Hi all! I am once again humbled by your awesome replies and words of encouragement. I can never tell you just how rewarding it is to have so many wonderful readers! As for the next several chapters, I'm going to add in a general disclaimer. I am no expert on matters of the medical variety, and the vast majority of what I write comes from second hand information given to me from my nurse mother and the multitude of websites I scourge to get my details. I am simply fueled by my own curiosity and a desire to give the best story possible to my loyal readers. Anything that is inaccurate can be chalked up either to poetic license or lack of information; however the majority of the mistakes can be blamed on the latter. Again, thanks so much for sticking with this. Hope you enjoy the next installment!
Looking down at his shaking hands, Dean finally crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits as inconspicuously as he could, desperately trying to hide his nervousness as he waited for Dr. Jennings to reappear. He'd been jumpy since early afternoon the previous day when he had finally allowed Sam to convince him that he deserved both legs and had placed his 'order' with the prosthetist. The first leg, the high tech carbon one, was scheduled to be finished by mid-afternoon the next day and Dean had made an appointment for four o'clock to have his first fitting. It was now almost four thirty and he was more nervous than ever as he waited for Dr. Jennings to gather the equipment. Dean chanced a glance to Sam, noting his brother's own signs of nervousness as the younger man's knee bounced in quarter time, biting down hard on his lip.
"Think this will work?" Dean asked, clearing his throat of the hoarseness that he hadn't expected,. He stifled a yawn, annoyed at his body's inability to sleep the night before. Great, now I'm tired.
"Of course," Sam replied, a little too quickly for his liking. "It has to." Studying his brother closely, noting the dark circles under his eyes, Dean decided that Sam probably hadn't gotten much more sleep that he had the previous night.
"You nervous?" Sam asked.
"No," Dean lied. "You?"
"Nope."
An uncomfortable silence filled the air as the boys seemed to have run out of things to talk about. Dean stared straight ahead, his eyes glued to the spot he had last seen Dr. Jennings, mind jumping back and forth as to whether he wanted the man to appear or not appear. Sam looked around, people-watching and studying the patients in the room. There was a vast array of patients there, with many different levels of injuries and at many different stages of recovery. His focus wavered over a young lady strapped into a wheelchair, her unsteady hands slowly stacking colored cones as her therapist urged her on. His eyes then flicked to an older man, in his early to mid seventies, also sitting in a wheelchair as he forced his stroke affected leg muscles to kick at a beachball. Finally, Sam's gaze fell on a teenage boy balancing himself on a set of parallel bars as he slowly took step after step on his prosthetic leg. He couldn't help but continue to stare, his curious mind drinking up every drop of information the boy provided.
His prosthetic went all the way to the thigh, incorporating a very high tech knee into the mix, and Sam found himself mesmerized at the ease to which the boy seemed to move. That will be Dean soon. After today... Sam looked back over to Dean, wondering if his brother had noticed the kid. He nudged Dean in the side to get his attention and motioned for him to look. Dean, however, seemed less than impressed, and he stared more through than at the kid at the bars.
"Yeah, so he's walking." Dean stated flatly, returning his nervous gaze to the door Dr. Jennings had disappeared through.
"That doesn't give you hope?" Sam prompted. "It doesn't make you think that someday you will-"
"Will what, Sam? Manage to swing myself across a set of bars with my arms? Come on, man, look at him. He's barely moving the leg. I need more, Sam. I need my complete mobility back."
"Yeah, well you lost less than he did. You've still got your knee and everything. It will probably be a whole lot easier for you. I bet Dr. Jennings will have you up and walking by the end of the day." It amazed Sam at the degree of difference to which the two of them saw the same picture. To Sam, the boy was improving - a miracle of modern medicine; to Dean, he was still a cripple, hobbling along on a man-made contraption that could never be anywhere near the perfection of the human body.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, right Sam. And I'll be competing in the triathalon by the end of the week. ...come on, man, be realistic."
"I am being realistic," Sam protested. "I'm trying at least. You're not being very accepting of it though."
"It's hard to be so accepting of something that's so messed up, Sam. It's my leg; a part of my body, Sam. And it was just taken from me. How does something like that happen?"
Sam's shoulders slumped as he noted the life draining once again from his brother's eyes.
"And now, I have to learn how to walk all over again, only this time they're going to strap a piece of metal to my leg in order for me to do that. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm trying here; I really am. But this is just too fucked up for even you to understand."
"I wish I could," Sam replied quietly, head bowed as he began studying his shoelaces with all-important intensity. "I really wish I knew what was going on with you."
"No, Sam, you don't," Dean growled firmly, a sense of fear hidden behind his fast uttered words. "Don't you dare say that; don't you dare even think that. Because the only way you could know what this is like is for you to have experienced t yourself. And I couldn't deal with that, Sammy. The only thing worse than me being in this situation would be seeing you in the same sinking boat."
"Now you know how I feel, Dean," Sam admitted, wincing as he realized he was owning up to something he was certain Dean wouldn't want to hear. But it was too late to turn back now, and he pressed forward instead. "This is pure hell for me, Dean. Seeing you like...like this. Watching you suffer and not having a clue how to help you." Knowing this whole thing is all my fault.
"You've done enough," Dean assured his brother. He felt a twitch in his hand and realized he was cautiously suppressing the urge to move it to Sam's shoulder, to comfort the drowning young man; wishing he was strong enough not to fight the symbol of affection. "Just being here, Sam. Sticking by me through this. That's enough."
I ran before, Dean. I haven't stuck by you like I should have. I'm scum. "There's gotta be more I can do," Sam insisted.
Dean looked back to the door, fervently wishing that Dr. Jennings would reappear and rescue him from this chick-flick moment. Luck, however, was not with him. "You have to let me do the rest, Sam. I have to take control of my own life now; my own destiny. No amount of you wanting me to be okay with this is going to make it true for me, so you're just gonna have to back off and let me accept this in my own time." He paused, wondering what he could say to calm Sam. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Sam slowly raised his head. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks...for that."
Dean nodded, the only form of acknowledgment he could muster as he considered the source. He desperately wanted to reassure Sam that he wasn't here for him; but rather, that he'd come for himself. But he still wasn't sure to what extent that was true, and the words just wouldn't form on his lips. He'd never lied to Sam - omitted truths, sure, but never flat out lies.
Finally salvation came and Dean sealed his mouth completely as he watched Dr. Jennings come through the door with the first of the two legs they were making, the sleek black carbon body shining dauntingly from the doctor's hold. Although, which was the lesser of the two evils - the too girly conversation of the ominous leg - Dean couldn't be sure. But he sat up straighter, nudging Sam to do the same as Dr. Jennings closed the distance between himself and the brothers.
"I'm sorry about the wait," Dr. Jennings apologized, pulling up a chair and sitting directly in front of Dean. "I got a phone call when I was in my office, and I couldn't get away."
"It's fine," Dean answered, his eyes locking on the prosthetic as his stomach once again began doing flip-flops and somersaults. God, I think I'm going to be sick, he worried, twisting his arm unnaturally so that he could clamp his hand over his mouth yet make it look like he was deep in thought instead of about ready to hurl chunks.
Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the new leg, his own stomach churning a little as he fought an internal battle over the excitement of the technology versus the sickening feeling that this was the final link in the all too surreal facts of his brother's new life. He leaned forward, all too aware that Dean very likely wouldn't be listening to the montage Dr. Jennings was about to give, and prepared to do the listening for the both of them.
"Well, here it is," the prosthetist announced proudly, holding the leg out to his patient. He hadn't been expecting Dean to crack a smile, but seeing the green, nauseous reflection in Dean's complexion made him frown. He debated; say something to Dean or continue as though he hadn't noticed, and finally settled on the latter. In the short time he'd known the young man he knew better than to force him to open up against his will.
"So here," he began, pointing to the top eight inches of the prosthesis, this portion a large shell of fiberglass and carbon, "is what we call the socket - suction socket to be precise. This is where your residual limb will sit; it's molded to the exact shape of your leg, and is held in place with a negative pressure suction grip so there will be no bulky straps to get in your way."
"It really stays on that way?" Sam asked, unable to hide the awe in his voice. He chose not to look at Dean, knowing the older man would be rolling his eyes at him for his 'geekiness.'
Dr. Jennings nodded his head, encouraged that he was at least getting interaction from the brother; now if only he could suck Dean in somehow. Half the battle was winning over the patient, and Dr. Jennings hadn't achieved that success yet. But for now, he had questions to answer.
"Miracle of modern science," Dr. Jennings replied lightly. "You'll see when Dean tries it."
"That's amazing," Sam marveled, reaching out to grab for the leg, turning it over and over in his hands as he studied the technology. "So what else does it do?"
Great. Now my new leg is a puppy. Sit. Roll over. Beg. Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat before looking at Sam, imploring his little brother to stop with the techno talk and chill out on the excitement factor. This is nothing to be excited about.
To his credit, Sam noted the discomfort Dean was showing, and clamped his mouth shut, handing the leg back to the doctor so he could continue with his explanation.
Dr. Jennings moved on, sliding his hand down the carbon tube that connected the socket to the foot and ankle component. "You've got shock absorbers in the ankle section as well as a calibrated alignment control feature that allows the ankle to automatically sense when you're going up or down stairs, changing terrain, sitting or standing, etcetera. It will change the angle it sits at based on your position."
"Wow...cool," Sam uttered before he could stop himself, more than a little impressed at the abilities of the computerized leg. But when Dean shot him a killer look he immediately shut up again.
However, even Dean had to admit he was drawn in by the components of the leg, and if it had been for anyone other than himself he might even have allowed himself to be excited about it. But there was still no mistaking the fact that, impressive or not, it still didn't even come close to comparing to having his own real leg back. Damn it, this sucks.
"So, do you think you're ready to give this a try?" Dr. Jennings asked, inching closer to Dean as he collected the final components to the fitting.
Shitshitshit. He wants to do this now? "I didn't expect to get to try it on today," Dean stalled. I just thought-"
"Oh, come on, Dean, you knew why we were coming here today," Sam interrupted, calling him on his bull.
"Sam-" Dean hissed desperately. God, don't you know when to shut up?!
"Just try the damn thing on, Dean!"
"Sam, I ca-" Dean stopped, seeing the look of desperation in his little brother's eyes. Damn, the kid's good. Does he even realize just how much pull those stupid eyes have? "Alright. Fine," he sighed. "Let's get this show on the road."
Sam tried hard not to smile too wide, not to celebrate too noticeably, as he leaned back a bit, waiting for Dr. Jennings to get Dean ready. He soaked up every bit of knowledge the prosthetist had to impart, knowing he'd be helping Dean later.
First, the man pulled out what looked like a tube sock, sans the toe seam, and waved it at Dean. "Alright, Dean, let's roll up your pant leg," he prompted, waiting for the hesitant young man to do as was asked of him and then handing him the liner. "Put this on. You want to make sure there are no wrinkles or bulges - those can create rubs and sores if you're not careful."
Dean nodded, pulling the liner over his stump and then waiting for the next instruction. He took the foam sleeve Dr. Jennings provided him, and put it on over the liner, struggling a little to get it on all the way. "It's tight," Dean complained.
"It's supposed to be," Dr. Jennings corrected. If all this stuff was loose, the suctioning process of the socket would all be in vain. Now, let's don that leg. Are you ready?"
Taking a deep breath, studying the leg one last time, Dean finally nodded his consent. "Let's do this."
Sam sat with baited breath as he watched the doctor press Dean's stump firmly into the fiberglass socket, wincing with Dean when he felt the pressure, the scar still somewhat tender. "You alright, man?" Sam asked, suddenly wondering if he'd pushed Dean too fast too soon.
"Yeah, I'm good," Dean pinched out through gritted teeth. "I'm..." he paused as the pressure finally ceased and he could breathe normally again. "I'm good, Sam."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. It just pinched for a minute. What now?" He looked back to Dr. Jennings, once again fighting an internal struggle between complete fear and mild enthusiasm.
"Let's see if we can get you standing," the man encouraged, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Are you ready to try?"
Dean nodded, grabbing for his crutches and preparing himself mentally for the task. As Dr. Jennings talked Dean through the first move, Sam stood, ready to provide his assistance where it was needed.
On the doctor's count of three, Dean pushed himself up, initially placing his weight only on his real leg as he waited for Dr. Jennings' next order. The man reached out to steady Dean, hands looped around his waist before suggesting he try to bear a little weight on the prosthesis.
Dean bit his lip, psyching himself up for his first step and finally shifting his weight enough to put pressure on the prosthetic. And he immediately went down, the pain was so intense. He dropped his crutches as his knees gave way, and if it weren't for Sam's quick reaction, grabbing him under the armpits and slowly lowering him back to the table, Dean would have been on the floor.
"What the hell?" Sam demanded, shooting daggers at the doctor who was already on his knees messing with the prosthesis. He's fragile; you fuck up now, you may never get him back up again.
Dr. Jennings already had the prosthesis off Dean's leg and was adjusting one of the silicone pads inside. "Sometimes we don't have the protective pads just right, Dean. If the socket hits the wrong part of your leg it will be painful. But that's why we do the fittings first, and then we teach you how to distribute your weight evenly so you don't end up with these problems in the future. I assure you, Dean, this is all completely normal."
Dean eyed the man suspiciously. I don't want to go through this again. I didn't even want to do this in the first place. "So it'll work this time?" Dean asked skeptically, as he once again tried to get used to the feel of the prosthetic on his leg. Sitting, it wasn't altogether uncomfortable, but the pressure was great enough that it was mildly obnoxious. Maybe something he would get used to eventually, but would likely remain a constant; almost as a reminder that he no longer had a normal leg that he could simply forget about.
"I can't guarantee it'll work this time, but we'll keep trying until we get it right." Dr. Jennings insisted, motioning for Dean once again to stand.
He gave his consent, preparing once more to raise himself up, and this time when Dean put pressure on his leg it was just that, pressure. He froze, too terrified to move, to afraid to believe he was actually standing again.
"Dean, that's it," Sam exclaimed, backing off just a bit from his too close hover. "You're standing."
"Do you think you want to try taking a step?" Dr. Jennings asked.
Shaking his head quickly, Dean braced himself to sit back down before either Sam or the doctor could protest. It felt too weird, too...false. He felt like there was a log tied to his leg and just hanging off it. It wasn't real; he couldn't deal with it.
"Dean?" Sam asked, sitting beside his brother, hand hovering just behind Dean's back as he debated whether or not it was a good idea to finish the gesture of comfort. He finally did, hand resting gently against Dean's shoulder as he prompted the man again. "Dean, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Dean, please. Talk to me."
Silence followed; all too quiet and yet deafening at the same time. Sam waited, trusting that Dean would speak up in his own time.
"It just isn't right," he finally said softly, dropping his head heavily into his open hands. "It doesn't feel right. It doesn't look right. It simply isn't fucking right, Sam. I can't do this."
"Dean, please."
"No, Sam, you don't get to 'please' me anymore. I said I don't want to do this. You don't know what the damn thing feels like. It won't get any better. I'm never going to be able to walk normally. This whole thing is just bullshit, Sam."
Sam shook his head. "No, Dean, it's not bullshit. It's life - your life, and the only way you're going to get better is if you allow yourself to get better. You keep pushing and resisting like you are and it won't get any easier. You said it yourself, Dean, you have to make your own destiny."
The words seemed to barely make a dent as Dean began prying the leg off, unsure of the best way to remove the intrusion on his person. Dr. Jennings silently knelt down, taking the doffing process into his own hands as he gently removed the layers of equipment, all the while feeling the gears turning in his own mind. He had an idea, something that just might make Dean change his mind about the entire process.
"Sam, can you come help me take these items back to my office?" Dr. Jennings asked, scooping up what he could carry and purposely leaving another couple for Sam to collect. "Dean, we'll be right back."
He waited until they were out of the gym before he said anything to Sam, and even then he treaded lightly, unsure of how this clearly protective brother would feel about conspiring against his stubborn counterpart. But in the end, Sam was in it wholeheartedly, and together they were convinced that this plan would work. Not because it was fail proof, but because it had to work. There wouldn't be another chance after this.