Tuesday, July 18, 2017
The Saga of My Busted Kneecaps
So, as most of you know, my son is getting married on Friday. I've been doing a lot of organizing, so I'm a little stressed. I'm a person who likes lists, and just when I've checked off quite a few things on the list, it never fails that I have to add another five . . . or ten.
And then I hurt my knee.
Like, not a little hurt that ice and elevation can fix, but more like I think I tore something that made it swell up like a grapefruit and hurt like nails were being jabbed into my knee if I tried to put any weight on it.
I got an appointment with a fabulous orthopedic surgeon, but the lady who took the images seemed like she enjoyed twisting my SORE knee into impossible positions. Terrible positions. And she would wave her hands in front of me like it was nothing and say things like, "Just do a thirty second squat with one foot facing south and the other facing north while you sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat, mmkay?" (All right, not that bad, but it FELT like it was. She was an imaging Nazi!) Then she would end saying "the doctor needs this view," and "it will just take a minute," but I think she just said that so I wouldn't start ugly crying and begging for mercy.
Once the torture of imaging was over, the doctor came in and told me I should probably get a three inch cortisone needle poked into my kneecap to "help." He said he would numb it first, and his nurse assured me he's the best in the business for getting it where it needs to be, so I trusted them and let him STICK A NEEDLE IN MY KNEECAP.
Never fear, however, I have survived, but my knee is sore tonight. And my son is getting married in three days.
Please send good thoughts. And join with me in thanks for good doctors and a sweet husband.