Chapter 9 - The Price of a LegMy destroyed prosthetic had cost $87,400.
Whenever news reports mentioned the number, people became more outraged.
That annoyed me.
If it had cost eight hundred dollars, throwing it would still have been wrong.
The cost mattered legally.
Not morally.
My prosthetist, Dr. Erin Walsh, began replacement fitting.
Insurance initially argued liability should fall on Trent.
My lawyer argued I should not wait months while insurers fought.
Eventually a provisional arrangement funded the replacement with reimbursement issues reserved.
My mother offered to pay.
I refused.
“Why?”
“Because you didn't throw it.”
“I'm your mother.”
“Exactly.”
She understood.
Wade offered again through counsel.
I refused again.
Not because his money was dirty.
Because private replacement could later become part of a settlement narrative I had not agreed to.
Formal channels.
Documented.
Boring.
Safe.
During fitting, Erin asked:
“Do you want the same knee system?”
“Yes.”
“You could upgrade.”
“Why?”
“Newer model.”
I thought.
“No.”
I wanted familiar.
Not symbolic reinvention.
People expected me to emerge from trauma with some dramatic super-leg.
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I wanted to walk to class.
That was enough.
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