Despite her apple-cheeked smile and rigid poise, it was clear the patient had seen brighter days. Her clothes were woefully unhip and her once-glorious mane bore the hallmark of a brutalist barber, possibly a pet.

But after an emergency trim and dose of Magic Eraser (stat!), the doctor appeared pleased with her progress.

“Do you remember The Crissy?” said Pat Dinsmore, her voice almost a coo as she cradled the larger-than-Barbie facsimile. “Her hair went all the way to her ankles, and you could adjust it.”

This vintage Crissy’s hair-apparent days may have been cut short, but she’s lucky enough to have arrived at The Doll Doctors, for a makeover and a second chance.

At this toy convalescent center in Colorado Springs, volunteers including chief doc Dinsmore prep donated dolls and stuffed animals for a new life and new home with a child who otherwise might go without.

For the throngs of plastic and plushy patients who find their way to this small team of retirees and rehab elves each year, the prognosis is almost always good.

“Most just need a wash or clean, new clothes and accessories, and some love, and they’re ready to bring a smile to a new generation of kids,” Dinsmore said.

Speaking of generations: Somewhere in the craft room/doll ER of Dinsmore’s home is a ’70s-era pair of pants, and a bright orange hat, for Crissy’s decidedly more limited locks.

“Her hair still moves some, but not like it did,” said the doctor, who recently turned 81, lifting a hand to her own, shorter-these-days coif and practically thinking out loud:

Tell me about it, sister.

Doll Doctors was founded in 1995 by Jeanne Henninger, a “little, wisping, full of energy” dynamo and volunteer job counselor for the Springs’ Ecumenical Social Ministries, Dinsmore said.

Henninger noticed the organization was giving out “as is” dolls and toys collected through donations and toy drives. Not one to let a fixable problem linger, she asked permission to take the dolls home, clean them, and stitch up those that needed repairs. What began as a mostly personal mission became a nonprofit in its own right, said Dinsmore, a grandmother and enthusiastic maker of doll clothes who was still working part time in real estate when she learned of the group, and decided to add it to her to-do list.

Soon enough, Henninger announced she was ready to pass the torch, and Dinsmore stepped up to take over.

Twenty-seven years later, lifting those heavy bags full of dozens and dozens of dolls is much more of a chore, and it can be a struggle to see those tiny stitches.

But she’s got good glasses, and — for now — there’s help.

“Most of the women are widows, and we’re fortunate that the staff at the church will schlep stuff in for us and schlep things out, but some of the bins are quite heavy,” she said.

Sourcing affordable doll shoes, an item that can be a challenge to DIY, has also turned out to be tough in modern times.

A local, since-closed craft shop used to sell assorted bags of them for what amounted to pocket change. Matched pairs now go for several dollars, or more, plus shipping, online, Dinsmore said.

“We do get donated doll clothing and other items as well, but whatever we use and need that isn’t donated, we buy,” Dinsmore said, poking through a home-based supply closet neatly, but tightly, packed with project pieces, ribbons, fabric, patterns, a veritable fortress of thread and notions.

“You’re amazing!” proclaimed a motion activated Elsa doll from her spot on the craft table, as the doctor plucked through a nearby pile.

“These are clothes … too many. These are small hats. …  and I made this, but I haven’t finished it yet,” Dinsmore said, holding up a fleece hoodie rendered perfectly, from a scaled down human-sized pattern, in miniature form.

“There’s no one to wear it right now at this moment, but someone will come along.”

Each regifted Doll Doctors item also comes kitted out, some with sleeping bags and mattresses and toys of their own, and all with finishing touches, clear bags and bows.

Volunteers meet monthly in the basement of First Lutheran Church to sort donations, bow, bag and accessorize items that still bear tags or appear unused, and route the rest for more specialized care and outfitting, primarily at the homes of Dinsmore and fellow doll docs Elaine Glynn and Jean Habbinga.

In Doll Doctors’ almost 30 years, members have fixed up and passed along more than 42,000 dolls and stuffed animals, according to Dinsmore’s records.

“We used to take them all home, but it became overwhelming to store and transport them,” she said,

Donations are stored in bags that, during busy times, may get stacked to the ceiling of their allocated storage space at the church.

“They don’t let me cover the utility box, but sometimes it gets awful close,” she said. “This is a great creative outlet, and we love doing it, but we’re getting old. And it really is a lot of work.”

The bulk of the volunteers’ output goes to the Santa Bob Telmosse Foundation, to be distributed at its annual holiday giveaway, which this year will celebrate its 42nd event for families on Saturday, Dec. 14 from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Colorado Springs Event Center, 3960 Palmer Park Blvd.

“We benefit from everything that the Doll Doctors do,” said Bob Telmosse’ Foundation board member Sharon Oldfield. “And they do so, so much.”

At the city’s cutest triage center on a late summer Monday, Oldfield joined the team for what was expected to be — and was — a busy session ahead of the upcoming holiday, and Santa Bob giveaway.

Oldfield held up a Care Bear-style plushy, with a mug cute enough to melt a candy cane.

“Yeah, it’s kind of an ‘awwww’ fest here,” chimed in Doll Doctors volunteer Dodie Dean Robertson, “but there’s another side to it, too.”

Robertson volunteered at last year’s Santa Bob giveaway. Seeing Doll Doctors dolls bring a smile warmed her spirit; seeing the long lines of needy families stretching out the door of the event center, however, was “heartbreaking.”

“There’s just so much need out there. You can know that, but seeing it in a personal way like that really can change your perspective,” she said.

Robertson’s 10-year-old granddaughter had a similar reality kick, lending a hand at that event, and begged to join for the Doll Doctors’ monthly meetings.

“She didn’t realize there were kids who don’t have all the things she has, but, because of that, things clicked for her,” Robertson said. “She went home and cleared out all her old toys to donate them — which is something she never would have considered doing before.”

If school conflicted with Doll Doctors meetings, 10-year-old Sydney Harnett told her grandmother she’d be open to skipping class. That’s how dedicated she was.

“It really did affect her,” said Robertson, whose granddaughter eventually did attend a meeting, during summer break. “I feel like it helped her to become a more compassionate, and generous, person.”

And that’s what the Doll Doctors is really all about, said Dinsmore: kids, families, and sowing the ground with kindness for generations to come.

That’s why each doll and plushy gets personal attention, and each donor — when such information is known — a personal thank-you.

“A woman with five daughters donated all their dolls. I said, ‘If you give me their names, I will write each one a letter,’ and I did, so they keep this giving thought in their minds for their future lives,” she said.

Now, she’s hoping all the paying forward will pan out, and someone will step up to ensure the future of the practice.

“We hope and plan to keep going until someone else takes over,” Dinsmore said, “because we don’t don’t want Doll Doctors to go away.”