“She’s very good,” Dr. Akeson had told him about the therapist. “She’s worked with a number of amputee patients recently, with good results, and I think she’ll be very helpful.”
Jonas had seen the prosthetist earlier that day and gotten the socket adjusted slightly, just enough to take some pressure off what Dr. Akeson thought was a neuroma. So far, so good. A few steps, and pain free—other than some soreness.
“You have a cancellation tomorrow?” his mom said loudly, as if for Jonas’s benefit. She covered the phone receiver and gestured at Jonas. “Is that okay?” she mouthed.
Jonas shrugged and then nodded.
“Great!” his mom said. “Tomorrow at eleven thirty.” Jonas zoned out again as she finalized details. Bring crutches, bring the prosthesis, blah, blah, blah. He was tapping again.
He looked out the window and frowned.
He really hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
You have to start sometime. You can’t stay here and do this forever, after all.
He sighed and propped his chin on his hand, watching as a neighbor jogged by, earbuds in, oblivious to the world. Jonas followed him down the road with his eyes for a few moments before looking away.
The therapist’s office was nice, or at least as nice as any other doctor’s office Jonas had been to (and surprisingly nice compared to the dated brick of the building’s exterior). The walls were decorated with pictures of patients, smiling and happy, assisted by therapists and various physician’s assistants. Some were in wheelchairs; some were using walkers. Some were being helped with various exercises. Most of the patients were elderly.
Jonas frowned, looking around, before making his way to the receptionist’s desk and signing in on the offered clipboard. He filled out the new patient paperwork and brought it back to the desk, then returned to his spot on one of the sofas in the waiting area.
He’d had his mom drop him off but requested that she not come in with him. He was half afraid that he’d fall or that he’d not be very good at balancing without the crutches or something to lean on, and he didn’t really want his mom to be there for that.
He felt a little like there was an extra heart in his throat at the thought of starting therapy again. He tried to stop himself from tapping his fingers against his leg but eventually gave up when he realized he just kept going back to doing it, like his mind wouldn’t let him stop.
He got out his phone and absentmindedly checked his email. There were a few from school, a painful reminder that summer would end sooner rather than later. At least if he could walk, people would stare less. His head hurt.
“Jonas Avery?”
He got up, forcing a tight smile as the physical therapist greeted him. He kept his grip tight on his crutches.
“Hi!” she said. “I’m Kim Richards. Dr. Akeson sent your chart over.”
“Hi,” Jonas said in return, rather lamely. She led him back into the office and to a spacious room set up with a couple of chairs, some parallel bars that Jonas recognized from his first post-accident therapy sessions, and various equipment pieces that he’d never used before.
“I thought we’d start with some basics today,” she said. “I know that you’ve had some therapy sessions before with a temporary prosthesis, but I think that it’s best to look at this as a sort of fresh start. I don’t want you to come into it with any expectations of yourself based on that previous therapy. It’s been quite a while since then and, from what Dr. Akeson has told me, you’ve mostly just used the crutches.”
Jonas nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
“First, I want to talk about what your ultimate goals for these sessions are.”
Jonas looked at her in confusion. “I want to walk?” he said, almost like it was a question.
She smiled slightly. “Is that all?” she asked.
He frowned. “What else is there?”
The therapist laughed softly. “Jonas, if you want it badly enough, the sky really is the limit. You can run again—there are even amputees who play sports.”
Jonas thought about it for a moment. His head felt a little fuzzy. The therapist was wearing perfume that, ordinarily, wouldn’t have bothered him, but which was starting to compound the headache he’d come in with. He decided against getting his hopes up. “Just walking for now,” he said. “I think I’ll focus on that first.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” she said, not pushing him.
She stood and walked over to the parallel bars, gesturing for him to follow.
Once he did, she took his crutches and leaned them against the wall, letting him use the bar in front of him for support.
“All right,” she said. “I assume that you’ve already learned to balance—to sit and to stand—without the prosthesis on, and without the crutches.”
“Yes,” said Jonas. “Although I thought we were starting from the beginning?”
Kim smiled. “We are,” she said. “With the prosthetic leg. No sense repeating the sitting and standing lessons if you already use them in your day-to-day life.”
She brought a walker over and gestured for him to turn so he could face her, and then take hold of the walker, balancing himself with it. She instructed him to transfer his weight from his good leg to both legs, including the prosthesis. He did.
“How does that feel?”
“Okay,” he said. “A little sore, but other than that, it feels okay.” He’d done this part a few times at home since his visit with Dr. Akeson. Put down the leg, stand on both feet, try to get used to the feeling of dead space from his left thigh down.
“Okay!” Kim bent and adjusted the walker a bit until it was correct for his height. “This is great. Do you ever feel nervous about putting weight on the prosthetic leg?”
“A little,” Jonas admitted. He felt like an old person, holding on to the walker. “Sometimes I get this feeling that it won’t hold me up, or that it isn’t stable enough, like it might buckle.” I can’t feel it, he wanted to say. It feels dead. It is dead. It’s not a leg. Prosthetic. Fake. Not a leg.
“That’s perfectly normal. A lot of amputees need to learn to trust their new leg.” (Leg, leg, leg.) “It’s something different; it takes getting used to.” She turned to face him. “Eventually, putting weight on the leg will be second nature.”
She picked up her folder. “I think that’s all we’re going to do today.”
“What?” said Jonas, unable to stop himself from sounding incredulous. “That’s it?”
She smiled, turning to look at him once more. “Learning to walk again is a slow project,” she said. “It’s important not to go at it too quickly, to avoid injuring yourself. Best to practice putting weight on it and learning to trust the prosthetic leg. I’m going to give you some homework too—I’d like you to start taking some supported steps. Do you have a walker at home?”
Jonas shook his head.
“We’ll have you take this one, but you can use your crutches as well.” She moved his crutches closer to him, leaning them against the parallel bars so he could reach them. “Basically, you’ll support yourself with the walker or your crutches, and practice taking some steps, a few times a day. I also have some pamphlets with some exercises you can do to strengthen your upper body and remaining limbs. It’s important that the rest of your body serves as a balance for what’s not there anymore. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll have my assistant bring them in for you, and then she’ll take you to the front desk. Same time next week?”