My mother rested her hand over mine in silent comfort.
I don’t know how long we stayed there.
At some point, both girls settled down. They wept themselves into a heavy, peaceful sleep, becoming warm, delicate weight against my chest.
I looked down at their innocent faces in the warm light of the nursery and made them a promise out loud: “You are not going anywhere, sweethearts. And neither am I.”
The next three years were the most challenging and transformative years of my life.
My mother moved in to help during that first crucial year. Together, we built a steady routine. As I adapted to moving through the world differently, I began sketching an idea I had been contemplating since my early rehabilitation days.
The mechanism in my standard prosthesis was functional, but far from ideal. It caused discomfort and slowed me down. So, I set out to refine it.
