Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 133: Starting Somewhere
"You said Dr. Wright's coming to see Dad at nine-thirty, right Mom?"
Esther nodded to her older son who, in typical David fashion, was reviewing the details of the day's schedule, despite the fact that he'd probably already committed all of the information to memory.
"And he'll collect payment for the visit once the examination is finished?" David continued.
"Yes. It's typically the last order of business before he leaves. I've left the money in an envelope on the table, so you can just give that to him and let him know that I'll be in touch to schedule your father's next appointment. The last visit took over half an hour, so you may be waiting for a while. Take advantage of the time to relax or catch up on your reading, if you'd like."
David smiled slightly. "I'm planning on it. Is there anything else that I should keep in mind for Dr. Wright's visit?"
Esther shook her head, gathering her handbag and lunch pail as she prepared to head to her job at the lace factory. "I think you have everything under control," she reassured her son. "Thank you for staying home this morning to assist your father."
If she hadn't already taken so much time off of work to attend to Mayer in the early days following his surgery, she would have stayed home herself, but her supervisor had been complaining about her frequent absences, and she knew that she needed to appease him by maintaining to a more regular work schedule for a while.
Accordingly, David had been conscripted to take her place that morning. He'd walked Les to school as he normally did before returning to the apartment, and now would now be on hand to receive the doctor and to assist if necessary during the visit. Afterwards, if the timing worked out, he'd get his father settled, then head to the distribution center to sell the afternoon edition.
"I'll be home an hour later than usual," Esther said as she headed towards the door. "My supervisor is letting me make up some of the time I've missed, and I want to take advantage of that, but unfortunately that means dinner won't be ready before you have to go to your tutoring lesson with Sadie."
"Don't worry about that, Mom," David reassured her. "I'll scrounge for something in the icebox if I get hungry, and actually…" he trailed off before quickly adding, "I'm not going to tutoring anymore. It's not really necessary, now that competency exams are over, and this way I have more time to focus on other things in the evenings. I stopped by the schoolhouse to speak to Mr. Crowell about the material that I'll be missing in class, and I'm going to keep up with it on my own. Importuning Sadie isn't necessary anymore."
The words were delivered with an easy, composed acceptance, and in years past, Esther would have simply taken them at face value, but instead she found herself slightly troubled as she acknowledged her older son's statement, then bid him goodbye before leaving the apartment to begin her walk to the factory.
She'd been thinking about David more than usual over the past few weeks following their conversation concerning his problematic affection for Sadie, and while on the surface their family dynamic had quickly returned to equilibrium, she could tell that he'd been more preoccupied and subdued since then, retreating to his books far more often, and answering any questions leveled at him with a practiced equanimity that was dutifully polite but lacking the spark of joy that had slowly been growing in him ever since the move to Manhattan.
The loss saddened Esther. Her sons' wellbeing was often on her mind, and though she knew that disappointment and unrealized longings were a part of life, it was hard to see either one of her boys struggling. Les had his own set of troubles, of course, but they were far more straightforward in nature: failing to apply himself in school, getting too caught up with the opinions and demands of his friends, acting out his anger physically or speaking out of turn... These behaviors - not atypical for an active and precocious nine-year-old boy - could be quickly corrected, and though perseverance and patience were required (for Les was strong-willed), progress was simple to measure and more or less easily accomplished, even if there was still a long way to go...
David, though, was a different case altogether. He'd always been compliant, so the behavioral issues that had arisen with Les had never once been a factor, and to a certain degree, Esther had assumed (up until recently) that David was simply more mature and adaptable by nature and by virtue of being an only child for the first eight years of his life. When faced with the numerous relocations that their family had endured over years, he'd always managed to adjust, performing well in school and saying nothing about any challenges that he'd encountered. His resilience had become a foregone conclusion, and, though Esther hated to admit it, she and Mayer had stopped thinking very much about their older son whenever it came time to prepare for another move. Their concerns had centered around the necessities of adjusting to a new living space and a new landlord, of navigating an unfamiliar neighborhood and a different community, of dealing with Les' occasional outbursts of frustration at having to leave his friends, and of thinking through how to get him settled at another new school. David's adjustment was rarely, if ever, a part of these discussions, simply because he'd given them no reason to be concerned before. When left to his own devices, he'd invariably take care of himself, causing no trouble and appearing to be perfectly fine.
But Esther was slowly beginning to question the assumption they'd made that a lack of visible agitation had meant that there was no inner turmoil.
She'd always known that David was different, thoughtful and introspective with a mind that seemed to be constantly working. The small glimpses that she'd had of his inner rumination had astounded her, especially in his early years when she wouldn't have expected such complex thoughts to come from someone so young, and yet, despite this depth of perception, David often kept his thoughts to himself, rarely sharing what was on his mind unless asked. He was also much more serious than his younger brother, smiling and laughing and getting angry far less often, and over the years his emotional responses had only become more carefully controlled. And yet, as Esther recalled the boy he had been in his early years of life, she realized that he hadn't always been that way - at least, not to the same degree.
David had actually been a talkative child at first, bright and observant with a curiosity about the world that had manifested in questions about anything and everything that caught his attention. This self-expressive propensity to wonder aloud had confounded both Mayer and Esther, as they had grown up under the adage that children should be seen and not heard, and thus had been often at a loss for knowing to do with their excessively-communicative boy who asked the most unusual questions.
She remembered how David had gotten into books in the first place. He'd been almost five years old and had discovered a juvenile lizard in the bushes of the park where he'd been playing while his parents picnicked some distance away with a group of their friends. The adults' pleasant conversation had been interrupted by the arrival of an enthusiastic and slightly-dirty David, who'd burst onto the scene with the reptile cupped in his grubby hands, asking Esther if he could take it home to keep as a pet, and wondering if she knew what kinds of foods his new friend might like to eat. She hadn't managed to hide her revulsion, and Mayer had quickly interjected with a stern command for David to put the lizard back where it belonged and to not interrupt the adults' conversation in such an inconsiderate manner again. David had obediently complied, but Esther could still remember how sad he'd looked as he'd trudged back towards the shrubs to release the reptile back into the wild.
When they'd gotten home later that afternoon, she'd found a book on animals in Mayer's collection and had shown it to David, trying to offset the sting of his disappointment. He had taken to the book immediately (despite the fact that the detailed information it contained was far above his comprehension level), and he'd spent the next hour or so leafing through the volume, looking at the illustrations in rapt fascination. Eventually, Esther had found a more age-appropriate reptile book for him at the local used bookstore, and this, along with a few other short stories, had been the start of David's personal library and his love of books, which had developed shortly thereafter.
It had seemed like a win at the time; both Mayer and Esther enjoyed reading, and they were happy to see their son cultivating an interest in the diversion. But their enthusiasm eventually took on a slightly more self-interested edge, as they realized that David's curiosity about books was a convenient way to keep him quiet and get him out of the way whenever they didn't have the time or the patience to deal with his chatter. It was easy enough to dismiss their son to his stories without attempting to attend to his constant questions, and eventually he began to talk less and less and simply retreated to reading on his own, as though sensing that this was what they wanted. They'd praised his maturity, grateful that such an easy solution had been found to offset his talkative nature, and he'd embraced their affirmation, becoming even more self-sufficient in what seemed to be an eager attempt to please them. But something in him had gone quiet as a result, and it was at this time that a gradual reticence had begun to settle in, a reticence that had never really left him after that.
It might have been different if David had had a sibling closer to his own age, but a series of heartbreaking miscarriages had devastated Esther in the years following his birth, and between those losses and the frequent moving that they did, David was regularly without a playmate. He'd always managed to make a few friends once they'd settled into their new neighborhood, but in the interim spent most of his time alone, poring over his books or quietly shooting marbles on the floor in a corner of the apartment. He'd never mentioned being lonely, and Esther, inwardly grieving her own losses and beset with occasional bouts of poor health, hadn't had the capacity or the awareness to check in on him, but she realized now that it had likely been an oversight, or at the very least, a missed opportunity.
Les' conception had been a welcomed surprise after several years of heartbreak, but the pregnancy and birth process had been difficult, and Les himself had been sickly for the first several months of his life, requiring a great deal of care and attention. Thankfully, he'd pulled through, but the months following his arrival had been fraught with worry, and in the midst of it, David had been overlooked even more than usual. Esther could still vividly recall one particular Sunday morning when Mayer had been out and she'd gotten so caught up in caring for Les' needs that hours had passed by before she'd even remembered her older son's presence. She'd panicked a little, realizing that he hadn't been given breakfast yet, only to find him quietly reading underneath the kitchen table, a half-eaten biscuit in hand which he had procured from the breadbox without her notice.
He'd taken to Les quickly, not seeming to mind the attention or indulgence given to the newest member of the family, and had willingly embraced his parents' exhortations to watch out for his younger brother, falling easily into the role of protective older sibling.
The two boys' personalities, it turned out, were nothing alike. Les was bold and adventurous and began pushing the boundaries almost as soon as he could walk, confident in his abilities and seemingly unafraid of the many hazards that could potentially harm a precocious youngster. This independence meant that he didn't particularly appreciate his older brother's oversight and intervention, but that didn't stop David from tending to him anyway, and Mayer and Esther came to rely on David's supervision of Les more and more as time went on. It was a welcomed ministration, but it was yet another way in which David had been encouraged to grow up quickly, his own childhood inadvertently curtailed in the process.
As Esther continued walking, memories began to surface, vague recollections of her older son that had faded with time but now suddenly seemed to be thrown into sharp relief:
She remembered David crying one day because he'd found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest and had died outside of the tenement. The incident, unfortunately, had occurred very close to one of Esther's own miscarriages, and Mayer, already stretched thin between the stresses of his job and the duty of consoling his grieving wife, had responded rather bluntly with the observation that there had already been enough tears in the family without a big boy like David adding to them with his dramatics, especially over something as insignificant as a bird. The crying had stopped almost immediately and was rarely seen after that, but if Esther could go back and redo that moment, she would have enfolded her six-year-old son in her arms and would have told him that it was all right to feel sad and to cry if he wanted to, because a loss was a loss, no matter how seemingly insignificant, and no matter how young or old you were.
She remembered seeing David scribble away in the little leatherbound notebook that she'd given him for his tenth birthday, slightly hunched over with his gangly legs stuck underneath the kitchen table and one arm curled around whatever it was that he was writing. She'd watched as his expression had scrunched up and relaxed by turns, sometimes intently focused, and at other times almost musingly wistful, lost in the world of his inner thoughts and in the endeavor to transfer them to the page. He'd never shared what he'd been working so hard on and had eventually hidden the notebook away in the box that he'd kept under his bed, but she wondered now if it would have meant something to him if she'd shown an interest in his efforts rather than simply observing them from a distance.
She remembered David coming home from a new school one day with a lonely, haunted look on his face, throwing himself into his schoolwork even more than usual and evading her well-meant questions as to whether or not he'd made any new friends amongst his classmates yet. He was almost sixteen at the time and had weathered several relocations before, so she'd chalked up his melancholy to the usual effects of the adjustment process and hadn't thought to probe further, reasoning that it would only be a matter of time before he got his feet under him. But in retrospect, she wished that she'd taken the time to talk with him about it, because there had been something different about him that day.
Memories continued to surface, poignant and bittersweet, culminating with the vision of David's crestfallen face a few weeks ago when he'd been reprimanded regarding his affection for Sadie. It had been a surprising appearance of his emotional side, the side that was so deeply hidden that it rarely emerged except in moments of extreme distress, and Esther wished that she could forget that look...but she knew it would remain in her memory for a very long time.
As painful as that thought was, however, maybe it was for the better, for it had opened her eyes to something that she'd suspected for a while but hadn't had the impetus or the courage to fully accept: that she might have seriously overlooked the ways in which her self-sufficient son was inwardly faltering under the weight of his responsibilities, because outwardly he was so composed and competent. It was too easy to take David's lack of disclosure for assurance that all was well, too easy to assume that as long as he didn't say or do anything to make anyone suspect otherwise, he was perfectly fine with his thoughts and his books and whatever friends he managed to make, too easy to praise his agreeably compliant nature while forgetting that there was a much more emotional and passionate boy who had gone quiet beneath that tractable disposition.
Esther wished - perhaps too late - that it was still possible for that David to return, the unfettered, unguarded version of her son who asked questions without reserve, who chattered away about anything that crossed his mind, who let his emotions show freely on his face, and who wouldn't have hesitated to show hurt or anger or to fall in love, because his thoughts and his feelings would have been things that were acknowledged and welcomed, rather than things he'd been taught to downplay and set aside.
She knew that the cautious reserve in David's manner was due in large part to her decisions and influence as a parent, and that she and Mayer had, in their own ignorance, settled for a more muted version of their son in order to reap the benefits of his dutiful compliance. And outwardly, it had paid off; David was the type of responsible, obedient, hard-working young man that most parents only wished they had - Esther's friends had told her as much on multiple occasions.
But David wasn't fully himself. He was succeeding in all of the external aspects of life, but inwardly he wasn't settled or happy or thriving. Even the small sparks of joy that had begun to appear ever since the move to Manhattan had flickered out, quenched by duty and responsibility. And it had taken this most recent situation concerning Sadie for Esther to realize what a loss that was.
The past, of course, could not be undone; she and Mayer had made what they thought were the best decisions as parents, and despite the fact that they'd failed to nurture the thoughtful and emotional aspects of David's personality or to check in on him to make sure that he actually was all right, they did love him and care about his well being. They'd had their own disappointments and challenges to deal with, too, and life hadn't been easy on anyone in their family, so it wasn't as though David was the only one who had lost out...
But it was possible to live with both acceptance and regret, and Esther found these emotions mingling in her heart as she continued to walk, feeling more than she could put to words and grieving her oversight as a parent while simultaneously acknowledging that she'd done the best she could at the time. Ultimately, belaboring the past would help no one...but she could try to learn from her mistakes, and hopefully, with time, this reflection would allow her to become a better mother to both of her sons, these boys whose lives it was her privilege and responsibility to guide and to shape.
The rest of the walk was spent in contemplation and prayer, and as Esther traversed the final few blocks that led to the factory, she steadied herself in the hope that these difficult realizations would lead to a redemptive outcome somehow. She didn't even know where to begin when it came to reversing what had been done...but she knew that she had to start somewhere.
And that tiny, fledgling conviction is where she would begin.
A knock sounded on the door of the apartment at nine-thirty sharp, and Davey set down the book that he'd been reading, then walked over to the door to open it.
A burly gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair stood there, holding a satchel in his hand.
"Good morning," he greeted Davey. "I'm Dr. Robert Wright, and I'm here for an appointment with Mayer Jacobs."
He spoke with a slight accent, but that wasn't at all unusual in New York.
"It's good to meet you, Dr. Wright. Thank you for coming over. I'm David, Mayer's son." Davey opened the door to the apartment and ushered the doctor inside. After checking to make sure that Mayer was ready for his examination, he showed the doctor in, then closed the door quietly and returned to the table to wait.
This visit from Dr. Wright was the third in a series of follow-up appointments coming on the heels of a successful surgery. The physician, it seemed, had been pleased with the recovery process so far, and was hopeful that Mayer would regain complete mobility in his leg once everything had healed, but he'd insisted on visiting regularly, perhaps to remind his patient to rest more than anything else.
Picking up the book that had been temporarily set aside, Davey attempted to return to his reading. He'd been devouring texts voraciously over the last several weeks, trying to occupy his mind with anything and everything that he could get his hands on in an effort to mitigate the lingering sadness that had settled upon him ever since he'd curtailed his association with Sadie.
The days weren't too bad - he was generally preoccupied with the demands of selling his papers and could distract himself to a degree - but the evenings were especially difficult. He missed the anticipation of their tutoring sessions, the easy, lighthearted banter that they'd shared as they'd discussed the lesson, and the chance that he'd had to set aside his responsibilities and simply enjoy Sadie's company. Talking with her had become so much a part of his routine that he felt the loss of their fellowship deeply, and though he still saw her in passing while he was working around the tenement or taking Les to school, these tantalizingly brief reminders of her presence only served to make his melancholy more acute.
His acceptance of the situation seemed to vacillate without rhyme or reason: sometimes he felt as though he was almost at peace about it, as he had after talking to Jack a few days ago at the lodging house. Other times he felt utterly miserable. He did his best to affect an outward equanimity and to focus on all of the reasons why, from a rational standpoint, this was undeniably for the better...but inwardly he was grieving, and he knew it.
He'd thought about trying to write his thoughts out in his notebook, but when he'd gone to get it from the box under his bed, his eye had fallen upon Sadie's thimble, and when he'd flipped open the journal, the poem that he'd written about her stared up at him from the page, each line a now-mocking narration of the slowly awakening affection that had overcome a boy so wrapped up in his feelings that he'd forgotten to use his head.
He'd returned the notebook to its place without attempting to write a single letter.
Some things were just too poignant to be put to words.
In lieu of self-expression, he'd attempted to find relief in information-gathering, turning again to books as he had over the years when life had become too overwhelming and his emotions too unwieldy to manage. He'd read nearly all of the untouched volumes in his father's personal library, books on history and philosophy and art, cataloging away the information (for what purpose he wasn't sure) and pondering the concepts that he'd read in the moments when his mind wasn't otherwise occupied with the everyday demands of life.
As a distraction tactic, it had worked to a certain extent.
But, confoundingly enough, the most riveting accounts of antiquity, the most stimulating ideologies, and even the most breathtakingly beautiful abstractions couldn't seem to compete with memories of a more recent past and with thoughts of a far less conceptual nature, with visions of a face and a smile so lovely that even the works of the masters seemed (at least in his own plebeian estimation) to pale by comparison.
The one subject that did manage to hold his interest was that of the work and research of Dr. Wright. Davey had paid a visit to the library one day when there'd been a lull in selling papers, and by chance had happened upon an article highlighting the physician's medical practice in Manhattan and his background as a doctor. Intrigued, he'd sought out additional information, and a quarter of an hour later had become thoroughly engrossed in a handful of articles, sitting down at one of the library desks to read them with his newsboy bag lying forgotten at his feet.
The minutes had passed by quickly, and eventually he'd reluctantly returned to selling, but he'd stopped by the library several more times after that, poring over a few additional columns each time, until he'd absorbed all of the available information about the subject.
Dr. P. Robert Wright, it turned out, hailed not from Manhattan, but from Glasgow, where he'd worked alongside one William Adams*, a surgeon who, along with his colleagues, had successfully put into practice a technique known as osteotomy. This technique, the surgical cutting and shifting of a bone in order to correct a deformity (including one caused by improper healing), had proven effective, with patients often recovering full mobility once the healing process had taken place.
The doctor's history had fascinated Davey, perhaps more so for the personal aspect than the medical one, for the article had compellingly described not just the development of Wright's career, but the experiences behind it as well. The man had come from humble beginnings, starting out as a dock worker on the shores of the North Sea who'd made his living by loading and unloading ships. It had been difficult, back-straining labor, but it had offered him an opportunity to run across all kinds of people, and he'd made the most of it, taking the initiative to get to know the many sojourners and seafarers traversing the docks on which he worked. It was one of these serendipitous connections that had eventually opened up a chance for Wright to study in Glasgow, where he'd gone to medical school and later crossed paths with other influential members in the field, including William Adams. The decision to relocate to New York had come as the result of another fortuitous connection and had resulted in Wright establishing successful practice for himself in Lower Manhattan.
What caught Davey's attention the most was the humanity that seemed to emanate from Wright's interviews. He was quick to acknowledge those who had paved the way for him both personally and professionally, but he also made it a point to highlight his early years as a dock hand, emphasizing the importance of that season of life. He maintained that, while medical school had taught him the procedures of his profession, working at the docks had given him his heart for healing, and that both knowledge and compassion were necessary if one was to be a doctor who sought to effectively treat his patients.
It was a sentiment that Davey could appreciate, especially given the unexpected turns that his own life had taken over the past year. He'd always thought that his education would be what got him ahead, and had prioritized his studies over everything else, but being forced to hawk headlines on the dusty, crowded streets of Manhattan had opened his eyes to a world outside of the classroom, and had given him a greater empathy for many different kinds of people whom he otherwise would never have considered before. His close association with the newsies, in particular, had broadened his perspective on work and on life, and he knew without a doubt that the experience he'd gained would be something that he carried into the future, regardless of the profession he'd end up in.
Just as Davey's thoughts had begun to wander, the door to his parents' bedroom opened, and Dr. Wright stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
"Your father's leg is healing nicely," he reported. "If he continues to be disciplined about resting, I expect that we'll see some noticeable improvements over the next several weeks, and eventually we'll begin to rehabilitate his leg so that he can learn to walk again. It will be difficult at first, but if he perseveres, someday soon he'll be making his way up and down those steps outside with no pain."
"We'll do our best to make sure that he stays off of his leg until you clear him to do more," Davey promised. "And we'll do whatever we can to help when it's time for his rehabilitation, too." He knew that it would be a challenge in more ways than one, but refrained from saying so.
The doctor must have sensed the unspoken misgiving in his words, however, for he smiled. "Sometimes for full healing to happen, the pain has to get worse before it gets better," he said kindly, "and the process can't be short-changed. Your father's successful recovery will hinge upon his willingness to embrace the pain - first, the pain of waiting, and then the pain of learning to walk again - in the conviction that the cost will be worth it in the end."
It was a statement on life, not just a medical observation, Davey thought.
"In the meantime…" Wright gave him a nod, "while Mayer is out of work, it seems like you've been keeping the family afloat quite well. At my initial visit, I told your parents that they could defer their payment until a later date if necessary, but they assured me that they were financially stable enough, thanks to your income."
"It's been a collaborative effort," Davey acknowledged, "but I've tried to do my part. And I've learned a lot from the experience." His thoughts returned to the doctor's own background, which he'd been reflecting on only moments ago, and he found himself adding impulsively, "I was actually just thinking about your own work history, sir. I read your interviews in The Herald and The Tribune, and it was interesting to find out that you considered your journey as a doctor to have started not when you were in medical school, but when you were working at the docks. It's a thought-provoking reframing, the idea that seemingly-unrelated experiences could actually be essential precursors to something else, and, well, it's made me think differently about my job as a newsboy. I initially saw it as just a way of making money, and didn't think very highly of it at first - though I've come to appreciate it more, now - but your interviews made me value the experience in a way that I hadn't before. I'm not sure what lies ahead for me professionally speaking, and I don't know exactly how the things I've learned while selling papers will play into a future job...but I think I'll always look back on my days as a newsboy as an indispensable part of my journey now, rather than just a temporary season, thanks to the perspective that your interviews offered."
He wasn't sure what had possessed him to be so forthright or so verbose (and normally he would have never thought of waylaying the doctor - who was surely a very busy man - with his rambling), but there was a graciousness in Wright's demeanor that made him feel approachable, and it had felt only right to express some kind of gratitude.
Davey concluded his little digression with a self-conscious half-smile. "Anyway, I didn't mean to hold you up, sir, but I did want to take the chance to thank you in person for the insights that you've given me - as well as for your willingness to help my family. We're all relieved to know that my dad has a chance at a full recovery, and that things could eventually go back to normal."
"It was thoughtful of you to take the time to share your reflections, David," the doctor responded, "and I hope, too, that your father will be back on his feet soon. I'll be back to check on him next week."
"My mother said that she'll schedule the appointment with your office," Davey confirmed, reaching over to procure the envelope that contained the doctor's payment and handing it to the man, who thanked him cordially before taking his leave.
Once the door had shut behind the doctor, Davey closed his book and went to get his cap and newsboy bag. He poked his head into his parents' bedroom to check on his father and let him know that he was leaving, then exited the apartment, setting a brisk pace as he set off for his destination. He was thankful that the appointment had gone smoothly, and now was ready to attend to the next thing on his list of tasks for the day.
It was too late to purchase the morning edition, and too early to wait in line for the afternoon one, but he'd prepared for that possibility and had brought along a number of items that he needed to deliver for Philip Becker. If all went according to plan, his errands would serve to redeem the time that he'd otherwise be spending idle, and he could enjoy the more relaxed pursuit of earning money without having to aggressively sell papers to do so.
(Plus, the laundry list of tasks would keep his mind off of other things that he'd rather not think about).
Thus engaged, Davey turned his steps in the direction of the post office, intent upon accomplishing the first item on his to-do list. The sun was already well into its morning run across the sky, the streets of Manhattan were abuzz with activity, and it wasn't long before he lost himself in the foot traffic rushing to and fro as he joined the throng of people going about their business all over the sprawling city.
A/N: The next chapter will feature the return of our friendly neighborhood antagonist ('cause I know you've all missed him) and will also reveal a connection between a minor side character and another character who you probably thought had already served his purpose and was long gone by now. In other words, we'll have some excitement ahead, so I hope you'll join me for our next installment. :) In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this one! Thank you!
Chapter Notes:
*Dr. P. Robert Wright is a fictional character, but his colleague, William Adams, was an actual surgeon who, along with others, helped to successfully put osteotomy (cutting and shifting a bone in order to correct a deformity and promote healing) into practice.
Source: The National Library of Medicine
Dabis, J., Templeton-Ward, O., Lacey, A.E. et al. The history, evolution and basic science of osteotomy techniques. Strat Traum Limb Recon 12, 169–180 (2017). /10.1007/s11751-017-0296-4
