I have a bad patella. It really does dance, and it's not supposed to. When I was 14, I went to a party at my ex-boyfriend's house (yes, you read that right) and while he was tickling me, I bent over and turned and my patella just popped out of it's little home in my knee. And then it stayed there for what seemed like many, many hours. Besides suffering the pain of having a body part displaced, I also suffered ( and to possibly a greater extent) the sheer embarrassment of tiny, bespectacled, ethnic me being on the floor, with my kneecap sticking out of my leg, surrounded by the population of my high school's somewhat anti-semitic master race football team.
It gets better.
I called my dad.
My father arrived, a short little nebbish of a man (who at that time was known for being Woody Allen's döppelganger) amongst the gigantic football team members and one of their fathers. My father proceeded to make various calls to figure out where I should go next, since we were HMO members and we needed to be instructed as to which mode of transportation and which type of treatment would be payed by our insurance. Apparently, an ambulance is indicated in these situations; at least it was back in the '80s, so I was whisked away from the neanderthal party by EMTs and brought to the hospital, my father following behind.
Have you ever had a body part reduced? Without anesthesia? I have. I'm not sure if I can compare that pain to anything else. Using at least 4 swear words does not suffice in describing that pain.
Back then, the treatment was to immobilize the knee for 6 weeks. I'm pretty sure that was a bad idea. It was another 7 years later when it happened again, except this time the patella went back into place on it's own. And for another 6 weeks, I got to be immobilized. It's extremely attractive to be walking around your college campus with a full leg immobilizer over your pants (you can imagine how much worse this was in high school). Thank goodness everyone else at my college was as much a nerd as I was.
Ten years later it happened again and this time, the orthopedists had already figured out that physical therapy was the way to go. Since that time, I've had 4 more patellar dislocations and have been to 4 different PTs.
So let me get you up to speed here. My brother was visiting last weekend and we all decided it would be fun to go bowling. I hadn't bowled in years, and tend not to take it seriously when I go anyway. I know I suck, so why try to win when I can just have fun? Right? Well, Golden Child just had to give me pointers and warn me that I was going to have an injured wrist or shoulder if I kept bowling the way I did, so I took his advice: I used my knees.
That was a mistake.
After bowling a strike, and then two spares, my foot slipped under me, ball still in hand and I heard the familiar but still terrifying "POPs." Simultaneously, I felt the pain. A lot of it.
I went to the doctor a day and a half later. He took one look at it and said "that's it, we're doing surgery." He had been willing to negotiate in the past, agreeing that I had legitimate reasons for avoiding surgery, but now he was done with my hemming and hawing. It's time. There's too much damage.
I've tried to go back to work since then. I was back for a day and a half, and it was still painful. I've taken off three days of work (which I really hate to do....that's my vacation time I'm using). What I don't understand is why people want to be off work during the day. Granted, I don't have cable, but watching daytime TV in your pajamas all day is very undignified. Of course, so is limping around at work and using a cane, and then later getting an allergic reaction to the naprosyn that's supposed to reduce your swelling.
Yeah, it's been that kind of week. Tomorrow, my boyfriend is coming over to help me do my laundry because I am not able to get up and down a flight of stairs with a giant basket of laundry. This may cause me to write another blog installment. Stay tuned.
Oh, and if you see my brother, don't take any bowling tips from him.
