For nearly the first year of her life, her parents and doctors were unaware of the NF, and the brittleness had contributed to multiple bone fractures of the lower leg, unbeknownst to anyone. These early bone breaks resulted in her left leg being seven centimeters shorter than the other, and as a bright, precocious and athletic child, she adapted to her leg imbalance incredibly well. I felt like I could have been looking at myself as a 5 year old. Unlike me, however, who didn't have a clue about an aesthetic style in outward appearance until college, she already had been bitten by the fashion bug, and was particularly excited by the prospect of a new holiday dress or her first day of school outfit. Her source of distress lay in the fact that the vast majority of little girls' shoes were off-limits for her, as there were only a few companies that made shoes that could be adapted with a special lift to even out her walking planes. These shoes had to work within the structure of the external leg brace she grew up wearing.

Her parents were impressive in their own right, first by not imposing labels or limits on her, and then making this medical journey of decisions for their child a collaborative process that included her, appraising her of new options in technology that had arisen as they became aware of them. Unfortunately, technology in her case—a successive series of operations to try and stretch the brittle leg using internal rods and pins to fuse the bone—hadn't progressed as fast they would have hoped. After the first two of what they knew would be many surgeries, her parents and doctors had made the decision to proceed with this rod approach until she reached five years of age. Then they would re-evaluate the process, considering any advancements in technology. If it hadn't advanced past this type of treatment, they would consider "other options."

Amazingly, because of technological progress in prosthetics, amputation was now an attractive option for this family. Amputation and subsequent fittings with prosthetics was simply seen as liberation from a leg that didn't function. Shortly after her sixth birthday, her mother told me, "She downloaded all these images of you off of the internet, and she's always asking ‘when, when can I get rid of my bad leg, when can I get a new leg?'" She even did her show-and-tell at school about prosthetics!

That is decidedly not what I would have expected a six-year-old to do.

After a few months, the child's mother called me, telling me that she, her spouse, and the doctors collectively made the decision to amputate, and that they would be telling the child this news that very night. My reaction was visceral and very surprising to me: I felt my breath grow short and my heart pounded, and I felt ill as waves of stress and worry pummeled me. I panicked at what role I might have played in this chain of events, and how I couldn't guarantee that this child would have anywhere near the same experiences I had had as an amputee. I found myself having doubts I had never had about myself or, indeed, most any amputee: "Would she be okay? Would her life be happy and full of opportunity?"

I spoke to the mother one last time before the surgery, and she informed me of the surgeon's decision to do an amputation through the ankle, the common thinking to be to "save as much of the flesh and bone leg" as possible. I couldn't be sure about this and hesitated even mentioning it, but I asked the mother if she had consulted with the child's would-be prosthetist about this "Syme's" style amputation, because I had heard reports of resulting limitations in people being able to obtain the latest prosthetic technology.

Ironically, by keeping more of the residual limb, you negate more options for different prosthetics, as there is no physical room to put the components (think of the shock-absorber and spring leg). An incredible facet of this story for me was learning that, at no time before this rather momentous surgery of this child, did the pediatric surgeon and the prosthetist ever have even one conversation.

Her mother investigated with the prosthetist who confirmed that, by leaving as much of the limb as possible, the child wouldn't be able to get any of the legs in the images she downloaded from the web. The surgeon was shocked to learn this, and had never considered that it might actually be better to amputate a few inches higher, increasing the future mobility options of the child.

This past April, while walking through a street fair hosted by the Tribeca Film Festival, I felt a tug on my shirt. It was this little girl, 6 months after her amputation, with colored paints on her face and in her hair, and a plastic tee-ball bat in her hand. She was jumping up and down (post-cotton candy) and she wanted to show me her new High School Musical 3 "tattooed" leg. She asked me if I knew Zac Efron and "could I get him to autograph her leg?" (I don't, but I'm working on hooking this up.)

She pulled me a few meters over to the batting cage stand, where she deftly used her prosthetic leg to press the foot pedal, launching a whiffle ball pitch that she smacked as hard as she could. On her feet, she proudly sported Mary Janes covered with red sequins. Seven months ago, she was as active as a child could be with a leg brace and tremendous pain; here, she ran and jumped and cartwheeled and tackled her little brother, who tackled her back. Even I, who rarely doubts the incredible ability of human beings to adapt to their adversity, was awe-struck.

I wondered how her childhood, her adolescence, her college years would collude to shape how she saw herself. Would she struggle through various identities, wanting to be "normal" as I did, only to find eventual freedom of self-expression in the absence of normalcy? Barring puberty, which is probably awful for everyone, I think this girl is going to skip over ever wanting to be "normal." Why be normal when you can have Zac Efron and Friends staring up at you everyday from your ankle?

The generation of children growing up today has a distinct advantage in this realm of identity, thanks to their daily interaction with the internet and video games. It's commonplace for them to create avatars and parallel representations of themselves, and they see their ability to change, transform, and augment those bodies to best suit their surroundings as beneficial.
That kind of fluid thinking was once solely the domain of those whose imaginations were heavily influenced by both technology and science fiction. Talk about seeing evolution speed up before your eyes. My being able to embrace the art in my artifice, to change my identities—how I perceive myself and how others respond to that perception — has profoundly changed the way I see the world and my opportunities in it. But I didn't possess that ability at age six.

I keep thinking of how long it takes for most of us to go through the process of first accepting ourselves as we are, strengths and weaknesses, then celebrating that self and starting to have fun with your strengths and weaknesses, then transforming ourselves as architects of own our identities, redefining what our strengths and weaknesses actually are. I think kids today are able to do this faster than previous generations.

I've noticed a progression from how kids used to respond to my wooden legs to responses toward a prosthetic limb today. Quite simply, the fear-as-first-response has all but disappeared; I do not experience children who are afraid to meet me and in fact, I haven't recently met any child who, when I'm sporting obvious prosthetics like the RoboCop legs, wasn't drawn like a magnet to them, accompanied by a list of very astute questions.

For the most part, it's adults who rein kids in, in an attempt to not have them stare or offend with their natural curiosity.

But curiosity is necessary; it is the foundation of imagination and innovation. It's tremendously important to allow children to see the diversities of human experience and understand how their own lives relate to it, so we can acknowledge how much more similar we are as human beings than different…even if what makes us different is where we discover and engage our rare and valuable qualities, offering them to society.

When I was a child, I watched plenty of episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Where some see Professor Xavier, I secretly know he's Captain Jean-Luc Picard. And thanks to airport security, I admit that I often daydream of being able to be molecularly transported around the world. I think about that other little girl and wonder to what extent her ability—and that of her peers—to google the word "prosthetic" and come up with tons of imagery to inspire their imaginations marks a marvelous shift in our society.

There's plenty of evidence that connects our visualization of what we dream to be possible to what we eventually create as a new reality. Gene Rodenberry's imagination in Star Trek and that of Arthur Clarke's, Marvin Minsky's and Stanley Kubrick's in 2001: A Space Odyssey had a direct impact on funding certain projects at NASA because scientists and researchers had "seen" this whole imaginary world, and they sought to make it real.

For my own childhood inspiration, I had the Bionic Woman and Six Million Dollar Man (to this day, the somber phrase "we can rebuild him" makes my heart pound wildly!), and even Inspector Gadget cartoons made me draw third grade pictures of legs with rocket jet packs flaming from the heels.
This "entertainment" not only asks questions but encourages more of them, replete with inherent timelines for answers: "When are we going to do molecular transport? We've been seeing it for forty years on Star Trek!" It's within the scope of our imagination.

I remember in high school seeing Forrest Gump when they convincingly transformed Lt. Dan—Gary Sinise, an actor with two flesh and bone legs—into an amputee. A budding actress, I thought "Oh my God, if they can do this with CGI, couldn't they do the opposite? Could they create an image of me on screen with full flesh and bone legs?" I was intrigued by the imaginary visual of a different version of myself, and I suspect it provided something tangible when asked if now, at this point in my life, I would trade my prosthetics for flesh and bone legs. (I wouldn't.)

The transformative power of films lay in engaging how I imagined myself and my "realities," giving me license to re-imagine them as I desire. Now that many people, starting from an early age, are creating and choosing their own identities in a virtual world—or in multiple virtual worlds—this self-malleable perspective has a lot of power. People can align themselves with global groups of their own choosing, and see themselves as their ideal selves without many of the social constraints present just a generation ago.

Although it took surviving junior high, I evolved myself to the point where I decided against measuring myself to "normalcy," deciding instead to self-determine what was cool, who was cool, and the transformation subsequently happened in how other people treated me. "Cogito, ergo sum." It's one of the simplest truths we revealed for ourselves, right? "I think, therefore I am." If you think you can pull it off, you can. Or as Henry Ford put it, "whether you think you ‘can' or you think you ‘can't': either way, you're right."

I'd postulate that technology is innately teaching today's children that very same lesson, and they're learning it much earlier.

This confident perspective, one perpetually shifting from imagination to invention—be it a personality, a human figure or a new technology—would not have happened a hundred years ago. If I had been born back then, I doubt I would have been enabled by society to do much, even with a self-ignited fire of human spirit, as being a woman was as much of a disability as anything.

Today, I'm grateful for all of my strengths and weaknesses, changing and morphing as they are, and I'm especially grateful for technology's advancements to prosthetics, as my life has been successful because of having had them, not in spite of having had them.

Aimee Mullins is an athlete, speaker, actress and model we met at TEDMED. She's also the guest editor for our theme week This Cyborg Life. Read her bio here.

[Lead Image:
Matthew Barney
CREMASTER 3, 2002
©2002 Matthew Barney
Photo: Chris Winget
Courtesy Gladstone Gallery]

The Amazons, after all, amputated their left breast so it wouldn't impede their skill in archery. Though athletes have taken some truly crazy stuff to have an advantage, nobody's gone so far as elective amputation.

I've spent the better part of my lifetime trying to get out from under an idea of being "disabled," and the baggage that comes with that label. (Look it up in a thesaurus if you want a taste of what I mean.) As of yet, the best prosthetic available is not as efficient and not as capable as what Mother Nature gives us—or, what she was supposed to give me, and South African sprinter Oscar Pistorius. The revolutionary design of the woven carbon-fiber Cheetah Leg, nicknamed for its design inspiration, has been in existence for nearly 15 years—and after my initial triumphs with them in the mid 1990s, it has been the leg of choice for nearly all elite amputee sprinters. But in one instant, after Pistorius entered a summer 2007 track meet in Rome and placed second in a field of runners possessing flesh and bone legs, he and I were deemed too abled.

Commence the comical nightmare of being told that we now possess an "unfair advantage" in wearing prosthetic limbs to run. The scores of amputee sprinters who had competed with the limbs for the previous 13 years—and were still comfortably categorized as "disabled"—were virtually ignored. What is fascinating is the immediate shift in society's regard of a disabled athlete as an "inspiration" (cue the patronizing "awwwww") to a legitimate threat to other athletes ("Uh, what the hell do we do now?").

The first obvious issue for me was the deliberate ignoring of the truly excellent athletic feat performed by Pistorius and the insistence that if he could beat able-bodied athletes, "it must be the legs." Look, I also beat a few able-bodied athletes when I ran Division I track in college, and so have plenty of other well-trained amputees in the last decade. The difference is, none of us have ever posted his times. Bottom line: If it were just the legs making us superfast, I would have done a decade ago what he's doing now, and so would others. Oscar's not running with any different technology than what I ran with 14 years ago.

The modern sports ethos that we've constructed is based upon increasing advantages. Because certainly, in so many sports, we have pushed past natural human function to facilitate a more exciting game—better times, better performance. But where does an advantage become unfair? The crux of that question lays under the umbrella of ethics, which should indeed govern our rule structure within the competitive arena, but there's something in this story which specifically points toward a deep-seated fear, one we don't want to talk about in polite conversation, one which parallels historical instances of racial integration of sport and gender integration of sport. If we allow a person, one who we view as our inferior (in whatever way), to play with us, and then that person beats us, what does that say about us?

In the 1930s, Jesse Owens and Joe Louis blew the lid off common thinking of how "capable" an athlete of African descent was compared to an athlete of European descent, although the beginning of league integration took a decade more to achieve, and in some sports another three decades. It was as recent as 2003 when some members of the PGA balked at Annika Sorenstam's quest to compare her talent to the best men in the world, admitting their fear of how it might feel to have a woman beat them, an embarrassing display of archaic thinking.

In 2001, golfer Casey Martin, who played with a degenerative circulatory leg condition that made it nearly impossible to walk an 18-hole course, successfully won a Supreme Court decision allowing him to use a cart as an acceptable assistive medical device. The PGA Tour fought Martin for years, saying all pro golfers must walk because uniform rules are essential for the integrity of the sport. "Accommodating Martin with a golf cart will not fundamentally change the game," Justice John Paul Stevens wrote for a 7-2 majority.

What keeps percolating for me is this perceived discrepancy between advantage and "unfair" advantage. It's absurd to look at a star line-up of athletes and think that they all have an equal shot. We don't cry foul play when an athlete from the United States, with the best access to training facilities, coaching staffs, and nutritional science is up against someone from say…Uzkbekistan. It's tough luck that 5' 11" Tyson Gay has to line up against a 6'5" Usain Bolt.

It makes me twitch when we talk about "a level playing field." No two athletes are the same genetically and environmentally, and the mental and emotional factors they've endured in their life are relevant in their performance, too. The only reason athletes today are better than those of decades ago is because of science and technology: We know exactly what and when to feed our bodies for maximum energy, we have lighter shoes and better bikes and new rubberized track surfaces and (legal) supplements and altitude training. We are upping the ante each Olympic year with "smarter" design of an athlete's tools, both inside and outside the body.

A whopping 74 world records were broken last year between March and November with the Speedo Fastskin LZR Racer suit. 74! Do you wonder if Mark Spitz is annoyed that his times are compared to those of athletes using something he didn't have the opportunity to use or wear?

My interest was piqued in the latest version of the Fastskin LZR suit, an R&D collaboration with NASA. From the initial press releases to subsequent monthly articles, whatever I could find describing it was overwhelmingly celebratory: Writers cooed about the sharkskin-inspired biometric fiber panels for less drag in the water, and its corset-like torso construction, enabling a swimmer to compress their physique and keep better, more supported form during fatigue, making them markedly more efficient in the water.

Very, very few writers brought up any kind of ethical concern of such a tool like this suit until after the Beijing Olympics, choosing to focus on the race between swimwear companies to develop their own supersuit. Even then, the majority of articles on swimming were marveling at how Michael Phelps says he "literally felt like a rocket coming off the wall" using the device. Jason Rance, the lead designer on this Speedo suit, commented, "It's part of the evolution of the sport, and it's really exciting for swimmers. They say they feel like Superman."

After the ensuing arms-race to out-do the performance of the Speedo, the Americans and Australians led a protest to FINA, the governing body of swimming. In July of this year, FINA banned the full-length suit, having the suit stop at the knee instead, and mandated that all must be constructed of a "textile," which is in itself an incredibly ambiguous, vague rule. The ban will take effect in January 2010, and—most intriguing—FINA will allow all records set with the suits to stand.

Let's think about Tiger Woods having not one, but two LASIK surgeries to achieve 20/15 vision, when what we consider the best of natural vision to be is a mere 20/20. Before his first LASIK surgery, Woods had lost 16 straight tournaments. Immediately following the surgery, he won 7 of his next 10. Advantage through technology, or not?

On a company website he endorses, there's a quote from Tiger after his first LASIK surgery, and I found what he said remarkable on a few levels. He said:

For years I played golf with an invisible handicap, invisible to everyone but me. It was my contact lenses. My eyes would sting burn and water all the while I was trying to concentrate on championship golf. I had the Lasik procedure with a TLC laser eye center surgeon and the results were fabulous. I'm 20/20 with no contacts. My vision is so crisp I feel I can read all the subtleties of the green and look down the fairway hundreds of yards and focus perfectly on the fly. I'm very happy with the results, and grateful for my TLC center experience.

The first remarkable aspect of this is that for him, the "handicap" was the ineptitude of the contact lenses, and not the fact that he was visually impaired. (He suffered from -11 nearsightedness, considered the worst 1%, legally blind without corrective glasses or contacts.) The second is his own literal description of being able to now clearly see—without the impediment of burning, stinging eyes—hundreds of yards down the fairway thanks to his technological altering. He himself declares the advantage.

"Invisible to everyone but me." So is that why nobody's up in arms, the fact that you can't see his augmentation? Is that why nobody's challenging this medical method which assists him in achieving dominance in golf? Of course, in the same way that my running legs don't power themselves, Tiger's new eyes don't power and execute a beautiful swing. His athletic talent is further revealed and enabled than what it would have been under the limits of nature, thanks to technology.

Advantage is just something that is part of sports. No athletes are created equal. They simply aren't, due to a multitude of factors including geography, access to training, facilities, health care, injury prevention, and sure, technology.

I really don't know how we compare world records of today to those of 50 years ago. A modern climber's ascent to Everest has innumerable inherent differences than an ascent of a climber who didn't have access to lighter tanks, comfortable breathable fibers against the skin, medical support at base camp, etc. The competitive benchmarks in that sport have changed from simply being, "Can you climb the mountain?" to "Can you climb it with oxygen, or without?" A wooden tennis racket isn't the same thing as the graphite ones used now. We wholeheartedly accept titanium golf clubs, LASIK surgery, the invention of new pitches, better injury prevention and repair, titanium knee and hip replacements, Tommy John surgery (surprisingly even in Youth Leagues), and a notable shift in the size of the average NFL player.

Where do we draw this ethical line on performance enhancement? I'm not sure I can answer that right now. What I will say is that I don't think it's useful to have this discussion around the existing Cheetah Leg, confusing the current non-enhanced technology with future prosthetics that will indeed provide augmentation. As with all evolution in sport, let's decide the parameters of competition when the technology actually exists, when we have metrics that inform us as to what extent augmentation is a certainty. Conjecture has no place in this discussion.

Maybe our acceptance of Tiger's LASIK super vision is really answered in the question, "Can everyone have access to it?" In other words, perhaps because the average citizen out there on the street can get laser surgery, it's okay for Tiger to get it, too, whereas the nature of a bionic prosthetic is still viewed as exclusive, and having to wear one isn't exactly a position the average citizen covets.

What's going to happen in the future, especially with the rise of more capable prostheses? The human leg is actually a series of internal motors and springs, so the fact that external motors aren't allowed in track is kind of interesting. (Case in point: Dean Kamen placed 14 motors in his new design of the artificial arm to simulate human function.)

In the not-so-distant future, designers will be able to build a prosthetic leg with a chip in it that they can program to accurately simulate human performance thresholds. (Since we know that no two "able-bodied" athletes have the same bodies, and therefore what they can achieve with their bodies are different, will they average out individual "able-bodied" thresholds to get those metrics? Will they cap how fast they imagine the fastest man on earth to be at 9.58? That time was unimaginable even 18 months ago, when Bolt then set the new WR at 9.72.)

The chip used in a prosthetic that will dictate "acceptable human" metric-based output is what will be allowed in the Olympic standard; meanwhile, the Paralympics will be no holds barred. In an ironic, amazing cultural flip, you will see runners in the Paralympics going faster than those in the Olympics. Now won't that be an interesting comment on "dis"ability?

Aimee Mullins is an athlete, speaker, actress and model we met at TEDMED. She's also the guest editor for our theme week This Cyborg Life. Read her bio here.

This week, Gizmodo is exploring the enhanced human future in a segment we call This Cyborg Life. It's about what happens when we treat our body less as a sacred object and more as what it is: Nature's ultimate machine.

LASIK image: Stefan Zaklin/Stringer/Getty; Tiger image: Lucas Dawson/Stringer/Getty Images; LZR image: Stan Honda/AFP/Getty Images; Aimee images: Howard Schatz, Greg Kadel

Obviously, the role of a prosthetic is one far more intimate than that of a couch, and being fitted for a prosthetic is much more labor intensive than just picking out eyeglasses, and but the ideas aren't so dissimilar. From the 1930s to as late as the 1970s, the UK National Health Service mandated only one "choice" for their eyeglasses—considered solely as "medical appliances"—and the standard was a plastic frame formed in a rather horrid pinkish color, an attempt at "flesh tone," already problematic in that description: Whose flesh tone, exactly?

The NHS believed that people would want discretion in their vision correction—the social humiliation generally thought to be incurred by wearing glasses meant that no one would want their glasses to stand out. So there was one form of glasses made for everyone. Today, that sounds ludicrous.

Meanwhile, no one has yet to build a leg that does it all—I have to change legs when I want to wear high heels; I have to change legs when I want to wear different height high heels; I have to change legs when I want to swim, take a boxing class at the gym, or sprint on the track. I have 12 pair in all (though many are housed in museums).

Until that functionality is matched with one single prosthetic, you want to be able to have the fullest quality of life as deemed by you. For some people, it will never be important to swim, or wear a pair of high heels, or to have a prosthetic limb with a cosmesis that really replicates humanness. But for others, those things could be very important. For some people, like me, some of those things are important only some of the time.

In my functional daily arsenal, I have a general rotation between what I call the "Robocop" legs (Re-Flex VSP Legs made by Ossur) and my cosmetic, very life-like legs (by Dorset Orthopaedic).

As if we weren't already aware of the dire state of the American healthcare system, the lack of prosthetic opportunity and choice for most people is due to very limited coverage by insurance companies. To be frank, since my teenage years, I have pursued each and every opportunity to be a guinea pig, trading the use of my body as a testing ground for new technologies for the privilege of using them. Not one pair of my legs is covered by insurance; not one pair of my legs is considered "medically necessary."

What is considered medically necessary for the American insurance standard is whatever gets you from the bed to the toilet. I am not kidding. No other aspect of daily living other than using the bathroom is considered "necessary," which means your basic prosthetic given to most amputees—a stick with a rubber foot as a leg, or a stick with a hook on the end as an arm, has fundamentally not changed since WWII.

My Ossur legs are constructed of woven carbon fiber. They've got a shock absorber, springs, and a split-toe foot so I can navigate uneven terrain with a bit better balance-and basically there's nothing human-looking about that leg. I don't mind this aspect. I'm quite happy with this amazing construction looking like what it is: a good prosthetic that enables me to move around very well. I've embraced the sci-fi aesthetic of the sleek black carbon fiber, the WD-40 glistening on the shock absorber, and I feel rather cool wearing them. They're the prosthetic leg version of a motorcycle jacket. However, I am very aware that there are some vets—mostly female, but some male as well—currently coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan who aren't exactly thrilled about looking like the Terminator, and their consumer desire for choice should be respected.

My Dorset legs are designed more for style than utility. Far lighter than the VSPs, the skeleton or internal frame is made from a hollow carbon fiber custom made tube, and like my sports legs, the sockets are shaped to match my residual limbs exactly so I am able to wear the prostheses all day without discomfort. The carbon is used because it has tremendous strength and weighs very little, approx 300gms. The frame is then covered with a polyurethane foam that is then sculpted both to my specific requests and the aesthetic imagination of the prosthetist Bob Watts, who will ask me how I want them to look. (My last pair got a super flexed calf muscle; it serves as a reminder to get the rest of my body to the gym.) Finally, the prosthesis is sheathed in a 2mm custom-made silicone cosmesis. The cosmesis is a truly astounding work of art: a Kevlar-backed and vulcanized silicone sleeve is built up of many thin layers of differently colored silicones that matches my exact skin tone by combing through nearly 500 color swatches of silicone. You won't find any standardized pinky-beige hues here. Dorset will even map hairs or just hair follicles (I prefer mine smooth, thank you), capillaries, veins, moles, and yes… tattoos. The Cosmesis takes a technician 2 weeks to build and sculpt. The result, incredible.

When traveling, I try to always wear my Robocop legs mainly because the shock absorber makes traversing the airport halls more comfortable. I can also easily lift the legs of my yoga pants and pop them off easily on a plane, making air travel much more tolerable when sitting trapped in a confined space for a few hours. An additional travel hazard I face is with airport security metal detectors: wearing legs that look so perfectly human, like the cosmetic pair I have, is not ideal because generally people in airports hear the word "prosthetic" without registering what it means. Being laced with bits of metal, I set off the bells and whistles and it isn't obvious why, and it leads to a more complicated, lengthier interrogation and inspection for me. Anyone who has ever raced to make a connection in Charles de Gaulle airport knows that every minute counts!

I once wore my cosmetic legs while transiting in Portugal and (predictably) set off the metal detector. They waived me aside—this was right after 9/11—and in a pathetically muddled hybrid of Spanish and Italian, I was like "no, no, yo tengo…" and "ho due…," struggling to complete the sentence with the Latin root word of "prosthetic." I said what I thought sounded like a good approximation, and I immediately got hauled off to one of those strip search rooms replete with search dogs, because the whole time I was actually saying "leave me alone, I'm with two prostitutes."

Not eager to revisit my lost-in-translation experience, I've learned to keep the cosmetic legs in the suitcase. I wear the Robocop legs, and when I set the metal detectors off, I just show my carbon fiber limbs at the ankle, and it's automatic: we commence with the wanding, the bomb swab, the pat down—if at JFK they have an additional X-ray box with a battery of 10 scans I have to pass—they actually know me by name now.

So I guess that means when traveling, I do anything but try to look like everyone else—which is a bit different from what the UK National Health Service would have ever predicted in 1950. [Image by Nick Knight]

Aimee Mullins is an athlete, speaker, actress and model we met at TEDMED. She's also the guest editor for our theme week This Cyborg Life. Read her bio here.

A light, 2.5lb exoskeleton, the Freedom Leg moves all of your body weight from your injured foot to the prosthesis frame and your upper leg, meaning that you can walk pretty much like your used to while you heal up. And while I welcome resident doctors to list all of this product's flaws in the comments, to my pea brain, the idea seems so obvious and simple that it just might work. [Forward Mobility via medGadget via OhGizmo!]

And, as an elephant, she weighs three tons. That kind of weight—excuse me for saying so, ma'am—requires one strong prosthesis. It took a few years of work to get right.

In the interim, Motola was forced to use a temporary prosthesis. This was completely unbecoming of her status as a respected 48-year-old pachyderm.

But she was patient, and today she took her first steps. They were a success. To celebrate the occasion, Motola sucked up some dirt and blew it skyward like dusty fireworks. She has some work to do, but the limb held her massive frame, and she'll hopefully be walking with some semblance of normalcy for the rest of her days.

We can rebuild her. They did rebuild her. Motola: The Million Dollar Elephant. [SFGate]

The RAPHaEL (Robotic Air Powered Hand with Elastic Ligaments) is the brilliant tool from the minds of Virginia Tech. Like you see in the name, air drives the hand's movement without costly or bulky motors/actuators. The system requires just 60 psi, which when guided by microcontroller commands, allows the hand to open and close with precision down to the individual finger.

As you see in the clip, this design can just as easily grasp a can as a light bulb. Plus, it makes a cool pssht sound whenever you grab something. [VirginiaTech via Engadget]

These "digitigrade leg extensions" are the work of Seattle-based sculptor Kim Graham. Essentially a fancy pair of stilts, the legs mimic digitigrades (animals including horses that bear weight on their toes). Half this video demonstrates how the legs look on a human. The other half demonstrates how they look on a furry satyr.

Brb, gotta voluntarily vomit up this Kashi and coffee that I consumed about three moments too soon this morning. [Kim Graham via Super Punch]

A leg fashioned for above-knee amputees, the Power Knee is the only prosthesis of its kind to feature an AI-driven motor. Sensors in the foot gather precise measurements of contact while accelerometers and torque sensors gather additional movement data, the information is sent to an onboard computer and the knee is driven as naturally as possible to compensate motion for environmental factors.

The result is supposed to be a fluid walking experience that relieves an amputee's concentration on walking—claims that will be tested when the Power Knee is released to the public in 2010, or whenever Skynet begins investing in Ossur stock. [Ossur via Engadget]

The eye, known as Argus II, is made by American company Second Sight. It works by using a camera and video processor mounted on sunglasses to send captured images to a tiny receiver placed on the outside of a patient's eye.

73-year-old Ron lost his site in his 40s thanks to retinitis pigmentosa, an inherited disorder that causes progressive peripheral vision loss. He is one of 18 patients across the world taking part in Second Sight's experiment.

"They said let their be light, there was light. For 30 years I've seen absolutely nothing at all, it's all been black. But now light is coming through," he told the BBC.

"It's a great privilege and an honor, I think, to be able to take part in an experiment such as this - hoping that the outcome is going to be able to bring sight to people, like myself, that were completely blind." [BBC via Boingboing]

Infatuated with the idea of being a mermaid, Vessey contacted Weta Workshop—the special-effects team that worked on the Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia series—about creating a prosthetic mermaid's tail for her. Bibbity-bobbity-boo! Two years later, Vessey now looks and swims like an actual mermaid with a comfortable, fully functional mermaid's tail—made out of wetsuit fabric, plastic molds, and a digitally printed sock—and attached suit. Magical, isn't it? [CNet]

The story is actually a bit more complicated than that. Doctors' initial advice was to give up—his amputation was so close to the shoulder that most modern prostheses wouldn't have functioned properly. Lesek traveled to Melbourne (he lives in Tasmania [a real place]) to be fitted with a high-end German unit which, after a year of patchy performance, he abandoned.

Having heard about a metal 'n' bone-implantation technique called osseointegration, Lesek refocused his efforts on the pricey foreign technique. A trip to Sweden and $80,000 AUD (about $50,000 USD) netted him a mechanical "bolt" that provides an approximation of shoulder function—enough to control basic motions on a prosthesis. Existing bolt-compatible units didn't suit his specific work needs or price range, so he decided to start designing and constructing his own robo-arms.

His homebuilt limbs are pretty basic ones (their capabilities end at pointing and basic movements) but he's now working with the University of Tasmania to design a computer—and possibly brain—controlled prosthesis. This kind of tech is moving fast at the moment, but how far he gets with his mind-melded arm remains to be seen. For now, though, he's pretty much the coolest hobbyist in the world. [The Mercury]

Indeed, his prosthesis concept manages to be both. The Corian-plated limb features two dome joints that offer a wider range of motion than a real arm while still managing, at least in my eyes, to be as much an accessory as it is a medical device.

Imagine if this arm had been covered in a pseudo-flesh toned rubber. Your brain would acknowledge the piece as something that didn't fit. Maybe because this arm isn't trying to look real, my brain accepts it as part of the image with ease.

What do you see? [PlayMeDesign via Engadget]

Found in a landfill starving to death, unable to feed herself, "Beauty" the eagle had its fake beak designed by engineer Nate Calvin. It's just a temporary solution, albeit one that seems to be working pretty well so far. The next step is making a new, more permanent one that'll be tougher. After that, they'll track down the poacher who did this and have Beauty peck his eyes out with its prosthetic superbeak. Poetic justice. [The Sun via Boing Boing]

If the procedure is successful, the beak could help Beauty clutch food and drink water properly (and no doubt deliver a big boost in self-esteem). However, because of her limitations, she will never be able to survive if returned to the wild. Still, the researchers behind the project believe that Beauty could potentially live another 43 years in captivity thanks to their efforts. [CrunchGear via Wired]

When they found Winter injured and flopping around in the ocean, rescuers took her to the Clearwater Marine Aquarium, where she recovered, but couldn't get her swimmin' skillz back. Worse, her doctors thought she might throw out her back trying to swim with her stump.

Enter prosthetics master Kevin Carroll who, says the Daily Mail, "has designed prosthetics for dogs, an ostrich, and even [one lucky] duck." Carroll checked out the situation and thought coming up with the prosthetic would be easy. In the end, though, it took a year and a half to construct the 30" silicone and plastic tail, due to the fact that inside the prosthesis' slip, the spine of the dolphin has to have the freedom to move any which way. (By contrast, a leg bone typically stays put when a prosthesis is slipped over it.)

Check out more pics of the happy-looking Winter at the Daily Mail. [Daily Mail]

Well, a girl can dream. But this prosthetic hand, inspired, I kid you not by spiders' legs, has scored highly in tests. Currently a prototype, Fluidhand is battery-powered, with five electric motors—one in each finger. Soren Wolf, an 18-year-old patient at Heidelberg University Hospital was the first person to try out the device, alongside the iLIMB, which, unlike the Fluidhand, is controlled using myoelectric signals from the stump of the arm.

The Fluidhand works on different principles, and its digits are based on the biological principle of the spider leg—elastic chambers in the joints are pumped up by miniature hydraulics, thus allowing flexibility. This allows each individual digit to be moved independently. Perhaps the most astonishing thing about the device is that it gives feedback to the stump, which allows the wearer to sense just how strong the grip is.

Of the two hands, Soren said that the Fluidhand just had the edge over the iLIMB. It is currently only a prototype, but the inventors are looking for investment. Maybe George Lucas would be interested. [UniversitatsKlinikum via MedGadget]

Scientists suggest that the brace could be used by campers and soldiers to power GPS locators and satellite phones in areas with limited access to electricity. It could also charge prosthetic knees, eliminating the need for periodic surgery to replace the batteries in the joint.

The current version of the knee brace is just a proof-of-concept; the team plans to make the device less bulky while still retaining its energy harvesting capabilities. We think this is a great idea with lots of potential (even if it was created in part by a University of Michigan professor). Hopefully we can get a working model before CES next year so we'll never need to worry about our laptop running out of juice. [Science via Science Daily, Reuters, BBC]

Conventional prosthetic arms do not have the strength of their flesh-and-blood counterparts, the reason being the batteries. In order to lift comparable weights, a prosthetic arm would need a massive battery, too large for the prosthesis itself. So Goldfarb started thinking about other ways to power the artificial limbs, and came up with the idea of using the monopropellant rocket motor system that the space shuttle uses to maneuver in space.

The first attempt used a "cold gas", compressed nitrogen, which allowed the researchers to test for control, leakage and noise of the arm, which consists of a series of valves and belts made out of a monofilament usually used in aircraft parts. Once fine-tuned, the engineers reworked the arm to operate on "hot gas," or steam that is heated to 450 Farenheit.

The arm even "sweats" when it is in use. In order not to burn the wearer, the steam is vented through a porous cover, where it condenses and turns into water droplets—about the same amount as the sweat from a person's arm on a hot day.

Last month, the engineers got the second prototype working properly, and the arm, which is part of a $30 million project funded by DARPA's Revolutionizing Prosthetics program, should make it to the second stage of development. But Goldfarb is not worried, should DARPA pull out. "We have made so much progress and gotten such positive feedback from the research community that I'm certain we'll be able to keep going," he says. [Exploration]