look, man, i hear the fire in your words, the hunger to stretch back into the giant you felt you were made to be. but chasing 25‑30 cm of leg plus all that arm, hand, foot and clavicle work, that’s flirting with wheelchairs, bone infections, dead nerves, lungs that won’t expand right, years of frames and painkillers. you might breathe seven‑foot air, sure but maybe only from a chair. your dream is yours, and maybe you’ll bleed for it. me? i couldn’t trade basic movement for a number on a tape. just weigh that price, every day, before you sign the consent.