In the Emergency Room:
* I can't assess your knee because it's too swollen.
* I could draw some of the fluid off of that knee, but it's going to hurt worse than you're hurting now.
* You need to see an orthopod.
In the Ortho Doc's office:
* I can't assess your knee because it's too swollen.
* Don't wear those flip flops. You know they were invented to keep ortho docs in business, right?
* I'm leaving this practice next week.
* Here. Take this informative brochure entitled "Now That You've Torn Your ACL". It's going to come in handy.
* If all the joints were to cast their ballots, the knee would be voted Least Likely To Succeed.
* No. You cannot go on your kayaking vacation.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Wages of Smugness is... grocery shopping on a scooter
On Thursday I crutched into the Safeway, and inquired at the service counter about using one of those scooter thingies. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING, I mumble. My shredded left ACL replies, "Suck it up, Ms. Smug." My children would be howling.
It's amazing how much you CANNOT reach on one of those things. I'd guess you can't reach 70% of what you're after. I was glad I could at least stand up. Forget about opening a freezer door for a frozen pizza. Can't do it. Or at least, I couldn't.
I worry about my SQ - my smugness quotient. As I maneuver through the produce section, I think, "I bet I'm the first person under 400 pounds to ride this thing." Hiding behind the watermelons, I flinch a bit as I wait for the next smugness-smashing event.
It's amazing how much you CANNOT reach on one of those things. I'd guess you can't reach 70% of what you're after. I was glad I could at least stand up. Forget about opening a freezer door for a frozen pizza. Can't do it. Or at least, I couldn't.
I worry about my SQ - my smugness quotient. As I maneuver through the produce section, I think, "I bet I'm the first person under 400 pounds to ride this thing." Hiding behind the watermelons, I flinch a bit as I wait for the next smugness-smashing event.
The Story of the Boo Boo Knee
We were going on an epic double-your-pleasure-double-your-fun 4th of July adventure. We'd load up the kayaks and the bikes, drive to the take-out on the Monocacy River, unload the bikes, and lock them safely out of sight. Then, we'd drive to the put-in, 6 miles up river, paddle down to where we'd stowed the bikes, and ride back up to the car. Pretty ambitious for us! Undeterred by the heat, we were excited to get underway.
The trip on the river was awesome, and once on the bikes and heading back to the car, we were smugly congratulating ourselves on being over 50 and doing something so much more adventurous, so much more physical than what we imagined our parents doing at this age. We were charging up a hill (and did I mention I hate hills?) when, in the midst of downshifting, I felt my chain slip. I went down on the double yellow line left-knee-first, followed by my left elbow.
The elbow got the immediate attention, as the bleeding and bruising was instantaneous. Curt was saying, "Baby, your elbow..." and I was answering, "Baby, my knee!"
I managed to pull my bike off the road, and hobbled over to the shoulder. After a few minutes of catching my breath, wiping away the tears and the embarrassment of crashing, and working the leg a bit, I got back on the bike and we quietly and not-so-smugly pedaled the last couple of miles back to the car.
I managed to help a little with getting the bikes and kayaks back on the Kia, and as soon as we were underway again we headed to a gas station to get some ice for the elbow and the knee. We got home, and it was only a few hours later that I could not walk. My knee had blown up like a balloon. The pain was unbearable.
The trip on the river was awesome, and once on the bikes and heading back to the car, we were smugly congratulating ourselves on being over 50 and doing something so much more adventurous, so much more physical than what we imagined our parents doing at this age. We were charging up a hill (and did I mention I hate hills?) when, in the midst of downshifting, I felt my chain slip. I went down on the double yellow line left-knee-first, followed by my left elbow.
The elbow got the immediate attention, as the bleeding and bruising was instantaneous. Curt was saying, "Baby, your elbow..." and I was answering, "Baby, my knee!"
I managed to pull my bike off the road, and hobbled over to the shoulder. After a few minutes of catching my breath, wiping away the tears and the embarrassment of crashing, and working the leg a bit, I got back on the bike and we quietly and not-so-smugly pedaled the last couple of miles back to the car.
I managed to help a little with getting the bikes and kayaks back on the Kia, and as soon as we were underway again we headed to a gas station to get some ice for the elbow and the knee. We got home, and it was only a few hours later that I could not walk. My knee had blown up like a balloon. The pain was unbearable.
Is it is or is it ain't a torn ACL?
Yesterday I stood at the receptionist's desk at my ortho doc's office. She told me I couldn't know the results of my MRI for 3 to 5 business days. Slowly my forehead found the countertop for a few purposeful bounces.
This followed the episode downstairs in the MRI suite. Hobbling out of the MRI room, I saw the black and white images of my knee glowing on several computer screens in the tech's room. I moved over to have a look. Cool.
"Ahem..." the tech begins, "you can't look at those because of HIPA laws."
"I can't look at pictures of my own knee?"
"Co-rrect," he says in what sounds like a well-rehearsed Alex Trebec-cent.
The MRI tech had told me that my doc would have my pictures on his computer without delay. I boogied as best I could on crutches straight up to his office. Now, this receptionist is telling me my doctor won't see the pictures until the radiologist is finished with them. I'm left with balancing these contradictions, still wondering if I'm fit for the kayaking vacation I'm supposed to be taking in 7 days.
Over the weekend ahead, I'll still be wondering. Which will give me some time to blog the back-story, back to the 4th of July, five days ago, when I got my boo boo knee.
This followed the episode downstairs in the MRI suite. Hobbling out of the MRI room, I saw the black and white images of my knee glowing on several computer screens in the tech's room. I moved over to have a look. Cool.
"Ahem..." the tech begins, "you can't look at those because of HIPA laws."
"I can't look at pictures of my own knee?"
"Co-rrect," he says in what sounds like a well-rehearsed Alex Trebec-cent.
The MRI tech had told me that my doc would have my pictures on his computer without delay. I boogied as best I could on crutches straight up to his office. Now, this receptionist is telling me my doctor won't see the pictures until the radiologist is finished with them. I'm left with balancing these contradictions, still wondering if I'm fit for the kayaking vacation I'm supposed to be taking in 7 days.
Over the weekend ahead, I'll still be wondering. Which will give me some time to blog the back-story, back to the 4th of July, five days ago, when I got my boo boo knee.
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