So the knee was getting better, and I hiked at Zion's over spring break; everything looked rosy. Then the next week I twisted it again, and it was worse than before. I went back to the orthopedist, and he recommended arthroscopic surgery to fix what he was certain was a tear in the meniscus cartilage that cushions the joint. He figured I'd be on crutches for 1-2 days, with average recovery at 4-6 weeks.
Tuesday May 6 was the big day. Monday evening at FHE we were discussing what would happen, and I expressed that I was a little nervous about being put to sleep for the surgery. Megan (who had surgery for a broken arm at age 5) smiled wisely and patted my arm and said "Don't worry mommy, it's not scary at all! You just get really sleepy and warm and then you wake up!" Wait a minute. Who is the child here?
The paperwork instructed me that I would need a babysitter for 24 hours after surgery. My wonderful father drove down Tuesday morning to provide domestic support (interpretation: do everything for me) for a couple of days until I was back on my feet. We arrived at the surgical center at 12:35pm and the fun began.
I traded my snap-up warmup pants and tee shirt for a stylish, faded hospital gown, a surgical cap, and disposable brown footies. Then a urine sample to ensure I wasn't pregnant, and it was time for bloodwork. After two painful strikes, the pre-op nurse finally got my IV in. Once I was on the operating table and belted on (click it, or ticket!), the anesthesiologist warned me that I would get dizzy really quick once he put the meds in my IV. He was right. Wheeeeee! The last thing I remember was saying, "Gee, I've never been high before...."
Then some annoying woman was shouting at me to wake up. And someone had stolen my knee and replaced it with a thousand blazing suns. I whined until she gave me both a pill and put medication in my veins. And then I asked my father what time it was at least four times in 2 minutes. I babbled on about who knows what for who knows how long -- I don't remember anything I said. I hope I didn't divulge any information critical to national security.
So we sat there and I dozed in between inane bursts of gutteral noises, and then the doctor was standing at the foot of my bed. He said something ridiculous about removing a quarter sized piece of cartilage and then joked that I had to be on crutches for four weeks. I laughed and shook his hand and then he left. Wait.
Then a nurse who moonlights as an auctioneer came and rattled off the post-op instructions. Whatever, lady. She also said something about no weight bearing on the left leg for a month. I told her I'd already heard that joke. Then another nurse came in and took out my IV and helped me get back into my cool warmup pants and put my socks and shoes on my feet, which is harder than it sounds, and then wheeled me out to the van.
My daddy bought me an oreo raspberry shake at Arctic Circle and I ate it while he picked up my Lortab pills. And then we went home and I took up residence in the same place I am writing this post from: the recliner on the living room couch. And I think it's time for another pill. Hello, lover.