My Knee, The End, kind of.

I had my appointment with with the Orthopedist  And, I was wrong, he was not a surgeon, he was something else. Maybe he was An Orthopedist, or maybe he was an Orthopedic specialist, but he was not going to operate on my knee. It was a relief. He did say knee replacement was an option, a voice in my head whispered; “not really.” And then he went over a few more. Most of which revolved around giving me a shot. In my knee. It sounded terrible. But, he seemed convinced it would help and I was already miserable and my wife was there, so I had no choice. Besides, what’s a little more pain?

Then, I saw the needle. He could have gone through my other knee. So, I did what any true man would have done, and looked the other way. It didn’t hurt at all. My wife said he used a topical analgesic to deaden the area, maybe it was my sobbing. He wrote a prescription for physical therapy, and I started treatment.

During my first appointment he asked what problems I was having. 

“Inclines kill me, I can hardly navigate them. Driving is torture, my leg being stuck in one position sends pain coursing through my whole body, waves of agony.” He continued to type on his computer, and since I was nervous and the silence was terrible I went on for over five minutes about the things that make my knee feel bad. I might have told him about how I cry at the videos featuring acts of kindness that haunt my Facebook page.

“Stairs?” He asked, probably in self defense.

“I hardly use them. The doctor told me not to.”

“I go to the gym three times a week.” I said.

“Good,” He replied. “A good rule of thumb is if it hurts don’t do it.”

Then he gave me some exercises that really hurt. 

“That hurts.” I said. 

“Tough, suck it up, buttercup.” He replied. 

Not really. They didn’t hurt much at all, though they were exhausting, (which was humiliating considering how easy they were) and he was very polite and kind. Which was surprising, since he was so muscular and intense it was easy to picture him eating a bowl of nails and bolts for breakfast. The fluorescent light reflected off his shaved, polished head, and his leg bounced nervously through the whole appointment. Plus, the poor man was born without the all important ability to smile, or he didn’t find my attempts at self deprecating humor worth the effort, which doesn’t make any sense.

He gave me some advice for being stuck in a car, “move your seat forward, so your leg is at a different angle.” And printed out the exercises and sent me on my way. I have to go 12 times over six weeks, and already have seen improvement. My second visit was last Wednesday, and they said I had achieved increased mobility. A proud moment. 

There is still pain, and there are times, stuck in traffic I think I might abandon my car and walk home, except I love my car. The other night I was stuck behind a minivan with a “resist hate” bumper sticker, and we were inching along, and my knee was starting to ache, and my whole personality was beginning to transmogrify, Dr. Clark and Mr. Hyde, and I started to hate the driver of the minivan. “Yeah, well to hell with you, buddy.” But, eventually he took the ramp to I270 and I took Route 62 and we were friends again. Life has its ups and downs, doesn’t it?

A trip to the doctor, mortality and an awakening, it was a busy day.

Last week my wife made me go to the doctor. My knee hurt, a lot, and she said I had to go. She was right, the pain was keeping me awake, and walking is difficult. But, going to the doctor makes my skin crawl, the place is filled with sick people, and doctors. Groups that should be avoided.

So, I called. And the woman who answered the phone said the doctor didn't have any appointments until late November, but I could see a Nurse Practitioner if I wanted. I didn't know what to do, so I panicked, and told her I would call back the next day.

In those cases, the times I don't know what to do, too many options, all of them bad, I call my wife and ask her.

"Call back and make an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner." She said, she was certain that was the right thing. And when she is that confident, even if she is wrong, there is no reasoning with her.

"I told them I would call back tomorrow. Maybe I should wait." A man of my word.

"They don't care, Tim. Just call." She was losing her ability to see reason.

So, I called back and tried to disguise my voice. However, my birthday and name proved too much to overcome.

"Oh, hi, Tim, I was helping you earlier. Help me out, which knee is it again?" She sounded happy, but there might have been an ember of anger and resentment somewhere in there.

"It was my right knee. I know I told you I would call tomorrow, and I'm sorry, but my wife made me call back today. I can call tomorrow if that's better." This might work, if I play my cards right.

"No, that's fine. We can schedule you right now." And, she did.

When I went to my appointment I checked in at the desk, everything was going as well as could be expected. Hardly any sick people and not a doctor in sight. I could start breathing again.

The woman at the desk looked at my name.

"Oh, hi Tim. How are you?" She smiled kindly, her voice was warm and friendly, she seemed sincere. And I panicked.

"I"m OK. How are you?" I said, looking behind me, finding the nearest exit sign, in case things went bad.

"How's your knee?"

"It's sore." Damn, things were taking a turn for the worse.

"I helped you schedule your appointment." She was smiling, cheerful. But, there might have been some latent hostility, I couldn't be sure.

"I'm so sorry! I know I told you I would call back the next day, but my wife made me call back the same day. I normally don't go back on my word so quickly..." five minutes of really going in for myself, laying it out there, I covered everything from my disappointing performance in the third grade Christmas Program, I was  Shepherd #5, and stage fright made me nauseous, until I thought I was going to pass out, to my difficulty staying in one job when I was older because of my resentment of authority. There was no way I could possibly be held responsible for this minor oversight.

Finally, she said. "It's ok. We don't mind." But, she seemed a little angry.

Then, I went back and had my appointment.

"It's arthritis. Osteoarthritis." She said, and I guess Osteo means aged. And she said the "x-ray shows some detritus in the joint that might need to be cleaned out."

In that moment I saw it all. The beginning of the end. I felt the icy fingers of the dark hand closing
around me. I almost cried. This was the first thing I have ever had that there was no coming back from. It wasn't going to get better, only worse.

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. Stitches, sprains, breaks, times when I should have learned and didn't. But, they always got better. Not this time. Slowly, inexorably my body is going to start to fail. One joint, one organ, one twinge at a time, until someday it just gives up, surrenders to a light so much brighter than its own.

Then I thought, I'm not done yet. I will "not go gentle into that good night." So, I will limp if I have to, I will crawl if I need to, but I'm going to be around. It is going to get better, and better, even if it slows down a little. Hang on, it is about to get interesting.