Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10: Standing on Two Feet
Week 9, Day 67 – Final Measurements
Marcus’s clinic had become familiar territory. Ji-Eun wheeled in Wednesday morning with Brent beside her, the iWALK strapped to her bag—her backup now, her bridge between wheelchair and the future.
“Big day,” Marcus said, greeting them with his usual efficiency. “We’re doing final measurements for your definitive prosthetic. Everything we capture today goes into fabrication.”
He had Ji-Eun remove the test socket and liner, then spent an hour measuring, photographing, documenting. Every angle, every contour, every pressure point that had emerged during the past two weeks of gait training.
“Your residual limb has matured nicely,” he said, palpating the tissue. “Minimal swelling, good muscle tone. The shaping work paid off.”
“So we’re ready for the real thing?” Ji-Eun asked.
“We are. I got the authorization from your attorney yesterday—full approval for the Ottobock Empower system.” Marcus pulled up specs on his tablet. “This is going to be a major upgrade from your test socket. The powered ankle provides active push-off during walking, adjusts automatically to different speeds and terrain. Most users adapt within a few hours instead of weeks.”
“Hours?” Ji-Eun repeated. That seemed impossible.
“Hours. I’ve seen people walk out of their fitting appointment and go straight to a restaurant.” Marcus smiled. “Your brain won’t have to work as hard to compensate. The prosthetic does what a real ankle does—provides power, not just passive return.”
Brent leaned forward. “What’s the fabrication timeline?”
“Two weeks. Everything’s custom—socket, alignment, the Empower ankle-foot system. We’ll schedule your fitting for...” Marcus checked his calendar. “Week 11, Day 80. That’s two Wednesdays from now.”
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Then everything would change.
“What do I do until then?” Ji-Eun asked.
“Keep using the iWALK at home. Continue outpatient therapy with Keisha. Build strength and endurance.” Marcus made notes. “And be patient. I know waiting is hard, but we’re in the home stretch now.”
Week 9-10, Days 68-75 – The Waiting (Again)
The second waiting period was somehow harder than the first. Ji-Eun knew what was coming now—knew the potential, knew the promise of the powered system. Knew that in two weeks, she might actually walk like a functional human being instead of a hobbling amateur.
She threw herself into therapy. Keisha ramped up the intensity—balance exercises, core strengthening, single-leg endurance work. Building the foundation for the prosthetic that would arrive in fourteen days.
On Day 70, Margaret from the firm finally responded to Ji-Eun’s email:
Ji-Eun,
Thank you for the update. We’ve discussed your request for extended leave. The firm is willing to accommodate a Week 16 return date (12 weeks from incident), contingent on medical clearance and confirmation that you can perform essential job functions.
We’ll need documentation from your physician and physical therapist by Week 14.
We look forward to your return.
Best,
Margaret
Ji-Eun stared at the email. Read it three times.
They were letting her come back.
Conditional, yes. Bureaucratic, absolutely. But they were holding her position for twelve weeks total. That was more than she’d dared hope for.
“Brent!” She wheeled from her room to his office. “They said yes.”
He looked up from his laptop. “The firm?”
“Week 16. I can come back.” She handed him her phone. “They need medical clearance, but they’re holding my job.”
Brent read the email, smiled. “That’s great. And you’ll have it—by Week 16, you’ll have been walking with the Empower for a month. More than enough time to prove you’re functional.”
“What if I’m not?”
“You will be.” He pulled her close—awkward with the wheelchair, but close enough. “Marcus said hours, not weeks. You’re going to be ready.”
Ji-Eun wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that the powered prosthetic would be the miracle Marcus promised. But she’d learned not to trust hope too easily.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Week 16. I can do that.”
“You can.”
Week 10, Day 76 – The Backup Plan
Ji-Eun’s residual limb was sore. She’d overdone it yesterday—too many hours in the iWALK, too much ambition, not enough rest. The tissue was red and tender, protesting the constant pressure.
Keisha took one look and said, “No iWALK today. We’re giving your limb a break.”
“But—”
“No buts. If you push through this and develop a wound, you’re back in the wheelchair for weeks. Not worth it.”
So Ji-Eun spent the day in the wheelchair, frustrated and antsy. The iWALK had given her a taste of mobility. Going back to wheels felt like regression.
That evening, Brent found her staring out the window.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“I hate the wheelchair.”
“I know.”
“Four more days until the Empower fitting. Four days feels like forever.”
Brent sat beside her. “You know what helped me when I was waiting for bar results? I made a list of everything I’d do once I passed. Gave me something to focus on besides the waiting.”
“That’s annoyingly practical.”
“It’s a gift.” He handed her a notepad. “So. What are you going to do once you have the Empower?”
Ji-Eun took the pen. Thought for a moment. Then started writing:
Walk to the corner coffee shop
Go grocery shopping without exhaustion
Wear real shoes (both of them)
Walk into my firm’s office
Dance with Brent (for real this time)
She looked at the list. Five things. Five things that used to be automatic and now felt like distant dreams.
“That’s a good list,” Brent said quietly.
“What if I can’t do them?”
“Then we’ll figure out what you can do and celebrate that instead.” He squeezed her hand. “But I think you’re going to do all of them. And more.”
Week 11, Day 80 – The Fitting
Marcus’s workshop was in the back of the clinic—a space filled with tools, materials, and the faint smell of carbon fiber and silicone. In the center of the workbench sat Ji-Eun’s definitive prosthetic.
It was beautiful.
Not in an aesthetic way—it was still obviously artificial, mechanical. But beautiful in its precision. The socket was custom-molded, lightweight carbon fiber. The pylon was sleek titanium. And at the bottom, the Ottobock Empower ankle-foot system—elegant, powerful, technological.
“This is it,” Marcus said, lifting it carefully. “Your leg.”
Ji-Eun’s throat closed. Your leg. Not “the prosthetic” or “the device.” Your leg.
“Let’s fit it,” Marcus continued. “Same process as the test socket—liner first, then socket, then we’ll activate the Empower system.”
The liner rolled on smoothly—familiar now, routine. The socket slid over it with minimal resistance. Marcus made micro-adjustments, checking fit and alignment with practiced precision.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Good. Snug. Like the test socket but ... lighter?”
“Carbon fiber socket versus the plastic test version. Your definitive is about 40% lighter.” Marcus attached the Empower ankle, then pulled out a tablet. “Now I’m going to calibrate the system to your gait. This takes about ten minutes.”
He had Ji-Eun stand in the parallel bars, the Empower’s sensors analyzing her weight distribution, movement patterns, balance. The tablet displayed real-time data—pressure maps, alignment angles, power output calculations.
“Okay,” Marcus said finally. “System’s calibrated. Let’s try walking.”
Ji-Eun gripped the parallel bars. Shifted weight to her left leg—to the prosthetic, to the Empower.
The ankle flexed. Powered. Pushed.
Her left side lifted naturally, effortlessly. Not the dead weight of the test socket, not the struggle to swing the leg forward. The Empower did what ankles were supposed to do—provided power.
“Oh my God,” Ji-Eun breathed.
“Right?” Marcus grinned. “Try a full step.”
Ji-Eun walked. One step. Two. Three.
It felt ... normal. Not perfect—she could still feel the difference, the mechanical precision versus biological chaos. But close. So close to what walking used to feel like.
“This is insane,” she said. “It’s like—I’m not fighting it. It’s helping me.”
“That’s exactly what it’s designed to do.” Marcus walked alongside her, watching her gait critically. “Your brain’s not having to compensate as much. The power comes from the ankle, not from your hip and core overworking.”
By the end of the session—ninety minutes total—Ji-Eun had walked a half-mile on the indoor track. With a walker at first, then just a cane, then nothing at all except the parallel bars when she needed to rest.
Marcus was right. Hours, not weeks.
“How’s your residual limb feel?” he asked as she sat to remove the prosthetic.
“Tired. But not painful. Not like the test socket.”
“Good. The socket fit is dialed in, and the Empower’s power output means you’re not overloading the limb with compensatory movement.” He examined her skin—slightly pink, but no hot spots or breakdown. “You’re clear to use this at home. Start with a few hours a day, build up gradually. Come back Friday so I can check your gait and make any adjustments.”
Ji-Eun held the prosthetic—her prosthetic, her leg—in her hands. Four pounds of carbon fiber and titanium and microprocessors that would give her back her life.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You did the work,” Marcus replied. “I just built the tool.”
In the car, Brent asked, “How do you feel?”
“Like I can do this. Like maybe I actually can go back to work in four weeks.”
“You can.”
“Brent—”
“I watched you walk a half-mile today. Without a walker. After ninety minutes with that prosthetic.” He pulled out of the parking lot, smiling. “You’re going to be fine.”
Ji-Eun looked down at the prosthetic resting across her lap. Her leg. Her future.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe I am.”
Week 11, Day 81 – First Morning
Ji-Eun woke up Thursday morning with purpose.
She’d slept with the prosthetic on the nightstand—wanting it close, wanting to see it first thing. Proof that yesterday wasn’t a dream.
Morning routine: shower (using the iWALK, giving her residual limb a break), skin check, liner application, socket donning. The mechanics were familiar now. The difference was the weight—so much lighter than the test socket—and the knowledge that when she stood up, the ankle would help instead of just ... existing.
She walked from her bedroom to the kitchen. Brent looked up from making coffee, smiled.
“Morning. How’s it feel?”
“Different. Good different.” Ji-Eun made it to the kitchen table, sat carefully. Her residual limb ached slightly—new pressure points, adaptation—but manageable. “I’m going to walk to the living room window and back. Just to see if I can.”
“Want me to spot you?”
“No. Just ... watch.”
She stood. Walked across the open floor—no furniture to grab, no walls for support. Just her, the prosthetic, and the Empower’s subtle power assistance with each step.
She made it to the window. Turned. Walked back.
Brent was grinning. “That looked almost normal.”
“Almost.” Ji-Eun sat, slightly breathless but triumphant. “Four more weeks. I can do this in four more weeks.”
“You can do it now. You just need practice.”
“And medical clearance. And to prove I can handle a full workday.” She pulled out her phone, checking her calendar. “PT with Keisha this afternoon. I want her to see this.”
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