Story Winner

The response to our contest was incredible—and so were the stories we received. With so many inspiring, heart-felt, and humorous stories our judges had a hard time choosing a winner, but they've finally decided.

The winner is Kenny Braitman, congratulations Kenny!

We'd like to thank you again for participating in our contest and sharing your story about how Otto Bock products made a difference in your life. 

Here is Kenny's story:

Last month, while practicing with my bagpipe band, I found myself falling down a flight of steps. As embarrassing as that was, what made it more so was having my kilt fly up around my waist. One artificial leg had broken in half. Part of it had separated and another part was twisted backwards. It was not my finest moment.

Fortunately, I've always been a problem solver, especially when it comes to things mechanical. While I lay there at the bottom of the steps, and once I realized that I hadn't stepped in some huge hole, I knew exactly what went wrong and how I could fix it. That is, once I got home to my 4mm hex wrench. That knowledge made me happy.

In high school and college I was an athlete as well as an avid hiker, camper and trout fisherman. To a great extent, I defined myself by my physical abilities. The 1968 Tet offensive at Khe Sanh changed all that for the next 38 years. I lost both my legs below the knee as well as suffering serious injuries to my buttocks. For a long while, it hurt to both stand and sit. Over 100 pieces of shrapnel still inhabit my body. Since I defined myself primarily by my physical abilities, my world shrank in both physical and psychological terms. Obviously a new way of defining myself was imperative.

My sense of time changed as well. What used to take me 30 minutes to do could now take up to two hours now. This seemed like it would affect employment opportunities. It certainly hampered my trout fishing. The best days were those when I woke up simply without pain. But I often plodded along like a Frankenstein counting his steps. Sores were plentiful, often forcing “home surgery” to relieve the discomfort.

Technological advances, and people who care, have changed all that. Thanks to Otto Bock’s Harmony system, two years old for me, and my prosthetist, Lee Mantelmacher, with his drive to do his best for his clients, I ride my mountain bike 13 miles, four out of every six days. I ride my horses bareback quite regularly. I carry 50 pound sacks of horse feed and throw 50 pound bales of hay. During the winters, I might snowshoe half a day, and I walk my dogs up to a mile each day. I march and play drums for a bagpipe band I mentioned. My horizons are, once again, huge and my pleasures seemingly unlimited.

The interesting thing about horizons however is that they constantly move and the closer you get, the further the horizon retreats. It is unattainable. This, I like. This is the new realization afforded to me. It also introduces the possibilities of failure. Failure, too, can be good. It means you are trying something new, are pushing yourself. You are not content with just being. To risk failure means you’re trying.

We, of course, experience life from our own personal set of circumstances. After I was wounded, I was fortunate enough to share a ward with 800 amputees. There was an incredible range of wounds and reactions to wounds. There was also fantastic support among the amputees and staff. I feel fortunate to have had that view and experience. It carries me forward today. It shapes how I approach others and their own circumstances and it frames my reaction to my own as well.

My experiences with both Otto Bock and Maryland Orthotics & Prosthetics ( Lee Mantelmacher) reinforce these views and provide great hope in an area where there also is great exploitation and abuse.

Most every technological advance I have been aware of has been a “wow” experience for me. I am often surprised by the way such advances have expanded my horizons, and for that I am most grateful. The improvement in quality of life each time I experience a new advance is not a thing I take for granted. While I am sure that the engineers and prosthetists work diligently to improve mobility and activity for their clients, what I don’t know is if they know how they so strongly contribute to my sense of being in this world. I thank them.

I’ve learned how to fall, occasionally even with grace. I can make minor repairs on my own artificial legs. Now, I am learning to live with limitations that shift, sometimes quite rapidly as prosthetic technology seems exponentially to develop. Learning to live with limitations while remaining open and alert to continued technological advances is a duality I’m happy to live with. It is the stuff of hope.