So if you’ve been following along this semester (hello to my six faithful readers!), then you know that it hasn’t exactly been the best. Hell, this year in general has been a bit of a slap in the face. Shitty bosses, worse colleagues, a joke of a program, a school full of ass hats, and pretty much every problem you could think of to make my graduate school experience shitty. Well, you can add another item to the list. I’m having surgery in a week.
That’s right, friends, I have ripped my cartilage up. What the septuagenarian male nurse thought was Lyme Disease two months ago was my articular cartilage yelling at me. See, I have somehow ripped a piece of it off, which is now floating around my knee cap. The swelling is intense, with my knee looking almost perfectly round at all times, and sometimes even ballooning out. The shittiest part, though, is the unexpected pain. Since the piece is still in there, sometimes it can catch on certain parts of the joint and it feels like there is literally a shred of plastic digging into my joint from under the skin. Other times when I’m walking, particularly involving stairs, the bones will connect in just the right spot and grate against each other. Turns out that articular cartilage serves a purpose after all. Like not letting the tibia and the femur touch.
So a week from Monday I go under the knife, so to speak. My med student friend is dropping me off at six in the morning for my 7.30 appointment, which is when they wanted me there. Then they drug me to hell, cut open my knee, hopefully fix it, and release me to my [fun] bosses, who will inevitably point and laugh at me under the influence of anesthesia. I will be on crutches for six weeks and won’t fully recover for another four months or so. Not to mention the fact that the MRI alone cost $2700. That’s right, the test I needed to prove that surgery was necessary was almost three grand; let’s hope that student insurance kicks in at some point.
Two other things before I sign off…Firstly, no, we don’t know what caused it. Most likely it’s a mixture of bad genes, the wear and tear from two decades of running, and a more acute injury (drunken dancing, anyone?). And secondly, you are so, so lucky I didn’t use other pictures I found in this post. Shit, I’m still wincing just thinking about them.