DYER | With the night sky overhead and tall buildings flanking the convoy, Army National Guard military police Sgt. Shannon "Ray" McAllister rode down a city street in Hawijah, Iraq, perched atop the third truck in line.

"They call the third truck 'the death truck,' " the Dyer resident said.

McAllister volunteered to sit in what's known as the dead man's seat, partly out of duty and sacrifice and partly to slake his adrenaline junky desires.

But that night -- Nov. 22, 2007 -- the danger got too close. An improvised explosive device hit the second truck in line. Another exploded in front of McAllister's truck, dazing him.

He saw a couple of insurgents, one filming the action and the other detonating another device that rocked McAllister so hard he still doesn't remember what happened in the three days that followed.

He woke up under medical care, not able to speak very well or use his hands very well. He couldn't read or write. As time passed, his memory got better but his body grew more prone to tremors.

Doctors told him he suffered a traumatic brain injury.

Eight months ago, back home in Indiana, McAllister was driving and felt "real weird." He pulled over, blacked out and woke up with the left side of his body paralyzed. Only his thumb and forefinger worked on his hand, ending his guitar playing and diminishing his drumming abilities.

He strained to complete simple tasks, if he could at all. McAllister fought to remain independent, but depression moved over him like a shadow.

That changed three weeks ago.

McCallister, who works with a local armory in the community-based warrior transition unit, is nearly back to normal. He's holding glasses of water, stirring pots on the stove, hauling bricks into the garage and, most importantly to him, holding his 11-month-old daughter without being afraid of dropping her.

"I have no fear of my arm failing at all," the 26-year-old Hessville native said.

He uses a product called Wearable Therapy. A special sleeve on his arm and brace around his knee allow him to function almost as normally as he did before he was wounded. Now he jokingly calls himself a bionic man or RoboCop.

Philip Muccio developed the prosthetics that allow McAllister and others like him to function so highly. With the product, which is worn externally, patients receive electrical stimulation to muscles in the same manner electrodes would provide, but without all the cords.

McAllister's prosthetic sleeve is connected to a button on his waistband that, when pushed, forces his hand to open, a motion he can't do on his own.

Each piece is fitted to the patient's specific needs. Muccio said these neuroprosthetics can help patients with spinal cord injury, stroke, multiple sclerosis, cerebral palsy or, like McAllister, traumatic brain injury.

"We're tapping the body's own potential," he said.

The concept isn't new, but Muccio said he made it more practical. In 1995, Muccio met with actor Christopher Reeve and developed a prosthetic for him. Reeve wore it for many years, Muccio said.

The neuroprosthetic, coupled with occupational therapy to work on fine motor skills, is like a one, two punch for patients. It takes away pain and gives mobility. It also can heal the psyche and alleviate depression patients often feel, Muccio said.

Community Hospital in Munster is the only Northwest Indiana hospital that offers Muccio's product. Although it is new to the hospital, more patients are using the device in conjunction with their therapy, said Sue DeGroate, supervisor of occupational therapy at the hospital.

Brian Steinberg, an orthotist with the Center for Orthotic & Prosthetic Excellence in Hammond and St. John, said he tries the product with appropriate patients and, once there is a good response, has them fitted with a custom version.

McAllister's sleeve and knee brace have matching patriotic designs. He's grateful that the design suits his personality but is more grateful for the freedom it gives him.