Friday nights
NOTE: I decided to make two entries tonight, for ease and speed of reading. This one is about my knee. The other one is about journalism and the newspaper. Read both. Read either. Read neither. Enjoy!
So, Friday nights. I like Friday nights. What I do on Friday nights, right, is I leave the house around 8 and head to a random fast food place and buy something exceptionally deep fried and unhealthy, then cruise down to the newspaper office and sit around reading emails, funny news stories, and watching a Dallas Stars game on TV.
It is a time of reflection for me - I can think about my week, my day, my life, my future.
A curious thing happened this morning. Namely, I was told that I will be needing surgery on my knee. I'm honestly not sure why, but it wasn't a huge surprise for me. I think being informed of the situation by a real orthopedic expert who was my personal doc made it a lot better. I got some exercises to prepare my leg, to strengthen the muscles and whatnot, a proper brace so I never have to touch a goddamn ACE bandage again (see EDIT), and an appointment for a followup on Nov. 16. Remarkably enough, I'm pretty ok with it.
Oh, and regarding the exercises: sonofaBITCH, I have some real respect for anyone who has undergone therapy. I mean, I'm not even hurt - seriously, I'll be 100% within about 8 weeks of the surgery - and the physical therapy nearly brought me to tears. It was just flexing my leg, you know, but deliberately working out a hurt limb is just so damn frightening. I mean, lifting weights doesn't hurt, it burns. Running doesn't hurt, it stings. But flexing my left quad? That shit HURTS. And the muscles don't even respond, and that just adds an incredibly potent layer of fear and frustration on top of the hurt. And again, this is nothing compared to people who have been in a body cast for 3 months or something crazy.
I think I might start donating time/money to a physical rehab center. Just because I'm scared enough to really want to help people who are actually suffering, really; because it opened my eyes to a realm of human pain that I had overlooked.
Oh, in case you're morbid or curious or whatever, I found a wiki article on the kind of surgery I will be having, an Anthroscopy. There is a link for pictures, but I don't think I can handle that, so I ignored it. And just because I got all sober and reflective, don't think I'm not slightly excited about the fact that I'm TOTALLY getting a cane for after surgery.
AND, my doctor, Dr. Ward, has an associate - who works with knees, ankles and calves - named Dr. HOUSE. I swear. It's up there on the glass door: HOUSE, M.D. So I know I'll be ok.
EDIT: I was reading up on the anthrscopy, and I came across this: "The swelling can be reduced by applying ice for about 15 to 20 minutes, 3 to 5 times per day, elevating the joint whenever possible, and wearing an ace wrap." FUCK!
So, Friday nights. I like Friday nights. What I do on Friday nights, right, is I leave the house around 8 and head to a random fast food place and buy something exceptionally deep fried and unhealthy, then cruise down to the newspaper office and sit around reading emails, funny news stories, and watching a Dallas Stars game on TV.
It is a time of reflection for me - I can think about my week, my day, my life, my future.
A curious thing happened this morning. Namely, I was told that I will be needing surgery on my knee. I'm honestly not sure why, but it wasn't a huge surprise for me. I think being informed of the situation by a real orthopedic expert who was my personal doc made it a lot better. I got some exercises to prepare my leg, to strengthen the muscles and whatnot, a proper brace so I never have to touch a goddamn ACE bandage again (see EDIT), and an appointment for a followup on Nov. 16. Remarkably enough, I'm pretty ok with it.
Oh, and regarding the exercises: sonofaBITCH, I have some real respect for anyone who has undergone therapy. I mean, I'm not even hurt - seriously, I'll be 100% within about 8 weeks of the surgery - and the physical therapy nearly brought me to tears. It was just flexing my leg, you know, but deliberately working out a hurt limb is just so damn frightening. I mean, lifting weights doesn't hurt, it burns. Running doesn't hurt, it stings. But flexing my left quad? That shit HURTS. And the muscles don't even respond, and that just adds an incredibly potent layer of fear and frustration on top of the hurt. And again, this is nothing compared to people who have been in a body cast for 3 months or something crazy.
I think I might start donating time/money to a physical rehab center. Just because I'm scared enough to really want to help people who are actually suffering, really; because it opened my eyes to a realm of human pain that I had overlooked.
Oh, in case you're morbid or curious or whatever, I found a wiki article on the kind of surgery I will be having, an Anthroscopy. There is a link for pictures, but I don't think I can handle that, so I ignored it. And just because I got all sober and reflective, don't think I'm not slightly excited about the fact that I'm TOTALLY getting a cane for after surgery.
AND, my doctor, Dr. Ward, has an associate - who works with knees, ankles and calves - named Dr. HOUSE. I swear. It's up there on the glass door: HOUSE, M.D. So I know I'll be ok.
EDIT: I was reading up on the anthrscopy, and I came across this: "The swelling can be reduced by applying ice for about 15 to 20 minutes, 3 to 5 times per day, elevating the joint whenever possible, and wearing an ace wrap." FUCK!