Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [74]
Giving her a skeptical look, Charlie asked, “How can they do that when I’m on crutches?”
She reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Leave that to them. They’ll figure it out, I assure you.” She grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me?”
Charlie pointed at the prosthesis. “If you’ll let me have one of those, absolutely. Just tell me what to do.”
When they began the custom fitting, the step prosthetists, as those specialists were called, literally walked Charlie through the detailed process. They took measurements and evaluated Charlie from every possible angle. Next, after fitting him with a temporary prosthetic leg, the specialists filmed his gait from all directions. Walking without crutches—even though he was tightly clutching bars on either side of him—brought such a huge smile to Charlie’s face that Charles laughed out loud and Fran cried with joy.
As the prosthetists fed all the gathered information about Charlie’s limb strength, gait, measurements, and posture into a special software program, the family watched in amazement as they saw a figure—mimicking Charlie’s gait exactly—walk across the computer screen.
The part of the prosthesis that would actually fit to Charlie was formed in generally the same way a cast was—except using clear materials. That way, the technicians could observe how it fit to Charlie’s skin and if the cast needed any adjustments. Charlie’s age and the need for the limb to grow with him were also taken into consideration.
After all the preparations were finished and they left the facility, Charlie allowed his imagination free rein, indulging in constant daydreams about how wonderful this new leg would be. So when the much-anticipated call came informing Charlie his leg was ready, he was nearly beside himself with excitement. Charles took the morning off, almost as eager as his son.
Fran, however, felt a nagging anxiety. She worried Charlie might expect too much, too soon. Fully cognizant that she’d likely provoke an argument with Charles, she still elected to caution Charlie as they drove to the facility.
“Charlie, love, remember this is only the first fitting. It might be too painful for you to wear for very long. Or it might need more work—to make it fit right. Could be we’ll need to come back at a later date.”
Charles kept his view straight ahead, but Fran observed the set of his mouth and telltale lines fanning out from the corner of his eye. “It’s also equally probable it will fit him like a glove. And Charlie will take to it right away.”
“I can’t wait to lose these crutches,” Charlie gushed. “I’m so sick of chapped and sore armpits.”
“But you’re still going to need them for some time yet, probably. And—”
“Could you just let him be excited about this, Fran? Can’t we assume that things will go well? Could you do that just this once, for cryin’ out loud?” Charles snapped.
“I’m only trying to prepare him in case … in case it’s God’s will that we need to be patient. For a while yet, maybe.”
“And what if it’s God’s will that the leg fits perfectly? And it works like … like a real leg? Then all that worry was wasted energy, wasn’t it?”
Fran thought to herself, God’s will doesn’t seem to bring many good things lately. I pray so hard. But bad things still happen.
“Fran?”
“Sure.” She stared out her passenger window, hugging the armrest. “We’ll face whatever we need to. When the time comes.”
“Could be we’ll need to celebrate—by ordering a burger and milkshake at the drive-in. Right, Charlie?”
Charlie could see his dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror, drawing him in. “Yeah, that sounds great, Dad.”
“Whatever happens, you’ll do your ole dad proud, won’t you, son? No pain, no gain, right? Hey. This afternoon we’ll get out the soccer ball, eh, Charlie?