Knee Envy

It is 7:50 a.m. I wait for Hubby-dear in the foyer of a medical professional building. I sit in a wheel chair that magically appeared when we drove up.

I watch the people approach the automatic doors and walk in. So cavalier. Talking on the cell phone. Trusting their legs and feet.  Looking one way and walking in another direction. Texting. Eating their breakfast taquitos. Loaded down with their Vera Bradley lunch bags and other bags that I don't recognize.  Walking unaware. Skinny jeans with strappy summer sandals. Slip-on clogs. Neon color running shoes. Sensible shoes out of my reach.

I see the faces. They think about their agenda for the day. They think about the problems they left at home. They think about the bad news they heard on CNN.

None think about their knee.

None are awestruck with the engineering of three leg bones connecting behind a small saucer-shaped bone called the patella. None marvel at the design of movement and balance. None wonder over the strength of the joints to sustain the 175 pounds of human flesh. The bending of the leg is a wonder.

I have knee envy.

The Morning Routine

At the sink in the bathroom, I am so messy and clumsy because I hold my weight on one leg and lean on the wall. Ignoring pain, I wash up. That means the floor gets wet. I drop a towel or drop a crutch. The floor is no-man's land. Once something falls, it is gone until another mobile bi-ped can come to the rescue.

With the rubber of my crutches stuck into my armpits, I concentrate on the location of the things I need.  Everything must be within reach. How do I carry a bottle of shampoo with both my hands holding crutches?

I left everything I needed at the bathroom sink: toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, facial soap. But someone moved the mouthwash back to the linen closet. And the toilet paper is out. Oh well, I try to do what I can do and go on.  If I take too long at the sink washing up, my "good" leg starts talking to me.

Fatigue is my saboteur. Sometimes I have to go back to bed to rest between the bathroom and the kitchen. At the kitchen I wash my hair over the sink, careful not to bump my left leg. Right leg is screaming "Why do I have to do all the heavy lifting?" My younger family members assure me I will build quads, gluts and triceps.

All I want to grow is a left patella.

Hubby-dear must hug my middle while I stand on one leg and lift both my arms to towel dry my hair. (I think this part is romantic. I look forward to washing my hair tomorrow morning.)

Towels. If you don't spread them out they will sour. I am using up a lot of towels  in my personal hygiene. I can't leave them on the floor and I can't carry them. I'm out of breath from the exertion of standing like the Karate Kid. I'll think about the towels later.

My wash up time in the morning is quick and in stages. I've become more efficient.  After washing my hair, I swing myself on my crutches over to the table to where my makeup bag awaits. Hubby-dear makes me coffee.

A New Dance

Over the last fourteen days I took a fall. Rode in an ambulance twice. Spent two different days in two different ER's and one day in an out-patient OR. Lots of pain and lots of pain meds. My life took a turn. Here's my story.

Pain is a strange experience. Medical people ask you "On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the worst pain you've ever felt, what level of pain would you say you are at right now?"

I fell on my knee onto a concrete surface. My entire weight fell onto my left patella. After rescuing the iPad from the water, I grabbed my knee and could feel the pieces. When the EMT guy asked me about my pain level I thought about different pains in life and determined that this was a mere 6. My face said otherwise. They have a little 1-10 chart with a smiley face progressing to a grimacing face.  My face said 10.

I was out-of-state when I fell. Far from home, I received wonderful care. The EMT guys, the ER staff and the radiologist were all kind and took good care of me. I am thankful.

We decided to drive on home. I was drugged up and my knee was stabilized in a brace. Nauseous and loopy and exhausted my husband and I began to learn the first steps to a new dance. This dance routine is called Get-in-the-car. Being in pain with one none-working leg takes getting-in-the-car  to a whole new level.

Hubby-dear and I have learned many things on this new dance routine. One thing we learned is that when the Nurse Practitioner at the ER in Tennessee writes a prescription for pain medication, the Walgreen's in Arkansas cannot honor it. We  crossed back over the Mississippi and found a Walgreen's in Tennessee.

Heroic hubby-dear drove the many miles back to our Texas home. At 2:30 a.m., we practiced more steps to our dance routine called Get-out-of-the car. Hugging and cheering me on, hubby-dear managed to get wobbly me and my crutches into bed.