Walter Reed Army Medical Center’s “miracle room” gives amputees room to work and heal.

Turn in any direction once inside the physical therapy gym on the Walter Reed Army Medical Center’s third floor and you will see a young adult missing a limb or two or even three. It’s a jarring tableau, one of the saddest of war.

But settle in, listen to the rising din of voices and equipment, and the sadness seems to lift. It’s not the wounds that rule here; it’s the courage of patients and the encouragement of staff.

“It’s a great place in terms of people energizing people. It’s not a sad place,” says Bunnie Wyckoff, one of seven physical therapists working with the amputees. Wyckoff has 33 years of experience, most of that in the private sector where amputees typically are older and weaker, victims of diabetes or some other disease. These patients are in their prime. Some of them will be playing basketball or skydiving on the weekend and lining up Monday morning outside the prosthetist shop for repairs that continually surprise the staff.

“You people are animals,” one patient was heard to say, good naturedly.

Army National Guard Maj. Ladda “Tammy” Duckworth, a Black Hawk helicopter pilot who lost her legs to a rocket-propelled grenade in Iraq, calls Walter Reed’s gym for amputees the “miracle room,” a term she first heard relatives of a soldier use.

The staff “are the most dedicated individuals I’ve ever met,” says Duckworth.

She explained how Wyckoff, from the first day they met, began working Duckworth’s left hand, on the only limb not traumatized or blown off. Wyckoff also immediately embraced the 37-year-old officer’s ambitious goal to one day fly helicopters again. She even accompanied Duckworth on a trip to see a Black Hawk, examine its cockpit, and discuss what muscle groups Tammy would need to develop to use the floor pedals again.

Staff and patients share frustrations and share laughs. Army Sgt. Joey Bozik, a triple amputee, and his wife, Jayme, won the gym’s Halloween costume contest but were asked not to share with patients still recovering in rooms. Bozik, you see, wore false bandages on his stumps, decorated with red paint and “bones.” His wife wore a stained apron and carried a small chain saw.

“It was hilarious,” says Duckworth.

The gym gets a steady stream of famous visitors, mostly politicians and celebrities. Garry Trudeau, whose Doonesbury cartoons often have lampooned President George W. Bush for his decision to invade Iraq, visits frequently and made one of his own characters, “BD,” a wartime amputee.

“We love the strip. It’s all so dead-on,” says Duckworth of BD’s physical and emotional convalescence.

Some of the more beloved guests are the “peer visitors,” such as El and John Porter who, every Tuesday and Thursday, bring cookies baked by volunteers at their church. John is a tall man with silver hair. He lost both of his legs in Korea, though new patients won’t know it. That, of course, is the point. Peer visitors don’t talk about themselves unless patients ask. Then John and El can share some thoughts on his career and their 50-year marriage and 11 grandchildren.

John J. Farley III, another frequent visitor, is a retired judge from the U.S. Court of Appeals for Veterans Claims. He lost a leg in Vietnam. He sits this morning beside Bozik, making small talk, and borrows Duckworth’s air pump to try to tighten the fit on his own prosthetic. The effort confirms a leak. Farley also is looking for a phone number to give a patient. A manufacturer has offered a free set of motorcycles tools to the soldier who hopes to, upon discharge, open his own repair business.

Amputees here know they’re being given the best start possible, from medical care to high-tech prosthetics. They know the world outside will be different from this, but they’ve also made some special friends.

Duckworth, for instance, says she will never forget Army Sgt. Juanita Wilson, who visited while Duckworth was in intensive care.

“It was searing, unending, relentless agony, and that doesn’t even describe it. … Juanita walks in, rolls up her sleeves so I see her arm is missing, looks at me and says, ‘I know that you’re hurting. Do you mind if I just stand here for you?’

“And she stood there for hours, just radiated this peace and serenity. She didn’t take away my pain. I was counting to 60, because if I counted to 60 I knew I survived another minute. [But] I would turn my face every so often and she was still there.”

Juanita is someone she can always count on, Duckworth says.

Some special teams work out in this gym.

Tom Philpott is a freelance writer and syndicated news columnist. His column, "Military Update," appears in 48 daily newspapers throughout the United States and overseas.