Ode to a Knee

I’ve been dealing with knee issues for over thirty years. The problem first surfaced while playing softball when I was in my late twenties. I developed a sharp pain in my right knee after a game. It went away but resurfaced again the next time I played. Being a bit hard-headed, my response was to ice it down and just take it easy. That seemed to make things manageable and I made it through the next few months, but eventually it caught up with me once again and started to affect me at work. Walking on concrete and standing around for twelve hours at a time became a painful chore. The once sporadic and nagging pain had become constant. Now, I’ve never claimed to be the tri-athlete type, but my knee by this time was affecting even my limited and almost sedentary lifestyle. I knew it was time to see the Doc.

After a few visits and some testing, I was told that the cartilage was torn. Dr. Conn prescribed some anti-inflammatory meds. They did seem to help but unfortunately were taken off the market due to some issues. It seems some of the possible side effects were heart attacks, suicide and anal leakage. I’m still not sure which of those is worse. He then tried a series of shots designed to help regenerate the cartilage. I seem to remember something about rooster cones being mentioned. Either that or he was just ordering KFC for lunch. Anyway, the results he had hoped for never came to pass. On the plus side, I was up every morning at the crack of dawn. I saw more sunrises in those few weeks than most people do in an entire lifetime, all from my perch on the fence.

Dr. Conn had given it his best, but after exhausting all other options, surgery was recommended to remove the cartilage. I was told that the procedure would eliminate the pain but with one caveat, I would eventually need total knee replacement. I had little choice so, the surgery was scheduled. It went well and everything was great but just two short years later, the same issue cropped up again on my other knee. I decided to cut straight to the chase and had surgery on it as well. The second surgery was done by Dr. Morrison because my insurance had changed. I guess Dr. Conn hadn’t paid his club dues. Actually, I believe those pesky providers think allowing a patient to develop a long term relationship with their doctor is a bad thing. The last thing they want is for you to get healthy and drive premiums down.

Just as both doctors had told me, I was pain free for several years. I was able to play golf and practice baseball with my young son. Even the long twelve hour shifts at work weren’t a problem for my knees. But, as they say, nothing lasts forever. With no cartilage as a buffer between the two leg bones, the gap between them gradually closed up and good old arthritis set up shop. The pain returned, only this time it was my entire knee that ached. I dealt with the pain as best I could but eventually, it became increasingly difficult to walk or even stand for any length of time. It was time to pay a visit to Dr. Morrison again. Unfortunately, he had moved to Minnesota. Damn, I couldn’t catch a break! I guess the colder weather provided more stiff joints so he thought he could increase his patient base up north.

After shopping around, I came up with Dr. Humphries, a soft spoken but friendly young chap who didn’t treat me like another cow coming through the chute. He took a few x-rays and after some poking, prodding and twisting he recommended I begin taking steroid shots into both knees. It wasn’t like I had a plethora of options so I agreed. I can remember sitting there in that chair when he gave me that first shot. The needle appeared to be only about an inch long. Evidently, I blinked and Dr. Humphries swapped it out with one that was at least twenty-four inches in length and the diameter of a table leg. Well, that’s what it felt like anyway. Actually I think I owe him a Sports Illustrated magazine. It seems I tore the one I was holding in half when he gave me that first shot. Don’t worry guys, it wasn’t the swimsuit issue.

The good news is that the shots worked. I gained some mobility in both knees and was feeling a great deal less pain. Even better news was that the time between shots was three months. Believe me that was a waiting period I didn’t mind one bit! The process of shots lasted for a few years before the benefits started slowly wearing off. The three whole months of having pain free knees between shots eventually became two months. It wasn’t long before I was hardly getting a month of relief from the pain. I’d run out of options so I told Dr. Humphries, “It’s time.”

My surgery on my right knee, the worst, was scheduled for April 7th and it went great. Dr. Humphries had done an excellent job of installing what looked like a giant zipper on my right knee. Still groggy from the surgery, I kept telling my wife to look at it while I tried to take pictures with my phone. After several unsuccessful attempts by me, she finally grabbed my phone and snapped a good one. Thankfully, she deleted all the ones I’d taken of my crotch before I could post them on facebook. That’s not something a grandfather wants to explain to his grandkids.

Dr. Humphries said I would be in much better shape after my rehab was complete. Total knee replacement has become a fairly routine procedure with all the advancements in the medical field. It’s simply amazing what they can do these days. What isn’t routine is the physical therapy. Believe me; it’s in a class all by itself. Enter Lizzie Borden!

So, there I was all comfortable the morning after my surgery. I had pain killers flowing through my IV and I had managed to crawl out of the world’s most uncomfortable bed into a recliner. I was having breakfast when the nurse stuck her head in the door and said, “Your therapist will come get you at 10:00 AM for your therapy. You’ll be going twice a day so she’ll be back again at 3:00 PM.” I said, “No problem, I’ll be ready.” Now, I’m certainly no advocate of taking drugs but, pain killers are really, really, really great! I gave her a wink and a little ‘thumbs-up’ sign and smiled. Had I known what was in store for me at the time, it would not have been my thumb that I held up. I’m pretty sure I would’ve chosen a different finger.

Lizzie came to my room at 10:00 AM just as promised. Her names not really Lizzie, but that’s what I call her. If you don’t know why, google Lizzie Borden and you’ll understand. She told me it was time and I sat quietly waiting for them to bring my wheel chair. Reality began to set in when I noticed, even in my drug induced haze, that the wheel chair they brought me had tennis balls on its back legs. My brain was trying to tell me that wheel chairs have actual wheels. I wasn’t seeing any wheels. That’s when the fog cleared and I looked up into Lizzie’s smiling face and said, “Oh crap!” Actually I used a different word but, let’s keep this family friendly.

The physical therapy room was down the hall and Lizzie made me walk the entire way using my trusty new tennis ball equipped walker. If memory serves me correctly, it was 26.4 miles! Drill Sergeant Lizzie was in my face the whole way. “Stand up straight! Don’t shuffle your feet! Take bigger steps! Can you hear me? I said stand up straight! Put some weight on that knee, maggot!” Okay, maybe that last part was the pain talking. Things weren’t exactly clear during that long trek down the hallway. Well, that’s not totally accurate. One thing was perfectly clear in my mind. Lizzie had to die!

Luck was with me and I finally made it. My success was short lived with the realization that my therapy hadn’t even started yet. Lizzie, the wicked witch of the east, was definitely in charge but she did have three of her flying monkeys present to help. They iced my knee down first which I think is their way of lulling you into a false sense of security before the real torture begins. Lizzie took a look at my knee and commented that I had a good bit of swelling. I looked down at my knee and then glared at her before responding. “Well I did have knee replacement surgery less than 24 hours ago and you just made me walk 26.4 freaking miles! You say there’s some swelling? Nice observation Dr. House! Are you heading up the entire diagnostics team or just the torture section?” Evidently my drugs were wearing off and I was back to my usual pleasant self. Lizzie wasn’t impressed in the least.

Over the next thirty minutes, I did a series of squats, heel raises, lunges, leg lifts, stretches and some stupid deal with a skateboard. Yes, I’d just had knee replacement and Lizzie wanted me on a freaking skateboard! Recently, I’d watched a documentary on Navy Seal training. The trainees have a bell they can go and ring if things get too rough and they decide they’ve had enough. Around 80% end up ringing that bell and drop out. My mind kept picturing me ringing that bell vigorously. Somewhere between the lunges and leg lifts, my mind pictured me yanking the bell off its hook and beating Lizzie over the head with it, repeatedly. That was the only time I smiled during therapy.

Continuing her Drill Sergeant role, Lizzie kept reminding me to count out loud to keep up with my reps. Unfortunately the sounds coming from my mouth weren’t anything even close to numerical. I probably sounded more like John McEnroe after the umpire made a bad line call in his tennis match. It finally dawned on me that what I was saying might be a little offensive to her so I apologized for my language. I swear the woman grinned at me like she was enjoying every second. I hate her!

Finally, Lizzie said the words I’d been longing to hear. “We’re done!” I took a deep breath and relaxed in my chair while thanking God for getting me through my first therapy session. Oh, did I mention that God has a sense of humor? Well He does because my session wasn’t completely finished. Lizzie asked me to move to a different chair that was directly across from where I was sitting. I guess the one I was in had been deemed unacceptable for some reason. Probably because I was already in it and it was comfortable. She then brought over a little contraption that I like to think of as the therapist’s version of “waterboarding”. It was a short length of rope with a little collar on one end, a small pulley attached to the middle and a wooden handle on the other end. Her flying monkeys had already lined up in front of me. I think they can smell fear because they all grinned as Lizzie said, “We’re going to test your range of movement.” I can guarantee you that “we” did not agree to that in any form or fashion. I’m pretty sure she just wanted to see if she could make me wet myself and I was absolutely sure that she could do it! Oh how I hate her!

The little collar was slipped over my foot and placed around my ankle. The rope then passed under the chair and the small pulley was attached to a back leg. The other end was then threaded up between my legs and the wooden handle was given to me. Lizzie smiled and then directed me to pull the rope as far as I could. The flying monkeys stepped closer, evidently sensing my fear level increase. Now, I’m no rocket scientist, but I quickly realized that pulling on that rope was going to make that little collar pull my foot back. That simple movement would bend my brand new knee with the staples in front that looked like a giant zipper. I thought to myself, “This is going to be extremely painful!” Needless to say, I was right and everyone within a range of fifty miles knew it. I’m pretty sure I also confessed to killing Robert Kennedy, John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Hoffa as well as kidnapping the Lindbergh baby and shooting down Amelia Earhart. Lizzie just gave me her stupid grin while I discovered a level of hatred I never knew existed. Where’s a heavy brass bell when you need one!

Needless to say, I did survive my first therapy session. My stay was only a couple of days, but they were the longest of my life. On the third day, Dr. Humphries came in to check on me after my therapy session. He inspected my knee and asked if I felt good enough to go home. I could’ve been bleeding from my eyes, ears and nose, but my response would have been the same. My emotions got the best of me as I pictured the doc as King Arthur kneeling in front of me in his shining armor. Through teary eyes, I said, “Yes!” I knew if I stayed any longer I’d be planning the death of a particular therapist. A couple of promising scenarios were already floating around in my head. The old board game, Clue, kept running through my mind. Colonel Patient kills Ms. Lizzie in the hallway with the brass bell.

I was absolutely giddy back in my room as my wife packed up my belongings. I’d never been in such a hurry to leave a place in all my life. Within an hour, my discharge paperwork was completed. I almost broke down in tears when my ride to the front door arrived. It was a wheelchair and it actually had real wheels, big shiny round wheels! There wasn’t a tennis ball on it. My state of mind during the ride home can only be described as euphoric. It was so nice to be leaving Lizzie far behind and returning to the more comfortable and safe surroundings of my own home.

The weekend passed and I was in virtual heaven! My wife was waiting on me hand and foot. Friends and family called to check on me. My little bottle of pain pills was sitting on the table next to my recliner. The label said I still had two more refills. Life was oh so sweet and I was a very happy camper. Monday finally rolled around and the doorbell rang. It was my in-home therapist. She was a pleasant and very attractive young woman of about thirty with green eyes and a perpetual smile that lit up the room. Her voice was soft and comforting and any fears I had were immediately placated. I thought to myself that things were really looking up. I had a wife tending to my every need, a gorgeous new therapist, and good drugs. What more could a man ask for? Ten minutes later my therapy session began and a horrible realization came over me. Lizzie had a younger sister. Oh how I hate her! “Oh Lord, please, not the rope!”