. He was two feet tall and sitting in the middle of a queen-sized bed in a hotel room in Moraga, California. It was January, 2007.
His sister, Lisa, greeted me at the door and I tried to match her excitement but my mouth went dry as I forced a smile to hide my incredulity. This man had no arms or legs. And his name was Bob.
My family and I had come to see him speak at St. Mary's College as a way of formal introduction after being commissioned to write his book. Even though I had previously spoken to him on the phone to make arrangements, I was now completely off balance seeing him in person. He welcomed me with a kindness I did not understand. The warmth he radiated was palpable—and confusing.
With a beaming smile he scooted to the edge of the bed and extended his arm. “Hi, I’m Bob! How are you?”
Shocked, thank you very much.
I took his right limb, severed at the elbow and full of scars, into my right hand and shook as if nothing was amiss. His eyes carried an obvious peace and joy but I was blinded by my own inabilities. My eyes darted around the room looking for answers to the questions I was forming in my head, all having to do with how.
How does he get up and down from the high bed?
How does he reach to brush his teeth?
How does he shower? Shave? Go to the bathroom?
I did not see evidence of equipment or special aides to get him through the ordeal of tasks I always took for granted. I maintained my smile as we went through the perfunctory questions.
“How was your trip?”
“What time should we leave for your talk?”
I’m sure he knew I was uncomfortable and was scanning for evidence rather than being genuinely pleased to meet him. But he gave no sign of it.
About an hour later, Bob, Lisa, and I drove to the college and had dinner with the president, the student representatives, and the person in charge of scheduling Bob to speak.
Now in the role of observer, I could use them as a mirror to my own emotions. They scrambled a bit when we entered the room. Their faces betrayed their welcome with a look of what-were-we-thinking-when-we-planned-this-dinner? Does he need anything different or special in order to feed himself?
I could see they were second-guessing everything. Twelve of us sat around a banquet table to share a meal. Tension blanketed the room. Our hosts grappled to find equilibrium as they tried to make small talk but keep their composure and try not to stare. It was good they had food to put in their mouths to keep them from simply hanging open. Eating was a way to move forward and staring into your plate gives the mind time to regroup.
The questions asked as we ate had obviously been rehearsed. A couple of times the president or the club leader prompted the students. “Didn’t you want to ask Bob about disabled services for students on campus?”
“Oh, yes,” a student would respond. “Um…” and then the question would come. I could see the wheels turn in their head as they tried to remember themselves. I felt bad for them. They plainly wanted to ask different questions now that Bob was right in front of them. This encounter was no longer about the agenda that had prompted them to invite him to speak.
It was now personal.
Bob sat in between Lisa and me and I wasn’t sure if I should help him or not. I waited to see if she would feed him, as did everyone else at the table. Nope. He picked up his fork with his elbows and dug right into his salad. I glanced at our hosts, then at Bob. He ate with assertion.
“This is great, thank you for this wonderful dinner. It was very nice of you to invite me,” he said in between bites.
The whole group burst in at once, letting out some anxiety. “You’re welcome!” “It’s great to have you!” “Yes, what a great dinner.” “We need to thank the culinary team.”
Awkward.
Bob quietly asked Lisa to butter his bread and cut his chicken and then apologized to the table, saying something about cutting and buttering not being a part of his skill set as he picked up his glass in his elbows and took a drink. He graciously asked them questions about the college, repeated several times how grateful he was to be there, and seemed generally oblivious to the tension coming from those who didn’t know what to do with themselves in his presence.
After dinner the group walked through the campus to the building where Bob would give his presentation. There was a long concrete incline between two of the buildings. It seemed steep to me; enough to make me lean forward a little as I walked. I became winded. My first inclination was to reach out to the handles on Bob’s chair to give him a push up the hill. My hands went forward but could not find a place to grab; his chair does not have handles. My second inclination was to put my hands flat on the back of his chair, along his shoulders, and push that way. But this seemed too personal and embarrassing. I didn’t want to be rude and not help him, but I didn’t want to push on his shoulders either. I resolved to walk red faced up the hill and marvel at the fact that he could push up the hill unassisted and at the same time felt guilty for not helping.
His silent statement of independence made me uncomfortable. He had no idea I was behind him trying to decide how I could help him but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need help, which is why he rolls through life in a chair with no handles. He is able.
By the time my family and I heard him speak later that night to a crowd of 200 college students, I was thoroughly confused. He briefly mentioned his illness and the reason for his amputations but the majority of the presentation was about the importance of a healthy lifestyle through diet and exercise. No mention of childhood trauma, no visible anger or resentment, no mention of how he is mistreated as a disabled person, no real story. I didn’t get it. I could feel the confusion from the audience around me.
We hung on his every word but it felt as if we were being robbed of the backstory, and any reason for his seemingly casual take on life. We needed him to start from the beginning and explain the journey, the choices that brought him physical and mental health. We knew from the flyer that advertised his presentation that he was successful and independent but how did he get there and why didn't he talk about it?
Over the next seven years my quest to answer “who is this man and how does he get through life” became something of an obsession. As his writer, I wanted to go back and fill in all the gaps, starting with the questions I had first formed in the hotel room. I wanted the whole story, but it soon became a challenge of be careful what you ask for.
As I dug deeper and moved from "how does he live" to "who is this man," problems surfaced; mainly, my own confusion. His account began to feel like a puzzle I needed to solve. There were outside influences, underlying themes—tragedy, disability, family, employment, the general public—that were bigger than Bob and sometimes not about him at all but so important to who he is. So many people play a part in his life and yet it's Bob's story.
Bob is just grateful; the first version he gave me read like a giant thank you card. And therein was the real problem: how can Bob speak to all of the things he is forced to deal with on a daily basis that aren't really about him? And how can I convince him to tell us the deeper story that gives context to the gratitude? Trying to decide how this story would be told seemed insurmountable for several years.
We finally decided to use three voices to give the totality of Bob's life: Bob's, mine, and the omniscient narrator.
1) Chapters 2-5 narrate the night Bob got sick up until the day he awoke from his coma. We gathered the stories from Bob's father, sister, cousin, uncle, grandmother, and surgeon to tell that part of his life.
2) I continue my encounter with Bob in chapters 10 and 15 as honestly as I can. I did find anger and resentment, but not where I expected it. What I discovered along the way was truly a gift.
3) Bob’s voice as he narrates his life is not dramatic, but matter-of-fact. He writes the way he lives: grateful, gracious and humble.
What I love about the simplicity of his words is that he’s a guy who wants to live like everyone else. There are lessons in what he leaves out as well as in what he includes. He doesn't complain because to him, that's not living. The joy and peace I saw in his eyes that first day are not a put-on; they are a deep-seeded result of the choice to live.
I look back at that day at St. Mary’s to remember how incapable I was of seeing a fellow human being for who he was. I did not handle that encounter with grace; that was the day I was smacked with my own disability.
For seven years I strained to understand Bob and his zeal for life. I found he is an inspiration, a man living life to the full, touching and changing the lives of everyone around him.
This is the story I’ve wanted to tell; how he moved past the days that look like nightmares, how he chose a life of substance and independence, and how he gives back to teach what he’s learned. I hope you will see who Bob is, from the beginning, and why living with no arms and no legs is truly not a problem.
--Tara Schiro

[Tina Ivan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I received this memoir through a goodreads giveaway and I'm so glad I won. What happened to Bob Lujano is heartbreaking, but his story is truly uplifting. I felt myself echoing Tara's thoughts in the story, if Bob can be so positive after everything that's happened, what am I complaining about? Interesting story, fast read and organized well. Great job you two.

[Andrew Mclaughlin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Awesome inspiring book, I have already passed it on and encouraged others to read.

[juliet/ · Rating 5 out of 5]

I started this review about ten times and each time I stopped because I didn't know how to proceed. So, I will keep it simple. Tara Schiro and Bob Lujano weave a true tale about the pure heart of a boy who never lost his faith as he faced seemingly insurmountable trauma/illness. His words are eloquent, effortless, faithful, and at times a barely audible whisper that speaks only to your soul.

Bob speaks of his faith in a way that doesn’t point fingers, or tries to make you feel you must believe in what he says, he only asks that you listen. Tara and Bob share his deeply honest story as a way for us to understand how he has been able to accomplish so much in his life when many would crumble.

Whatever your beliefs may be, I hope you get a gift from his words, just as I did. (less)

[Carolina · Rating 4 out of 5]

First and foremost, thank you for sharing your story with everyone, Bob Lujano. When I read the sypnosis, I became very much interested in your story and I put aside all of the other books I was reading. Your story is very much inspirational. It changed my perspective on people with disabilities, how to act around them, but I still can't bring myself to ask what happened to them. Either way, your story taught me a lot of things. In my opinion, your story is a MUST read to everyone in the world.

[Kristina Glidewell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow! Heartbreaking and inspiring! Everyone has issues/ struggles in their lives, but for Bob and everything he had endured- I must say, I don't know that I would have had the strength, courage and or faith to keep going like he did. Truly a book that should be on everyone's "to read" list!

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a truly inspiring story! I am so happy that I had a chance to read Bob's story and can't wait to share it as many people as I can. This is a must read by everyone! Read all the 4 and 5 Star ratings as they are all spot on.

[Ricardo Fernandez · Rating 5 out of 5]

I met Bob Lujano in line at Sunday school at Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, Georgia, in June. After talking with him and finding out all we have in common, he gave me a copy of his book and autographed it for me. I am a physical therapist and quickly read the book and found it a worthwhile read. He writes about his life, injury, struggles and finding his way through faith. This book is this year's recommended reading.

[Sheela Word · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars. Not a very polished piece of writing, but the story is gripping and an absolute antidote to self-pity. There are a lot of horror scenes in Bob's book, but the worst, for me, was the one in which his dad (ambitious to a fault) beats his armless, legless son for bringing home a non-straight A's report card. Bob doesn't blame Dad, or anybody much, because lack of cossetting forced him to find ways to fit in and be successful in the able-bodied world. Having elbows helped.

Although I can understand Bob's reluctance to be sidelined into a special category, and his determination to be independent and productive, I think his thesis is a little extreme. It almost seems that he is anti-ADA, he is so against accommodation. Would Bob do away with wheelchair ramps and Braille elevator buttons? His statements in the book make it seem so.

[Kathy · Rating 5 out of 5]

What an inspirational story! Bob Lujano's attitude sets an example for all of us to follow.