Getting the right fit for his knee brace.

Yesterday, my son was measured for his knee brace that he must wear for at least one year, following his surgery. I had to go and sign the forms giving permission for treatment. As the nice, young fellow took various measurements of his knee and thigh, I talked with the rep regarding knee surgery. I sometimes feel anxious about my son pushing himself to be ready to ski in March and then be ready for spring football in April. The mother instinct starts to rise and I feel uncertain. As I quizzed the brace guy, he smiled and reassured me with various football names that have injured their knee and made great comebacks. "Donovan McNabb injured his this year, he said, just watch him next year, he'll be better than ever." It has been an unbeleiveable year already for our family, I am thinking. As I sit in the chair, my son starts to choose the particular color that he wants for his brace. Most people get a black one, he wants no part of that. The rep encourages maroon, to match the school colors, he wants no part of that. He finally chooses red. The rep looks at me for confirmation. Red? My son doesn't want the color everyone else chooses and suddenly I realize, this knee thing has become HIS thing. His right of passage. His battle scar. The rep explains the insurance stuff to me and the cost of the brace, and I question my son about the color one more time. Nope its gonna be red. I try to picture the brace on my son's knee. I try to imagine how I will feel when he is playing again. I try to swallow down the fear and remember the most important thing is to be here, giving my signature for the paperwork, and giving some latitude for the red brace and the dream of snowboarding in March and playing football in April. I am the one who better take the right measurements of hope and support.