“I need to know whether I’m designing around her chair or whether a transfer seat is safer.”
“You know what a transfer seat is?”
“I learned last night.”
Rachel nearly smiled.
Cole continued:
“Also need the model number of her chair.”
“Her physical therapist’s contact if you’re willing.”
“Doctor too.”
Rachel became serious.
“You cannot call her doctors directly.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking what questions to send you.”
She was silent.
Cole waited.
Rachel looked toward the kitchen table.
Bills.
Medication.
School paperwork.
A life turned into forms.
“Doc…”
“Yes?”
“Ellie talks about the motorcycle constantly now.”
Cole closed his eyes on the other end.
“I’m sorry.”
“That isn’t your fault.”
“It might become it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to give her something to hope for if it can’t happen.”
Rachel swallowed.
“Welcome to our life.”
Cole had no answer.
She continued:
“We’re always deciding how much hope is kind.”
The sentence stayed with him.
Finally she said:
“I’ll send the chair model.”
“Thank you.”
“But do not tell Ellie you called.”
“Agreed.”
“And no surprise.”
“Agreed.”
“No testing her in anything until her team signs off.”
“Agreed.”
Rachel exhaled.
“You’re disturbingly cooperative for a biker.”
Cole looked around his empty garage.
“Don’t spread it.”
The first person to tell Cole his idea was bad was Dr. Priya Shah.
Cole liked her immediately.
They met two weeks later in a rehabilitation conference room with Rachel, Mark, Ellie’s physical therapist, occupational therapist, and a biomedical engineer from the hospital.
Ellie was not present.
That had been Rachel’s condition.
No expectations until adults knew whether the idea deserved to exist.
Cole brought drawings.
Not one.
Seventeen.
Different suspension layouts.
Wheelchair docking positions.
Protective frames.
Harness geometry.
Head support.
Mark flipped through them.
His expression changed slightly.
The physical therapist asked:
“How long did this take?”
Cole shrugged.
“Couple nights.”
Rachel knew that was a lie.
The dates on the pages showed fourteen consecutive days.
Dr. Shah studied a drawing.
“The problem isn’t only crash risk.”
“I know.”
“Vibration could exhaust her quickly.”
“I know.”
“Temperature regulation.”
“Airway secretions.”
“Neck fatigue.”
“I wrote them.”
He opened his notebook.
Dr. Shah looked.
Pages of questions.
“Maximum tolerable lateral acceleration?”
“Postural collapse risk during turns?”
“Helmet weight?”
“Helmet may be contraindicated depending on neck support?”
“Emergency oxygen mount?”
“Pulse oximetry?”
“Ride duration?”
“Transfer risk?”
“Noise sensitivity?”