They Say Go Big or Go Home...
I chose to go big.
I should’ve realized, when the doctor’s staff remarked on me not using my crutches, that things were fantastically worse than I thought. I just thought that they hadn’t met someone with my pain tolerance and were impressed (which did turn out to be a correct assessment).
This appointment was originally scheduled for Friday morning, but we received a lot of snow ice starting Wednesday night that didn’t end until early Friday morning. Thursday, my office was closed, and I was able to work from home. This isn’t exactly unprecedented for my employer – it’s an oil supplier – but for employee safety, they grounded the trucks and let us bean counters work from home. Therefore, I wasn’t exactly surprised when I get a text message that early Thursday evening canceling my appointment. We got it rescheduled for Monday afternoon.
These 3 think they can nurse me back to health by laying in my lap!
All week, I’ve been managing my knee. I’ve done my exercises as directed by my PT friend, trying to bend and straighten it until I hit that one point, sleeping with my leg elevated, and trying to walk straighter and straighter in the little brace they gave me. In fact, I’ve been off my crutches a vast majority of the time – really only using them in parking lots where I must walk a little bit further to get inside. Also, the parking lots aren’t in great shape to begin with and when you toss in snow and ice, it’s nice to have the crutches to steady myself a bit more.
Let’s get back to the day of my appointment now. My stomach was a mess all day. I had nervous butterflies flitting around all day. My hubs made me a delicious salad to eat at work, but eating it was a chore in and of itself. I just wanted to throw it up because of the nerves. It felt like I was 10 years old all over again and about to compete on balance beam. Well, who am I kidding? I still get these crazy nerves every morning before I run a race, no matter how big or small the race.
Inside the waiting room alone, I was a swirling mess of emotions. Now let me throw this out because it needs to be said – I started my period that morning. Normally, I’m not an emotional mess, and normally, I can manage my emotions and the start of my period just fine. But when there’s things like my future on the line, this little monthly inconvenience opened the flood gates. I was doing everything I could to put on a brave face and act like I was fine. Thank god for the memes on Instagram is all I can say.
So once the admitting nurse settled me into a room and then asked a few questions, I had to know. I didn’t even answer her question, I just asked:
Do I need surgery?
She checked and didn’t see any notes, so I answered her questions. She left and I sat in silence. That’s when I started getting text messages from my sister. She knew today was D-Day. I was so glad to have her texting me. I didn’t feel quite so alone in that room while I waited to hear the extent of the damage.
Finally, the door opened, and the PA came in. She sat down and started talking to me. I once again interrupted her with that same question. I don’t know why I needed it answered because I knew the answer. I told my mom I tore it minutes after it happened. I told her I knew I’d need surgery. When she told me to think positively, I replied with, “I’m positive I need surgery.” I’d prepared myself for this answer for 11 straight days, and yet I still wasn’t prepared for her answer. It hit me like a punch in the gut. It simultaneously knocked the wind out of me and poured tears down my cheeks. There were so many thoughts going through my head. When if ever, will I be able to run again? When if ever, will I be able to flip again? When if ever, will my life feel normal again.
She handed me a tissue and I started mopping up the tears on my cheeks. I hated that I’d become an emotional mess. I also hated what I had done to myself. Sure, the PA said this was an accident that I couldn’t prevented, but I could’ve just not tried to throw a full twist. Never mind the fact that I had done one a few weeks earlier. I could’ve just performed it correctly and actually landed it and not hurt myself. This was 100% my fault, and now I must deal with the repercussions of those actions.
What were the repercussions? Well, there are 4 ligaments in the knee that anchor the bones of the lower leg to the upper the leg. I tore three of those ligaments and the fourth ligament is a Grade 3 sprain (which means the ligament has split in two). The ACL, MCL, and PCL are torn. The LCL is sprained. The good news is that the ACL is the only ligament that will require surgery. The sprain will heal, and the other two torn ligaments will heal and scar and allow me to get back to the same activity level I was at.
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| I feel like this is an accurapte depiction of my knee currently |
For the ACL, my doctor wants to do the hamstring grapht. The cadaver ACL won’t allow me to get back to the same level of activity. I’m not a good fit for the patellar grapht because I apparently have osteoarthritis behind my knee (which is another emotional bag of nuts), and I had Osgood Schlatter disease growing up that I dealt with in my gymnastics career.
After talking through some things and reassuring me, the PA left after telling me that doctor would come in to see me. At that point, I started texting my sister again and giving her the news. Even though she was nearly 4,500 miles away from me, across an ocean, and seven time zones ahead of where I was sitting, she stayed up and wait for my news. Knowing she was there for me, I gave her a quick FaceTime call – so damn happy to see her face when she answered.
With tears still fresh on my face, I talked to her and told her the news – that I shredded my knee. She let me get those much-needed tears out and didn’t try to tell me things would be better or any bullshit like that. I know things will be better. Things will be better after they get incredibly worse, after I push through a lot of pain in my physical therapy, after I conquer any residual fears related to the trauma of the fall I took. She simply told me it was okay to not be strong. While I pride myself on being “the strong one,” this younger sister who has been my constant playmate turned best friend and is now my soul sister, knew exactly what I needed.
After meeting with the doctor and then his nurse to set a surgery date – March 17th, so Luck of the Irish be with me – I was sent up to stairs to get the big knee brace I wanted from the very beginning. If only they had listened to me to begin with! In all honesty, if I had acted more hurt, they might have taken me more seriously and given me the bigger brace to begin with!
With my newer, bigger, Robocop brace on (Chris’s comment, I prefer to think of it as my Arnold Schwarzenegger T-100 knee), I was out the door and getting in my car. It was time to tell all my friends and family. In the way only befitting of me and my acerbic wit, I texted them all:
So the good news is I only tore 3 of the 4 ligaments in my knee.
The fourth is a just a Grade 3 sprain!
We are nothing if not for our sense of humor. They say laughter is the best medicine, and no one can do self-deprecating humor quite like me! I’m going to be honest in my struggles and doubts, but I will more than keep you all laughing until the bitter end!
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