The first result is a link to his company, Prolimbinary, but the rest…the rest are articles.
Meet Landon Blair, the 28-year-old who’s transforming the prosthetic industry by 3D-printing personalized limbs for children.
Landon Blair is changing healthcare, one prosthetic at a time.
This inventor is engineering hope for thousands of children with limb differences.
One man’s vision is empowering amputees everywhere.
This Stanford and Georgia Tech alum is creating accessible prosthetics for children with missing limbs.
On and on they go, links to articles from Wired, Stanford, Georgia Tech, Men’s Health, Forbes, CNN, MSNBC, and other science-related sites whose names I don’t recognize. Some are articles with in-depth biographies on him or a write-up about his company, and others are actual interviews with the man, the myth, the legend himself.
Whoisthis guy?
I scroll through one of the interviews, pausing on a question that asks how he got the idea for the limbs. He says he was walking near a skate park when he met an eight-year-old kid who was wearing a prosthetic. The kid was a talented skateboarder, especially for his young age, but the limb he was wearing was so heavy that it was hindering his ability to balance. Landon started talking to the kid’s grandmother, who told him that the prosthetic took almost a year to create and cost nearly $20,000. Not only that, but soon her grandson would outgrow the limb, and they’d somehow have to shell out the money for a new one.
“I had to come up with a solution, because what the boy’s grandmother was telling me was deplorable. A few months later, I founded Prolimbinary.”
I stare at the statement for way too long, trying to imagine Landon, the real-life Dr. Blair, saying those words in-person. Calling a lack of affordable optionsdeplorable. But I can’t picture it, and I practically break my brain in the process. It. Just. Doesn’t.Compute.
I click out of the article and navigate to the company’s website. It’s well-designed, clean and user-friendly, with colorful images of different children doing normal, everyday activities while wearing their prosthetic limbs.
I click into the Meet the Team page. Landon’s photo is first, picturing him wearing a sleek, navy suit, looking obnoxiously attractive—he really does have the kind of face you just want to punch—and I swear, he’salmostsmiling. I read the bio next to his image.
Landon Blair is the CEO and co-founder of Prolimbinary. A Stanford graduate, he also holds a doctorate in mechanical engineering from The Georgia Institute of Technology. For the past five years, he’s been developing a revolutionary prosthetic solution that is affordable for children in need.
Below are lists of other people at the company, none of whom I recognize, except for the second name, right after Landon’s. Nathan Blair, Sr. Apparently, Landon’s daddy is not only listed as a co-founder of Prolimbinary, but also has a seat on the Board of Directors. Nathan doesn’t strike me as thehelping kids in needkind of guy, but then again, neither does Landon.
After closing out of all Landon-related tabs—I’ve given him enough thought for one day—I give my dad a call to fill him in on what’s been going on. It’s all surface-level talk about my job and new friends, and I purposely avoid any mention of Mel’s trip or Landon’s attitude. I can’t stand the idea of anI told you socoming from him. Not now. Not yet.
Once we hang up, I check my bank account. Thanks to a few indulgent members who not only order expensive meals, but tip well on them, my checking account is steadily replenishing itself. I was waiting for the dollar amount to grow before checking out Accident Prone tickets, so I navigate to their website and text Sienna.
Me:Hey, did you already buy your AP tickets? I’m finally in the green!!!
Sienna:YAY. Yes, Brit and I have tickets for the pit. We want to feel Alex Masen’s sweat.
Me:Perfect. Buying now.
Sienna:Amazing, can’t wait. By the way, have you looked at your social? You’re practically a celebrity.
I’d forgotten about my impromptu venture into the world of social media, so I purchase my tickets, let out an excited squeal into my pillow, then check my Instagram account.
Fifty Followers. Two hundred Likes. Twenty comments. I blink in disbelief, then squint at the photo. Was my nipple hanging out or something? I don’t understand why so many people would want to follow me.
I scroll through the comments.
FUCKING GORGEOUS
STUNNING
So pretty!
MODEL
Slay slay slay all day.
HOTTTTTTT.
