With arms and legs fully extended, it felt like I was skydiving at fifteen thousand feet while waiting for my instructor to pull the ripcord on our tandem parachute.

However, I was jolted back to reality when the physical therapy assistant grabbed the belt loops on the back of my trousers to keep me from doing a nosedive off a stability ball.

The jovial young man was testing my equilibrium as I balanced on the large plastic circular object at UPMC Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Before attending my initial physical therapy session, my parents and I trudged up the hill toward the pediatric facility after pulling the station wagon into the parking garage down the street.

At the intersection of Atwood Street and Fifth Avenue, the blond-haired minister took my hand as we waited with a swarm of other pedestrians for the signal to change.

Once all the vehicles came to a grinding halt at the red light on the busy one way street in Oakland, the crowd of people began to hustle along the crosswalk in front of six lanes of traffic.

While others were rushing past our little family in an effort to reach the other side, I exhibited a slight hesitation before stepping off the curb with stiffness in my legs.

Pulled along by my father, I looked like a deer in headlights walking in front of the numerous trucks, cars and buses revving their engines eagerly waiting for the light to turn green.

Hopping onto the curb on the opposite side of the busy thoroughfare, I breathed a huge sigh of welcomed relief.

After a short jaunt up DeSoto Street, our little family walked into the pediatric facility that specialized in the treatment of childhood conditions and diseases which improved the lives of children across the tri-state area.

Upon checking in at the front desk, we were ushered into a large room filled with exercise equipment and met with my brand new doctor and his young male assistant.

After quickly checking my vitals atop the examination table, the pediatric surgeon had me lay down on top of the white roll paper to have a closer look at the spasticity in my legs and feet.

“Mark had a difficult time crossing the street,” noted the Bible scholar as he looked over at the seasoned professional with concern in his eyes. “He became very nervous due to the vehicles with the revving engines and his legs stiffened up like cement.”

“That’s very understandable,” stated the kind-hearted caregiver while bending my left leg. “Spasticity is caused by an imbalance of signals from the central nervous system to the muscles.”

“This imbalance is often found in people with cerebral palsy,” he continued glancing at the pastor while moving my foot back and forth. “It is also common with traumatic brain injuries, stroke, multiple sclerosis, and spinal cord injuries.”

“But we’re here to help make Mark’s life as functional as possible,” he added while flashing his pearly whites helping me sit up with my legs hanging over the side of the padded table.

While the assistant worked with me on several pieces of equipment, the doctor pulled the minister and his wife aside to have a discussion about further treatment and set up my individualized program.

“His feet toe in really bad — the left more than the right,” mentioned the black-haired medical practitioner while leaning against the examination table. “I’m going to recommend that he have surgery at a later date to help correct the problem.”

“Do you really think that would be a necessary step,” quizzed the father of three looking up at the pediatric surgeon. “We thought for certain he would only need to do a few exercises to help correct the walking issues.”

“I understand your concerns,” observed the brawny pediatrician putting his hands out in front of him in an attempt to reassure the young couple. “Anytime a doctor mentions surgery, most people think it is a lot worse than it is.”

“But it is a relatively simple procedure,” he continued showing them a diagram of the the back of the leg. “We would make a small incision behind both legs right here and pull a tendon over to help straighten the foot.”

“The worst part of the process would be wearing the casts from ankle to hip for six weeks,” he added with hopefulness and confidence for a successful outcome.

As the conversation came to a conclusion, the young couple was given a timeline before any action would need to be taken on the prognosis of possible surgery.

At the end of the fun-filled therapy session, this blue-eyed brownie said one last goodbye to my newfound friend and the doctor before leaving the office.

“I noticed you made a new friend today,” implied the homemaker stopping to button up my coat. “You two were having a really fun time with a lot of laughter while you were working on all the different exercises.”

“I think that maybe I’m gonna like this therapy stuff,” I divulged while standing next to the bench rocking back and forth on my feet. “We talked about a lot of different stuff to help me to walk like all the other kids.”

“Plus,” I continued with eyes as big as saucers accompanied by a wide grin. “He told me about an operation that I’m gonna have; so I won’t trip over my own feet no more.”

As we stepped out into the blustery air, this disabled lad was all smiles as I held my father’s hand walking down the long sidewalk next to the hospital in the Steel City.

Mark S. Price is a former city government/county education reporter for The Sampson Independent. He currently resides in Clinton. If you’re interested in reading the extended version of this story in his novel titled, “Little Church at the Top of the Hill,” just type the book title into the Facebook search engine and scroll down to Chapter 40, A Physical Therapy Session.