"Count backwards from 100..."

So, I haven't written a blog entry in weeks, but this time I actually have a good excuse. On the 21st of May I had knee surgery, or, to put it technically, an "elmslie trillat" with a "lateral release." Basically this means they stick an IV in me, pump me full of drugs, wheel me into an OR, knock me out, slice open my leg, "laterally release" my kneecap along with a big chunk of my tibia, move stuff around in there, preform some carpentry, drive a screw through some bone, and sew me back up. Of course, I didn't do this just for the free drugs. I've had this really annoying problem with my knees, to put it mildly, that started when I was 14 or so. My kneecaps developed pointing at a slight angle instead of being dead-center in their sockets. It's a relatively common condition, but the stink of it is it meant that my knees were a lot easier to dislocate than they should have been. And let me tell you, if you've never dislocated anything, especially a knee, you have no idea the sheer amount of utter pain and suffering you've successfully avoided thus far. I'd rather break a bone. When you dislocate your knee, it pops out of its socket, and twists 90 degrees around the side of your leg, tearing all the tendons and ligaments with it. Obviously you drop like a sack of potatoes -- and the fun part is when you have to manually wrench your knee back into its socket, all while writhing around on the ground like a bass flopping about in the bottom of a canoe. You'll also burn through your vocabulary of profanity very quickly - I recommend a thesaurus.

I've had dislocations from carrying a bicycle up a set of stairs, to playing four-square in the street when I was a kid, to playing paint ball, to getting out of my car and having the door swing back and smack me in the knee, to messing around on my hands and knees trying to plug things into the back of my computer... it goes on and on. Essentially, I'd get a dislocation whenever I zigged when I should have zagged. Of course, this has been a huge pain in the ass for me because it precluded me doing anything remotely active that involved any degree of pivoting. I had to give up paint ball for starters. I used to love playing baseball, softball, and basketball, and those were off limits. Hell, I couldn't even go dancing safely - an activity that I really love. But these were all off limits. After all, if I could dislocate my knee getting out of my car, how could I expect to tear it up on the dance floor?

It had always been my right knee that had been the culprit, and in 2004 I had this same procedure for it. Now it's straight as can be, and I have a nice screw in my tibia that I can feel through my skin as a reminder (it sounds grosser than it is. It can be removed, but I just haven't been able to be bothered with it yet). The procedure is outpatient, and takes about two hours. You're virtually immobile for a week, though you can hobble around on crutches if you desperately need to get somewhere, such as, say, the bathroom - but that's about it. After 10 days or so you can think about putting a slight amount of weight on that leg. After three or four weeks, then begins six to eight weeks of physical therapy, which is more of an inconvenience than painful, but the whole thing from start to finish is an ordeal that you don't want to take lightly. Unfortunately for me, it was necessary.

Of course, almost immediately after I had my right knee fixed, my left knee, which had never dislocated before in my life, started to pop out. I had to wait three years or so before getting it fixed mostly because I wanted to do it in the winter, but being a college student made that impossible. Finally, I just said "fuck it" this year and decided to get it done over summer vacation. I just really miss being active, and don't want to have to walk on ice every time I do something that involves a slight degree of pivoting. I want to play sports again. I want to run around like an idiot. I want to dance again. This fall, baby... this fall.

My folks more or less demanded to take care of me during the first two weeks of my recovery, and bless them, it was both a huge comfort and a massive convenience. They more or less waited on me hand and foot, though I did my best to be a kind and benevolent Young Master, not abusing my powers as much as I could. Now I'm back at home, and I can "walk," or more accurately hobble, without crutches. I can take actual showers (try going two weeks with only sponge baths sometime), I don't have to wear a dressing on my wound anymore, and I can prepare my own food. A measure of independence is good.

Oh, yeah, and my knee looks like this now. You can see the lovely round, softball shaped curves and contours around my knee, along with some puffy, bloated flesh. We're hoping that goes away reasonably soon! Thankfully the scarring probably won't be that bad. And on a side note, having your knee shaved, for a guy at least, feels damn weird. There's so much about surgery and the process leading up to it that's just damn surreal.


And, just for a frame of reference, here's a side-by-side comparison of my healthy and non-mutilated right knee, verses my left knee. As you can see, there are some... subtle... differences. But, to be fair, the medication is fantastic - nothing like oxycodone mixed with vicodin to help you keep your sense of humor about something like this. Still, after 16 days of seeing practically nothing outside of my mother's home office where I was more or less confined to the guest bed, I was starting to go a little stir crazy. Don't get me wrong, it's a nice home-office and all, and I got to take regular sightseeing trips to the bathroom, and occasionally had to slide downstairs on my butt to go to the surgeon's office for an update, but after awhile it felt like being confined in a luxurious prison with excellent room service and home care. Though it was a fantastic bonding experience with my folks, and I remember saying how ironic it was that it took major surgery to bring us closer together, especially when we live a stone's throw away from each other. But then again, life is funny sometimes.

And now I'm home, in my studio apartment, and while it's a definite change of scenery, I still can't really go anywhere for at least another week or two. But I'm trying to make the most of it and be productive in ways I might not if I could be more active. I upgraded, and practically rebuilt my computer with the help of two of my friends, and it absolutely screams now (though I will need to upgrade my video card very soon), I've got some writing done for a project I've been kicking around in my head for awhile, and it's also been a good opportunity to reflect and spend some quiet time with myself.

Oh, and if you're going to have knee surgery, or any kind of surgery that'll result in you being immobilized for awhile, get a cat. One of my folks' cats, named "The Little Guy," was quite a comfort - except when the little asshole would jump on my left leg while I was sleeping. Anyway, here's to being able to walk, and run, and dance, and throw a ball around. Here's hoping there'll still be some summer left by the time my bones finish knitting.