Lion's Lair - 8. I Can Handle This

Helluva Wednesday; a few ups and a lot of downs. But Clayton will make it better tonight when we have dinner at his place.

At least got my workout in, even if it did take getting up at 5:30am to be at the gym for 6am. The trainer I work with is great, really works my ass off. Hell, he’s gone above and beyond the call of duty by rigging up some machines that I can use to keep my thighs and butt toned. He’ll let me do my upper body and some of the core stuff on my own, but when it’s time to do legs/butt, he’s hanging close by to help me get into position, or apply pressure to keep me from moving around too much.

Grabbed a towel, wiped down the equipment after I’d finished using it, then another towel to wipe off face and neck. Threw ‘em both in a small bag after I’d gotten back in my chair, then rolled out, heading home for a quick shower before getting dressed for a sales meeting at 8:30am.

Yeah, I could’ve showered at the gym—they’ve got a handicapped accessible stall, with bath chair and handheld shower, but it’s really more trouble than it’s worth. Not that the facility is bad, but just get really tired of having all the guys watch as I maneuver into the stall on my stumps from the chair. I’ve joked about it—“Thank God I’m saving all that money on shower flip-flops” or something else—and the laughs among the guys diffuse most of the awkwardness, and let ‘em know I’m doing ok, but still …. It’s a pain in the ass.

It’s not just a pain in the ass, it’s a pain in my neck. Whether in my chair or walking on my stubs to get into the shower, my face is right at the crotch of the guy next to me. I can handle it when they’re clothed, but when they’re naked or wearing a jock? Shit, the last thing I need to have happen is to pop a hard on when I’m obviously seeing their junk that close. And I can’t always keep looking up to their faces; hell, wears my neck out, and without a chair to keep some kind of distance between me and them, I’m not far enough away to keep looking at their faces. It’d be obvious I was turned on that close to ‘em. Not embarrassed about being gay, but why create those kinds of problems at a gym?

Just suck it up, Marine—it’s part of your life now, work past it. And if that’s the biggest frustration you’ve got, you’re in good shape. Plenty of other daily issues to deal with. So move on.

At the Cadillac store, we got information on the new big sedan and a new SUV that’s coming out. Management wants to move out the XTS models like what I’m driving, and another SUV, so there’s some added bonus money on any of those we sell as an incentive to clear out the stock. Beyond that, the rest was standard business “housekeeping”, and the meeting’s over at 9:15am. Plenty enough time, grab some coffee and a donut as a reward for the workout this morning—no, every workout doesn’t get a reward like that--then return a few calls from last night that came in after hours, and schedule some prospects for consultations/test drives tomorrow before I head out at 11:30am.

Grab a sandwich and Coke from Subway before heading down to my first of two big appointments today: I’m meeting with a new doc and maybe a physical therapist at the new VA Medical Facility for some tests, then at 4:00pm, meeting with a vendor—and get initial fittings for my new legs.

“Excited” doesn’t comes close to the emotion’s intensity.

I’m gonna walk again! No more of the “half-a-man” shit I’ve tried to fight off. No more hundreds of daily compromises I make to deal with no legs.

Make it in plenty of time for my 1:00pm appointment with Dr. James. He’s right on time. Firm handshake. Maybe six feet tall, redhead, lanky build. He’s a runner; he’s got that body, and pictures of him crossing the finish line from local races prove it. Casually dressed in jeans underneath the lab coat, an Izod-type shirt peeking through the unbuttoned lab coat, stethoscope around the neck.

“Please, call me Danny,” he says with a firm handshake and relaxed manner.

We go over my medical history from the files that were transferred to him. My shirt off, he does the basic physical exam routine, plus blood work.

“Now that you’re past the staph infection that slowed you down, how are you doing? Obviously you’re working out. Any problems we need to be aware of?”

“None. Just ready for my legs, Danny.”

With that, he has me remove my pants, checks out the legs, or at least what’s left of ‘em. He’s feeling around the scar tissue on each part of the lower thigh, asking about pain, pressure points, discomfort. With a reasonably gentle prod, he finds a sensitive spot—on both legs.

How’d I miss that?

“Ok, let’s get a scan, Ryan. We need to see what’s going on here. I won’t know till we get the results back, but let’s take the approach it’s something minor. I still want you to meet with the prosthetics supplier, go over your options with him while we wait for the results. You’re already scheduled with them, right?”

“Yup, I am; I’ll see ‘em at 4 today.”

“Good. Now, let’s get this scheduled. Give me a few minutes, I’ll be right back. You can go ahead, and get dressed.”

Minutes later he’s back. “You’re all set. Here’s a map of where you’ll need to go. Pass this paperwork to them, and they’ll get it done as soon as you arrive.”

“Thanks, Danny. Looking forward to working with you.”

“Same here, Ryan. And we’ll give you a call as soon as we get the scan results back.”

Good thing he gave me a map—this place is fuckin’ huge. Guess it’s gotta be that big since the VA hospital is integrated in with the Louisiana State University Medical Center, the region’s highest-rated teaching/research hospital. The complex covers 4 city blocks two blocks deep, each 10-story building connected by air-bridges over the streets plus dedicated pedestrian street crossings. Everything is new, since it just opened a couple of months ago. If I hadn’t had that map, no way would I have found the “Imaging Lab” in the adjacent building.

Clothes off again, hospital gown on, legs scanned from a couple of angles, dressed, and done. It’s now 3pm, still plenty of time to get across town to Prosthetics Solutions in Metairie , one of New Orleans’ suburbs, for my 4pm appointment.

After doing initial patient forms, meet Doctor Patton. He’s actually the inventor of a system that’ll keep my prosthetic legs in place without a bunch of oddball setups.

“Ryan, good to meet ya. Let’s talk about the options we have for you in new legs.”

With that, he starts going over the advantages and disadvantages of the seven different legs and four different feet available.

“These are a far cry from what was available even five years ago. The number of options is reflective of the greater care--and survival rate--for field injuries. With that many more customers, vendors have worked harder and created more options.” He smiles as he talks, and I’m not at all uncomfortable with being one of the survivors.

After maybe 30 or 40 minutes, and going over the options, we settle on one particular model. It’s an “intelligent, responsive” design—it actually adapts on the fly as I walk. It’s got a microprocessor in the calf that learns my gait based on pressure pads in the socket where my stump goes. The microprocessor and its battery are in the “calf” portion of the leg, along with a shock absorber that manages impacts on the heel of the artificial foot. It’s water resistant, so I can shower in it with no damage, and even has different modes to allow me to play sports, hike on uneven trails, easily climb stairs, run, and even bike. Best of all, the microprocessor manages hydraulics to allow the foot to move just like a real foot—lift my leg to take the next step, and the front of the foot lifts, too. Just like my real foot used to do. And I’ll be able to wear “regular” shoes, since the artificial foot is shaped like a human foot, complete with a separate big toe to aid balancing.

Even more remarkable, the microprocessor’s battery is good for three to five days before recharging. Hell, I can’t get that much time from my smartphone.

“The goal is that you walk without looking at your feet just like you did before.”

I’m really gonna do this! No more thousands of daily work-arounds because I don’t have legs!

“Ok, let’s do this, Doc.”

“Great, Ryan. Do you have a pair of gym shorts with ya?”

“No. I’d worked out this morn, left ‘em at home. Why?”

“We’re gonna let ya do a sample run on the legs today. Are you up for that?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

Doc heads off to see if there are any gym shorts anyone has left, and comes back a few minutes later, not a frown, but not smiling, either. “I’m not finding any, Ryan. Maybe we’d better wait till later, unless you wanna try this in your underwear.”

“Doc, I don’t give a shit who sees me; I’ll do this naked if I need to. Come on, lemme do this, Doc.” Even I’m amazed at the desperation and anticipation in my voice. “Lemme try the legs, ok?”

He just starts laughing. “Damn, you’re determined, aren’t ya, Marine? Let me check, see who’s in the rehab room first.”

He’s back a few minutes later. “There’s a lady in her fifties walking on her new leg. Do you mind having her around?”

“Like I said, Doc, I don’t give a shit who sees me—I just want my legs, ok?” Doc’s grinning before I can even get the words out; he knew what I’d say. Besides, I’m in boxer briefs, so nothing to be afraid of showing. If a middle-aged woman hasn’t seen a man in his underwear by now, it’s time she did.

“Ok, Ryan, let’s ….” Before he can finish there’s a knock on the exam room door. The receptionist sticks her head in to announce there’s a call he needs to take on line three.

“Doctor Patton … yes, he’s here … just about to go … OK, what do you think? … Do you want me to ….” And with that he puts the call on hold. “It’s Doctor James. I’m gonna put him on speakerphone, and we can all talk.”

Before I can respond, he’s got Doctor James loud and clear in the room with us.

“Hi, Ryan, I wanted to get back with you before you and Doctor Patton went any farther. I just got the scan results in—and your bone spurs are back. There’s two on your left leg, one on your right. You’ll need to hold off on fitting your legs until we can get those taken care of. If we fit you with your legs, and the spurs keep growing, your legs will never fit right, and your stride will be affected to the point you’d mess up the geometry of your hips and their movement….”

Didn’t really hear a whole bunch of what he said after that.

Kick to the balls. Kick to the head. Kick to the heart.

Don’t cry, Marine. Don’t cry. Suck it up. You can work around this.

The two docs continued to talk for a few minutes. Zoned out, missed what was being said, at least until Dr. Patton looked at me and asked if I had any questions for Doctor James.

“Doc, I’m caught off guard, really don’t know what to ask other than ‘when can I get my legs?’”

“We’ll look at surgical options and your recovery after that, Ryan. We want to do this right, ok? Maybe in another 120 to 150 days after you’ve had your surgery, then we can go in and assess where you are at that point.”

Eternity.

Don’t cry, Marine. Suck it up.

“Ok, Doc, how soon can I get back in to see you and get this knocked out? I want this nailed as soon as possible.”

“I’ll check on surgical room availability and I’ll call you back tomorrow. We’re probably looking at doing the procedure within the next three to four weeks.”

Another eternity.

“Ok, I’ll talk with you tomorrow, then, Ryan. And … I’m sorry. We’re gonna do everything we can to get this taken care of quickly and have you walking again, ok?” And with that, Dr. James says goodbye and the call ends.

Don’t cry, Marine. Don’t cry.

“Ok, Ryan, you ready to parade in your underwear?” Doctor Patton has grabbed the wheelchair’s handles and is moving me toward the door.

“What are ya doing, Doc? I thought we weren’t gonna do the fitting today.”

“It’s not a fitting, Ryan, it’s just a trial run of what you can expect. I think you need this—it’s motivation for you to keep going, ok?”

Damn, this guy is good.

We’re in a rehab space. Mirrors everywhere, almost like a gym. Parallel bars running the length of the room, maybe forty feet or so, with padded gym mats on the sides of a hard-surface path between the bars. A middle-aged woman is holding on to the bars, walking in jerky movements on an artificial leg, grimacing occasionally, determination etched on her sweating face. She makes it to the end, swings her butt around into her chair, raises both arms in recognition of her victory as she cries. Her emotion is a wave of heat.

“Ms. Scott, Ryan’s going to be trying out his legs today for the first time. Do you mind if we interrupt you?” Doc has already moved my chair near the bars as he speaks.

“Not at all. Ryan, it’s work, but you’re gonna love it. Neil Armstrong isn’t gonna have anything on you when you make it down to the end of the bars.” A big physical therapist, Jeremy according to his name tag, nods agreement as she speaks.

“He’s gonna be in his underwear, Ms. Scott; no gym shorts today.” I thought Doc had already cleared this with her.

“Great! Eye Candy! That’ll keep me motivated!” She’s smiling, I don’t give a shit. Doc’s already grabbed one of the legs, with foot attached, and some other stuff.

“Ok, Ryan, take off those pants. I need to show you how to set your legs up.” Pants stripped off in a flash.

Doc hands me something that looks like a knitted ski cap, but shiny and smooth. “Put one of these on each of your legs. This is a liner, it wicks away sweat from your skin, and keeps you comfortable.” Done.

He hands me another fabric ski cap, this one feels like an Ace bandage, but with ribbing in it. “This one is a compression sock. It keeps your skin from moving too much, and gives the new leg a firm grip on your thigh. You won’t have to worry about the leg coming off when you move and walk because of this.” Done. Easy as pulling on socks back when I had feet, and just about as quick.

He stops and looks at me for a minute. “Understand that these are just to show you the process of all of this. They aren’t the real length of the legs you’ll ultimately have, and it may be a little disorienting to you, since you’ve not walked in a couple of years and because it’s not the height you were used to walking.”

Doc slides my fabric-covered stump into a tulip-shaped cup/receptacle attached to the limb. It’s clear plastic, gel-filled, and reaches almost halfway to my ass with only the fabric liners separating my skin from the somewhat flexible socket. “Ok, Ryan, push your leg as deeply as you can into that.” I do, and Doc reaches around to the back of the knee, turns a small knob, and I hear a hiss of air. “That’s my invention,“ Doc says with obvious pride. “It’s called the Soft Socket, since it’s flexible enough to conform to your leg, and far more comfortable than the previously used rigid sockets.” Feels fine—about like what a sneaker feels like with a sock. “You’ve now got a slight vacuum that’ll keep your new leg in place as you move.”

Doc wordlessly steps away, and is back in a couple of minutes with another leg/foot. Same process; slide into the socket, release the air at the valve—and my new limbs are ready.

He rolls me over to the start of the waist-high parallel bars. “Jeremy, get in front of him, I’ll be behind. Ryan, lock your chair wheels. Oh, and you might want to take off your shirt, you’re going to be working up a sweat.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

I’m looking like the bionic man here, upper half Steve Austin, lower half fiberglass and mechanical. I’m gonna walk!

“Ok, we’re going to run through some movements, just to do some minor programming on the microprocessors.” I move each leg forward, back, up, down, and the prosthetic’s brain beeps when I’ve completed that.

“Now, you’re going to grip onto the bars, and pull yourself up to a full standing position. Do not try to move right now; I just want you to get used to standing. We’ll have some more training to do for the legs’ brains.”

Grab the bars, and pull upright. The upper body stuff I’ve done at the gym makes it easy.

I’m fuckin’ standing!

Covered in a sheen of sweat, I’m not moving, just like Doc asked. Just gripping the bars to keep me in place, but I’m balancing ok, I think. Still not trusting the legs yet, so knuckles are white from locking onto the bars.

Doc runs through some more learning stuff for the legs’ brains. Lean forward, support yourself on the bars. Lean back. Lean left, lean right. Beeps confirm the movement for each leg.

“Ok, Ryan, now lift your right leg like you’re going to take a step. It’s going to be a baby-step, so don’t worry about full stride right now—we’ll get that later.” I lift, the artificial foot moves maybe 12 inches or so, then stop. Totally different sensations on my thighs, and the feeling of lower movement isn’t comfortable yet; guess I still don’t trust the legs to hold me up. Beep.

“Now the left leg.” Again, left foot moves to line up with my right. I’m holding on to the bars, and Jeremy is right up next to me to catch me if I fall. Beep.

This shit is tougher than I thought.

“Ok, Ryan. The legs have their memory now. How are you doing?”

“I’m ok, Doc. Besides, Jeremy’s a big guy. If I fall, I’ll hit him first.” Jeremy’s laughing.

“Ok, Ryan, I want you to take a couple or three steps.”

Moment of truth.

Lift. Right foot goes forward. Lift, left foot mates beside right. Lift. Right foot ….

I’m fuckin’ walking! I’m walking!

…left foot lines up with right. Right foot goes forward, left foot matches it.

I’m covered in sweat.

I just fuckin’ WALKED!

Ms. Scott is smiling big and applauding, Jeremy’s face lights up the room as he applauds, Doc is slapping me on my sweaty bare shoulder, the sound ricocheting through the room—and I just won a damn Olympic gold medal. Yeah I’m high on the rush.

I JUST FUCKIN’ WALKED!

It’s a short-lived victory. Maybe because I’m a little disoriented; maybe it’s because I’m using lower body muscles differently from my gym workouts; maybe it’s because I don’t really trust the legs yet; maybe it’s because I’m gripping the bars so hard—hell, I dunno—I start to go down. Sweaty hands don’t have a firm grip on the bars. Jeremy instantly stops his applause and wraps his arms around my wet chest before I can do a face plant. He sets me upright again. I’m not moving, not taking a chance on that again.

“For your first time with legs, you’ve done well, Ryan. Most folks stumble at the first step. You did far better than most.” Dr. Patton is encouraging. “You’ll get better with some specialized rehab and more practice on your fitted legs. These legs are made for a guy maybe 5’10” tall, so they really don’t work well with your brain’s training. Now, let’s get you back in the chair, and take those off, let you cool down.”

He’s right—I’m covered in rivers of sweat, almost like when I was working in the sun bailing hay in Nebraska. I’m exhausted, but high on the feeling.

I JUST FUCKIN’ WALKED!

Doc rolls the chair behind me, Jeremy grabs me and gently moves me until my ass hits the seat of my chair and he’s confident I’m not gonna fall. Doc pulls the chair out from between the rails, and off to one side. Jeremy materializes with a towel and a bottle of water.

“You did great today, Ryan. Now, let’s get those legs off, and you can relax.” Doc starts to move to remove ‘em.

“Doc, lemme do a little more, ok?” It’s an addictive feeling, this walking stuff.

His face becomes a little more stern, like telling a kid he can’t have the toy he sees in the checkout line. “Seriously, Ryan, I think that’s enough for today. Those legs really don’t fit you well, and I don’t want to wear you out today. Besides, this is really only to keep you motivated; you’ve got a ways to go yet before you get into your real legs.”

Reality crashes in. This was just a demo, and I knew that going in. Back in the fucking chair for God knows how long.

An eternity.

Get dressed and back in the car heading home in New Orleans rush hour traffic. Drive home was ok, just long. I’m tired, and need a shower before heading to Clayton’s.

Kept it together until I was on the vinyl shower chair. Reached up to grab the handheld shower—and promptly dropped it. Guess that was the trigger. Started crying and feeling sorry for myself.

One step forward, two steps back. Ready for my legs, for the second time, and no go. First the staph infections and bone spurs. Now more bone spurs. And gonna be trapped in damn wheelchair for another, what, six fuckin’ months? It’s too much.

Gave in to the pity party for a few minutes. Just had to remind myself that I’ve got something good ahead right now. The other stuff I’ll deal with later.

Dinner with Clayton in an hour. The thought makes me smile a little.

That I can handle.