Minor Knee Surgery? Hah!

Ok, so there is no such thing as minor knee surgery. I have so decreed. It has been almost a full week now since my faithful ol’ left knee went under the surgeon’s knife. I haven’t seen it since. During my knee’s absence, a nice big ol’ blob of swollen flesh has temporarily taken up residence. If it stays any longer, I’m going to start charging rent!

Let me back up a little…as many of you know, I’ve been having problems with my left leg for some time now; what with it going numb on me whenever I ran more than a few miles. Doc was convinced that I had compartment syndrome, especially since I’d had it in college and had many of the same symptoms. It took seeing three doctors before I finally found one who was able to do the compartment syndrome test. (Basically, they stick a horse needle deep into the compartment of your leg muscle to test the pressure before and after exercise.) Of course, after months of waiting for the test, it rather rudely confirmed that my problem must be something else.

Next it was off to the friendly MRI machine. The MRI operator cheerfully asked me what kind of music I wanted to listen to during the test. I had her change the station from classic rock to classical. I should’ve kept it on classic rock as the machine is really loud. In between sessions, the operator discussed religion with me (she didn’t have too high an opinion of it) and living the life of a good person. I really need to stop telling people I’m a chaplain. Oh wait, I’m supposed to have those kinds of conversations—something about it being my calling…

The MRI confirmed that my left-knee was overworked and underpaid. As a result, I had swelling, excess tissue growth and fluid on the knee—the joys of a long-distance runner. Back to Camp Pendleton I went to meet with the surgeon who’d done my compartment syndrome test. She scheduled me right up for surgery, and here I am, sitting at the computer with a relatively normal right leg, while my left leg is splayed out at an obtuse angle (if I remember my high school geometry correctly.) For three days I couldn’t shower. For five days I couldn’t drive (now I drive like a nervous sixteen-year old first learning a manual transmission). I still can’t put my underwear on by myself. I take hard drugs at night to go to sleep. I have adopted a pair of crutches as my own. The dog is terrified of me—she doesn’t understand why I have four legs now. I missed a day of work. The dishes are stacking up, I haven’t been able to help Melissa clean and I almost passed out the first time I tried to stand up while ironing my uniform. Today I took a few first steps. When I did, my knee felt about as secure as IndyMac bank, less stable than even Fannie or Freddie Mac. The Feds are promising to bail me out should I falter. Yes, it’s that bad! (Maybe I should have taken two weeks of convalescent leave…)














What sexy legs! (Yes, I'm wearing shorts.) Where is my knee? If found, please call...