Many people heard Sandra’s story and got inspired. Strangers frequently approached her —mothers of injured or sick children, cancer patients and other amputees. Grace Bowman, a woman whose son was hospitalized with heart problems during the accident, says Edwards’ family made her to stay strong. “I clung on their unbelievable faith,” says Bowman. “I wanted to replicate their response.” For Sandra, the motivation has been mutual. “I didn’t even realize how many people shared in my suffering and pain in my home, in Australia,” she says.
“It is much bigger than me.” Meanwhile, a friend had talked to Stevens and requested her to retain Sandra as a client. Stevens hesitated. She has been struggling with her personal health problems. Nevertheless, something inside her pushed her to accept Sandra. During the sessions for physical therapy, Sandra puts on blue boxing gloves and punches the chunky, handheld pad that Stevens holds. Looking at the blue gloves, it is difficult to figure out the punches that are from her real hand and the ones from the hand with mechanical prosthesis.
As Sandra throws roundhouse kicks, Stevens encourages her. “Continue, Laura,” Sandra’s grandmother name. “You want to quit. Keep going. Don’t pause, Grandma.” Both ladies are an improbable pair: Sandra is a cheerful woman who gives hugs to strangers, speaks openly about her religious beliefs and puts alternating pink shades on her nails during Valentine’s Day. On the other hand, Stevens is a bit reserved, has preference for empirical proof to emotion and puts on track suits when going to work.
With such differences, Stevens did not expect to enjoy the company of Sandra. Now, the two ladies are great friends. They chuckle when Sandra’s artificial hand flies off during workouts. They wrangle when Sandra arrives at a session just on time, which Stevens considers late. “I just consider myself an older, wiser sister,” Stevens, 33, gags as she flips Sandra, 25, using a resistance band. Stevens has helped Sandra regain the capacity to chop vegetables, and even drive. She has encouraged Sandra to defy anticipations, motivating her to undertake 43 push-ups and 12 pull-ups.
She has also taught Sandra how to diminish the facial scar’s visibility by using Scarguard, a liquid similar to colorless nail polish. Stevens knows this technique firsthand after she secured a scar on one of her cheeks following surgery. In physical therapy sessions, Sandra removes her prosthetic hand. She sleeps on a table for massage and allows Stevens to rub her arm’s end before the whole fitness center. It is friendly, affectionate work. And during examination, when Stevens leans over Sandra face to face, their cheeks’ scars align.
‘‘It is very freeing,’’ Sandra alters. It was Stevens who convinced Sandra to face up to her greatest fear and let the world see what her arm has been transformed into. Sandra, in a sleeveless shirt, took part in the Katy Trail during a warm Sunday morning last month. She ran a distance of three miles alongside Stevens. Sandra feared that people would freak out on seeing her small arm. But nobody stared—in a negative way. “I felt very free,” she says. Stevens refused to allow fear define the life of her patient.
And Sandra owes most of her recovery to her physical therapist. “She has dared me to go past my comfort zone,” Sandra says. “The closeness I have developed with her constitutes the main reason why I do not wish to reverse the accident.” After the participation in Katy Trail, Sandra went to the shopping mall to purchase shorts. She was still wearing the sleeveless shirt when paparazzi sneaked in, catching her unawares. Stevens was concerned that the encounter might put her friend off.
Instead, Sandra considered it another opening to get over her fears. ‘Chase the light’ As Stevens helped Sandra overcome her fears, she gradually found herself heralding in return. “She has seen light,” Stevens says.
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