Rochester company approaches making artificial limbs as art
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Limb Lab's story started when founder Brandon Sampson was 8, on his family's farm in Lyle, Minn.
"My dad was backing up the skid-loader and hit it. Smashed my hand completely between the cattle gate and the skidloader. And I grabbed my hand ripped my glove off and it was totally a mess," Sampson said.
Intense surgery at the Mayo Clinic saved Sampson's hand. To keep it in shape, Sampson took up the guitar. He's still playing and fronting a local band called Six Mile Grove.
The accident gave rise to another interest, limb reconstruction, and Sampson went on to become a certified prosthetist.
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During the 15 years he worked for another prosthetic maker, Sampson noticed the industry changing — amputees wanted to be more involved in building their new limbs and they wanted to understand why they are so expensive.
In 2013, Sampson and colleagues Daniel Tellijohn and Marty Frana started Limb Lab, opening the first location in Mankato. The flagship store in Rochester opened the next year.
Their skill has led to a partnership with Mayo Clinic, a leading destination for veterans who have lost limbs in battle.
Sampson's unconventional approach draws amputees from all over the country.
"I sit down with my blank sheet of paper and say 'This is my plan for you. My brilliant plan: Absolutely nothing. You tell me five thing that you want to do that you can't do right now,'" he said.
Sampson says involving the customer at the start creates a more satisfactory product, and leads to satisfied customers who rarely question costs that can be in the thousands.
"They feel like they were part of the solution in recreating themselves," he said.
Sampson and his team also wanted to bring what it means to be an amputee into the open.
"We wanted to create a space that felt like an art studio that was encouraging of the creative process," he said. "We wanted to take the stigma out of wearing a prosthesis or an orthosis and we wanted to make them wearable art."
There has been lots of social pressure to hide prosthetic limbs, Sampson said. People needing artificial limbs can be perceived as "damaged." A physician who can't save an arm or a leg may perceive that as a failure.
Rather than being hidden in the back, Limb Lab's prosthetics shop is enclosed in glass and faces a busy intersection. Anyone who happens to be walking by can get a front row view of the limb-making process.
The waiting area, with deep leather sofas and accents of reclaimed wood, displays large black-and-white photographs of Limb Lab clients showing off their prosthetics.
"The prosthesis that he made is actually beautiful," said 74-year-old Horst Kruppa, who splits his time between Austin, Minn., and Florida. Kruppa has had a variety of prosthetics since he lost his entire leg to cancer at age 26. Some were made of wood, some were too heavy, others too hot and some just didn't fit well, he said.
Kruppa said Sampson, unlike other leg makers, involved him in the creative process, and made his best-fitting leg to date.
"It was quite refreshing to find a young man that was thinking outside the box and that creates new things for each individual because we are all unique," Kruppa said.
Younger customers come to Limb Lab, too, including 6-year-old Rusheka Goodhall from Jamaica, who lost her leg to cancer at age 4. With some financial assistance from Limb Lab's foundation, Rusheka and her mother are able to stay in Rochester long enough for Limb Lab to make Rusheka her first artificial leg.
As Tellijohn slips Rusheka's residual limb into the new prosthesis, it tickles, and she fills the place with peals of laughter.
Correction (Dec. 19, 2016): Captions in an earlier version used the wrong last name for Rusheka Goodhall.