The moment possibility walked into the room
Part 1 ended with the referral that finally opened a door. Part 2 begins with the appointment that showed me what might be possible.
After fifteen years of searching for someone who would even consider a fusion takedown, I finally had an appointment with Dr. Allan Gross. This is where the story truly began to shift.
The First Appointment with Dr. Allan Gross
Back then, medical records weren’t hidden behind screens or portals. They sat in a paper folder hanging at the end of your bed in hospital or on the exam table, waiting for the doctor to walk in at appointments. And I must admit, I preferred it this way. I have been reading my file since I was able to read, starting at SickKids.
At my first appointment with Dr. Allan Gross at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto, curiosity got the better of me. I opened the folder and read the referral letter my own surgeon had sent ahead.
To sum it up, he had basically written: “Let her down gently.”
After fifteen years of searching, that line hit me like a familiar bruise. The kind that doesn’t surprise you anymore but still hurts. It was yet another reminder of how many times I’d been told no, how often my hope had been treated as something naïve rather than something determined.
Before Dr. Gross Walked In
I was still holding the referral letter when the door opened and an intern walked in. That was, and still is, standard in the University Avenue hospitals: the trainee comes first, takes the history, does the initial pass. He asked why I was there, and I told him plainly: I wanted my knee fusion taken down.
He looked at me like I had said something unhinged.
He didn’t quite say the words “you’re crazy,” but he came close. Instead, he launched straight into the risks, the big ones. Infection. Catastrophic infection. Worst‑case scenario: amputation. He told me my body might reject “the new parts,” and for a moment, he had me rattled. I’d spent years imagining the possibility of movement; I hadn’t spent much time imagining the possibility of losing a leg.
But then something clicked. I said, “Isn’t that a lower risk for me? I have bilateral hip replacements and my body loves them.”
He paused. He didn’t have an answer. And before he could find one, the door opened again.
And in walked Dr. Gross.
He asked the intern for a summary of my history and why I was there. The intern was honest. Painfully so.
“What did you tell her?” Dr. Gross asked
“I told her she was crazy,” he said.
“Why?” Dr. Gross asked.
“Because of the risk of infection,” the intern replied.
Dr. Gross looked down at the file in his hand, my file, and said, almost matter‑of‑factly, “But she’s had both hips replaced with no issues.”
And I exhaled. Not because the risks disappeared, but because someone finally saw the whole picture. Not just the danger, but the possibility.
The Surgeon Behind the Possibility
You see, I didn’t yet understand the magnitude of who I was sitting across from. I only knew he was the first surgeon who didn’t flinch when I explained what I was hoping for. What I learned later is that he had already spent decades doing the kind of work most surgeons never attempt.
Long before he developed the two‑stage tissue‑expander technique he would eventually use in my fusion takedown, Dr. Gross was internationally recognized for pioneering massive allograft reconstruction. Literally replacing bone with bone. In the late 1970s through the 1980s, he was one of the first surgeons in the world to rebuild limbs using cadaveric bone grafts, sometimes combined with prosthetic components, to restore structure after trauma, tumour resection, or failed surgeries. His work changed what was possible in limb salvage and complex reconstruction. That pioneering contribution would later earn him appointment to the Order of Canada.
This was his philosophy long before I ever walked into his office:
Use biology and mechanics to restore what was lost.
Don’t accept “impossible.”
Find a way.
By the time I met him, he had already built a career on solving problems other surgeons walked away from. So when he told me about a new two‑stage method he was developing, which involved surgically placing tissue expanders under the quadriceps and gradually inflating them over weeks to stretch the soft tissues before attempting a fusion takedown, I understood why he was the only surgeon I trusted with something this risky. At that point, he had used the technique on only nine or ten patients. The results were early, experimental, and hard‑won. But he believed in the idea, and he believed I could be one of the successes.
If you missed Part 1 of my journey, you can read it here.
That was the beginning of my story with him and the reason I said yes. Not because he promised an easy outcome, but because he had spent his entire career doing the kind of work that made my surgery possible in the first place.
He then said “Let’s take some X‑rays.”
I shook his hand, feeling something shift. Not certainty, but possibility. He must have sensed my hope because he added, “I didn’t say I could do it.”
And I answered, without hesitation, “Yes, but you’ve already gone further than any other surgeon.”
It was true. In that small moment, his simple willingness to look, to consider, to not shut the door? He had done more than anyone else had in fifteen years. It wasn’t a promise. It was respect. It was a surgeon willing to meet me halfway.
And for someone who had spent years advocating for herself, that was everything.
Where Possibility Became a Plan
After the X‑rays were taken, Dr. Gross sat down and explained the approach again. He highlighted the risks, talked about the extremely high pain levels I could expect and the long rehab.
For the first time in fifteen years, I wasn’t hearing no. I wasn’t being told to accept the limitations of a decision made when I was ten. I was being given information, and a surgeon willing to think creatively about my future.
I looked at him and said, “If you give me the tools, I’ll make it work.”
It wasn’t bravado. It was the truth. I had lived with that fused knee for most of my life. I knew the risks, the challenges, the uncertainty. But I also knew my own determination. I knew what I was willing to do to reclaim movement and agency. And in that moment, Dr. Gross met me exactly where I was. Not with promises, but with respect. With curiosity and a willingness to try.
It was the beginning of a partnership built on honesty and effort: he would bring the surgical skill, and I would bring everything I had left.
The First Step Toward Movement
That appointment was the start of a plan that would take months to prepare and would ask more of me than anything I had done before.
In Part 3, I’ll share why I chose to move forward, how the surgery unfolded, and the moment my knee moved for the first time in more than twenty years. Part 3 will be published on June 24th at 10 AM.
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FAQ
Why does this part of the story matter?
Because this is where the story shifts from “no one will touch this” to “someone finally sees a path forward.” Part 2 is the hinge. The moment possibility enters the room.
Why did Dr. Gross consider the surgery when others didn’t?
He had the experience, creativity, and surgical range to take on complex reconstructions. Instead of seeing a fused knee as a dead end, he saw it as a challenge he could work with.
What were the risks he explained to me?
The biggest one was catastrophic infection. The kind that could lead to amputation. He was honest, direct, and didn’t sugarcoat the stakes.
What are tissue expanders and why did I need them?
They’re essentially small balloons placed under the quadriceps and slowly filled with saline over time. Because my knee had been fused straight for so many years, the soft tissue was far too tight to allow any bend. The expanders gently created the length and space needed for the takedown.
Is this kind of reconstruction common?
No. Fusion takedowns are rare, and doing one combined with a knee replacement is even rarer. Very few surgeons have the experience or willingness to take on cases like this.
How did this appointment change the direction of my life?
It gave me something I hadn’t had in years: a real, grounded possibility. Not a promise, but a path.