Knee-sies

It’s fun to play knee-sies under the table. Could lead to something else.

This week, though, my knee was not up to it. You see, forty years ago I wrecked it playing basketball. We were in the high school gym after school. I went up for a rebound (and got it, thank you very much), came down and heard “Snap!” “Snap!” and then I fell into the deepest hole of pain I had ever experienced, rolling around on the hardwood floor, clutching my ruined joint.

It was ten years later that I finally had surgery, and every now and then it acts up. Thus, I found myself in the hands of a very cute orthopedic doctor, the daughter of someone I know from work of all things, the other day.

As I was sitting in the thankfully empty waiting room filling out forms, Jen the nurse came to get me. As I hobbled slowly to the door, she said, “I would ask you how you’re doing, but you don’t look so hot.” Then she recanted, saying, “Well, I mean you look hot, but…” Very funny. Then in the examining room, she said I’d have to put on the party pants so the doctor could check me out. The party pants turned out to be a one-size-fits-all set of culottes, in which even Arnold Schwarzenegger or Jennifer Aniston would look ridiculous.

I shuffled down the hall for x-rays in my attractive outfit, wondering where the hidden cameras might be. I’m sure the staff videos these forays for their Christmas parties.

In the end the cute doctor slipped a needle in my knee for a cortisone shot and sent me on my way. I’ve always been suspicious of cortisone, wondering if it did any good. After all, you don’t get a rush from it. They even tell you in the brochure to expect that you will feel worse before you feel better. I now know that it works quietly in the background and darned if the swelling hasn’t gone down and the pain subsided.

These past two weeks I’ve been afraid that the doctor would tell me it was time for a knee replacement. The x-rays showed that there has been little change in the bits and pieces in my misshapen joint, so that was something of a relief. Replacements only last maybe twelve years or so, depending on your lifestyle, so I wasn’t looking forward to perhaps having to go through the process twice in a lifetime. The doctor said it’s really up to me as to when they would replace my natural born knee with the Lee Majors model. When I can’t stand it anymore, they’ll do it.

I’m not up for a game of knee-sies just yet, but maybe next week. For now, I delight in the prospect of climbing stairs, walking the dog, and—dare I say it—standing upright for minutes at a time.