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"That's why I'm here."
Riggs nodded and turned his attention to Dr. Thomason, who was examining his leg. Riggs' expression grew anxious, and Georgie understood all too well. For her, there hadn't been a decision to make. She lost her leg and, only by the grace of God, hadn't bled out before she was rescued.
In Riggs' case, he still had his leg, but from the looks of the X-rays, scans, and the appearance of the leg now, she'd bet Dr. Thomason recommended amputating about three to four inches above the ankle.
Riggs would have to live through hearing that pronouncement, going into surgery with two whole legs, and waking up with only one complete limb. It wasn't going to be easy, physically or mentally. She just hoped he wasn't one of those soldiers who let the loss of a limb drive them to a place that took more than an appendage.
"Mr. Walker, may I speak candidly?" Dr. Thomason asked.
"Always."
"Thank you," Dr. Thomason looked directly at Riggs. "I'm afraid I concur with the assessment made by your physicians in Germany."
Georgie could see the way Riggs' jaw clenched, and his eyebrows drew together. She knew what he was feeling. It was something no one could understand who'd not had those words spoken to them.
"You mean you want to amputate my leg."
"Not the entire leg, but yes."
"Then how much?"
"Approximately two to three inches above the ankle. I believe that will leave ample residual muscle tissue for the implant and enough bone beneath the calf muscle for the prosthetic joining. You'll have far more natural than bionic in your left limb, but it will require you to learn to walk with it and essentially teach the limb how to react."
"That's what Naomie meant by smart limb?"
"Yes. What she wants us to achieve with you is osseointegration, and I'll explain it in layman's terms. We put a permanent implant into the bone, which can then be firmly affixed to a prosthesis. That requires two surgical procedures. In the first, a metal stem is inserted and left to fuse with the bone. Several months later, the prosthetsis is attached to the part of the anchor that sticks out of the leg."
"A metal rod?"
"Titanium, to be precise."
"Okay, but why?"
"May I?" Georgie asked.
"Certainly," Dr. Thomason agreed.
"Thanks," she looked at Riggs. "There are a number of reasons, but here's what will be most important to you. It allows you to wear the prosthesis for longer periods of time with greater comfort than a typical socket prosthesis, and rehab can start as soon as two days after your final surgery."
"I like the sound of that."
"I thought you might."
He looked at Dr. Thomason. "Would you mind explaining this to my family?"
"I'd be happy to."
"I'll run down to the cafeteria and get them," Georgie offered, turned, then stopped and looked at Riggs. "I have an in with one of the ladies who cooks, and she makes one hell of an apple pie if you're interested."
He surprised her with a smile that nearly took her breath away. "Right now, I've got a pretty good buzz on, so maybe another time, but thank you."
"You bet. I'll be back."
Georgie hurried out of the room and down the hallway to the bank of elevators. Just as she started to push the down button, one of the elevator doors opened. She glanced up at the indicator above the door to see if it was headed up or down and saw the down arrow was lit. She looked forward and just at that moment a man stepped from the elevator.
Maybe it was because he seemed so out of place. Fatigue pants, military boots, a t-shirt that was stretched tight across his chest and arms, and a baseball-style military cap pulled low on his forehead certainly made him stand out.
Perhaps the way he filled the space had something to do with it as well. He was tall and big. Big like she'd imagine some Viking of old, with arms the size of tree trunks, a thick but obviously muscular body, and hands that looked like they could crush rock.
