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He walks over to THOR. “This is called an exoskeleton, and yes, we did steal the idea from Transformers. Henry thinks it looks like Optimus Prime, but I think it’s more like Ratchet, don’t you?” Some of the kids cheer. “He’s the Autobots’ chief medical officer,” he says to the staff sitting to the side. “You wouldn’t understand.” They all chuckle.
“An exoskeleton is a hard covering that protects the softer body of some animals,” Alex continues. “Think about snails and crabs and turtles, and how they have an outer shell. In this sense, an exoskeleton is a wearable structure that supports and assists movement. We called our first Mobility-Aid eXoskeleton MAX. It took us a couple of years to make it perfect. Since then, Tyson has been exercising with it three times a week, and just a few months ago he was able to stand next to his wife at his wedding to say his vows.”
Everyone goesAwww…
“Yeah,” Alex says, “it was pretty cool. Made me bawl like a baby.” Henry nods his agreement next to him, and everyone laughs.
“We’ve talked to a lot of patients with spinal injuries over the years,” Alex continues, “as well as people with conditions like Spina Bifida and Cerebral Palsy that cause difficulty walking. And it made me realize what a difference these machines can make to people whose muscles don’t work properly. It’s the main reason we decided to create a version for children.”
He pats the machine next to him. “We nicknamed him The Hands-On Robot,” he says, “or THOR for short. He’s smaller than MAX, and not as heavy. We brought him in today because a very special guy who goes to this school has offered to show you how he works.”
He gestures at Finn. “As many of you will probably know, Finn Taylor was involved in a car accident last December, and he suffered an incomplete spinal cord injury, which means he retains some motor and sensory function, but at the moment he has trouble walking on his own. Finn has been coming into Kia Kaha three times a week, and he’s been working super-hard to strengthen his muscles. You want to show them how it works, bro?”
Finn nods and wheels himself forward. Everyone claps politely. I give a small smile as some of the teachers give me a glance and a pitying smile. They all know what we’ve been through.
“Finn’s been having physio since April,” he tells everyone. “So just over seven months. Remember that when he came in, the muscles of his hips and legs weren’t working properly, and he couldn’t walk a step, even with crutches.” He looks at Finn. “You ready, dude?”
Finn nods.
I’ve watched Finn have his therapy a few times, but lately I tend to turn up once they’ve gone into Alex’s office to play with Zelda. I talk about his progress with Alex, but I haven’t watched him for a while.
I’m puzzled, therefore, when Alex moves in front of Finn’s wheelchair and holds out his hands, palms up. Finn grasps Alex’s forearms, and Alex grasps Finn’s.
I gasp as, slowly, he lifts Finn to his feet. He’s supporting Finn, but there’s no doubt that Finn is using his own muscles to push himself up.
Covering my mouth, I watch as Henry brings forward a pair of crutches. He slots them under Finn’s arms and, for the first time in eleven months, I watch as my boy walks six feet from Alex to Henry, then carefully turns and walks back again.
His gait is stiff, and his legs obviously can’t support his weight yet. But he’s walking, which is more than I thought he’d be able to do when the doctor told us he’d never walk again.
Tears sting my eyes, and I fight desperately not to let them fall. Next to me, another teacher moves her chair forward so she can give me a hug, and around us the teachers sayAwwwagain.
Everyone in the hall cheers. Alex glances at me, but he doesn’t say anything. He does give the biggest smile I’ve seen him give as he murmurs something to Finn. He holds him while Henry removes the crutches, turns him around, and lowers him onto the seat inside THOR, and then the two of them do up the safety straps.
“There we go,” Alex says, and he turns back to the rest of the school. “Finn’s been working hard over the past few visits to use the crutches,” he says. “The progress he’s made is a good indication that he’s going to regain a high proportion of his mobility. What does that mean? I’m hoping he’ll be able to walk on his own with crutches in a month or two, and hopefully get rid of the crutches altogether next year sometime.”
He pats THOR’s arm. “Okay, Finn, let’s show them how it’s done, right?”
Every single person in the audience gasps as the robot springs to life and moves just like one of the Transformers in the movies. They run through a series of exercises, showing how the exoskeleton guides Finn as he bends, stretches, turns, and walks, giving him just enough support to encourage him to use his own muscles.
I watch with everyone else, but inside I’m a roiling mass of emotion. I don’t care that Finn had crutches, or that he moved only six feet. My boy walked on his own. I’m so stunned that I can hardly think.
When they’ve finished with the exercises, Alex helps Finn back into his chair, and Henry takes him back to the side of the hall. Alex concludes with a bit more detail about Kia Kaha, and the jobs that he and Henry do there, and then he asks if there are any questions. A dozen hands shoot up, and he spends the next fifteen minutes answering them, continuing to make everyone laugh with his quips.
Eventually, Emma thanks him for attending and brings the lesson to an end. Everyone gets to their feet, and the teachers lead the kids out for their morning break.
As he and Henry load THOR back onto the trolley and take it out to the van, I turn to go over to Finn and give him a hug but discover he’s surrounded by other kids. They all want to talk to him about the robot. Alex has made him into the coolest kid on the block. Tears prick my eyes again. That’s almost as much of a present as helping him to walk.
Leaving him to it, I take my class to their playground. I wish I could say goodbye to Alex and Henry. Maybe if I’m quick, I’ll be able to catch them?
Leaving the kids in the care of the teacher on duty, I’m about to run back to the office block when I stop and inhale sharply as I see Alex leaning against the wall of my classroom, watching me.
I walk over to him, my pulse racing, and stop just in front of him.
“Thought you could show me your classroom,” he says.
“Okay.” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I open the door, and we go inside.
He walks along the line of desks, looking up at the colored maps of New Zealand, the posters showing fractions and percentages, the pictures of the solar system. His lips curve up as he stops to look at a display about saving stranded whales and dolphins. Then he stops and turns to look at me.
