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The leg thing
Mar. 9th, 2004 09:28 pmI took my second trip to Oneonta in two weeks today, this time with Abbey in tow. The occasion was her biannual visit to her orthopedist, to see how the leg thing is doing.
I should probably explain the leg thing to you: Abbey was diagnosed with a congenitally bowed tibia. In shorter words, when she was born her leg bone came out bent at a creepy angle, just above her left ankle. In X-rays it looked like her tibia had been made of crystal, and a glassblower had heated it, arced it, and let it set. As a baby she would freak us out whenever he stretched her legs, because her whole foot would fold up flat against her shin. This is a sight that I rank up there with the kids in school who would turn their eyelids inside out.
Luckily, this is one of those things that tend to straighten out on their own with time. Today, the bend is pretty close to nonexistent; the only lingering side effect is that her right leg is about an inch and a half longer than her left. It certainly doesn't slow her down in the slightest, as she has learned to compensate very well, and we have special lifts installed in her shoes to make it even easier, but as some point this is going to need fixing. Until that time we keep an eye on it and ponder. And since congenitally bowed tibias are pretty dang rare, we're sticking with the same orthopedist for as long as possible, hence the two-hour drive today.
Today's appointment was a pretty straightforward, in-and-out affair; I think we spent more time in the waiting room than we did in the office (Abbey, ever the social creature, promptly befriended a boy in a wheeled walker who was there for physical therapy, charming the bajeezus out of his parents). The long and short is that she's doing quite well, all things considered. The doctor told us that the likely plan of action would involve stopping bone growth on one end of the long leg at just the right time, so that the short leg can catch up. This is a far cry better than Option B, which would involve bolting a bar to the top and bottom of the short tibia, and stretching it a quarter of a millimeter four times a day. Not fun, and not something either Abbey, the doctor nor I want to have anything to do with.
For now, though, we're in a holding pattern. We can do that. Hardly momentous news, but worth the two hours there, and the two hours back. At least Abbey got to sleep most of the way home.
I should probably explain the leg thing to you: Abbey was diagnosed with a congenitally bowed tibia. In shorter words, when she was born her leg bone came out bent at a creepy angle, just above her left ankle. In X-rays it looked like her tibia had been made of crystal, and a glassblower had heated it, arced it, and let it set. As a baby she would freak us out whenever he stretched her legs, because her whole foot would fold up flat against her shin. This is a sight that I rank up there with the kids in school who would turn their eyelids inside out.
Luckily, this is one of those things that tend to straighten out on their own with time. Today, the bend is pretty close to nonexistent; the only lingering side effect is that her right leg is about an inch and a half longer than her left. It certainly doesn't slow her down in the slightest, as she has learned to compensate very well, and we have special lifts installed in her shoes to make it even easier, but as some point this is going to need fixing. Until that time we keep an eye on it and ponder. And since congenitally bowed tibias are pretty dang rare, we're sticking with the same orthopedist for as long as possible, hence the two-hour drive today.
Today's appointment was a pretty straightforward, in-and-out affair; I think we spent more time in the waiting room than we did in the office (Abbey, ever the social creature, promptly befriended a boy in a wheeled walker who was there for physical therapy, charming the bajeezus out of his parents). The long and short is that she's doing quite well, all things considered. The doctor told us that the likely plan of action would involve stopping bone growth on one end of the long leg at just the right time, so that the short leg can catch up. This is a far cry better than Option B, which would involve bolting a bar to the top and bottom of the short tibia, and stretching it a quarter of a millimeter four times a day. Not fun, and not something either Abbey, the doctor nor I want to have anything to do with.
For now, though, we're in a holding pattern. We can do that. Hardly momentous news, but worth the two hours there, and the two hours back. At least Abbey got to sleep most of the way home.
