Testing the Zen

In their song, Uncle John's Band, the Grateful Dead sang, "When life looks like easy street there is danger at your door."

Truer words have not been spoken.

In my great Zen-ness, Sunday morning started as usual. Some stretching and bending after I got out of bed, the trip downstairs to greet Dog and throw some coffee in the microwave for a warmup while I took Dog out for his morning constitutional.

We walked around the outside of the house. He inspected the trees, sticks, and bushes that he's inspected a million times before, no big deal. As we came around the side of the house, I spied my Sunday paper at the end of the driveway. Thinking I'll snatch that and not have to go out until later, we made our way down towards the paper. Halfway down the drive, I skidded, felt a pop, and saw stars, moons and clovers, all against a nice black background, and I sat down fast. When I looked, my knee was twice it's usual size. I knew this wasn't good. So of course, I tried to get up thinking I could get to the house and call 911. (Who the fuck carries a cell phone to walk the dog?)

As soon as I tried to stand up, the pain just overtook me, and I was seeing stars again, I knew it was a bad thing. 6:00 am on Sunday morning. About 27 degrees, and me in a pair of flannel PJ pants, a long john shirt, socks, hiking boots and a jacket. No good. I started to crawl towards my house. Halfway there, I just couldn't go any further, and started yelling. My road is pretty deserted at that hour, but anytime a car went by, I'd wave both arms and scream.

An hour later, someone finally stopped. They called 911, took the dog in the house. Dog by this time, had kindly taken a huge shit 2 feet from where I was laying. The nice man put one of my lawn chairs over the huge shit, so I wouldn't have that to add to my discomfort.

The ambulance finally came, and took me to the hospital. Where, after all the tests, and some excruciating x-rays, it came to pass that I had a hideously dislocated right knee. By this time, the knee was HUGE. So huge, they had to cut my pants off. I was soaking wet from laying in the snow, and freezing. So they piled blankets on me, and blew hot air under the blankets to get my body temp to where it should be.

After awhile, the doctor came and told me they would have to put me under and relocate my knee. (Relocate my knee is an amusing phrase, I have a vision of my knee hanging out in a lawn chair by a pool in some tropical climate. I'm weird, but y'all know that by now)

They put me under, and yanked my knee back to where it belonged. When I came to after the 'relocation' they told me that behind the knee lives a bunch of nerves and vessels and arteries, and that given the severity of my dislocation, vascular damage may have occured, and they were transferring me to the local medical center aka big time hospital for tests and observation.

Long story somewhat bearable, I laid in the emergency room of the medical center all afternoon on Sunday, grumbling and bitching because I wanted out now, while doctor after doctor came in, looked at my xray and said, "Wow, I haven't seen many of THOSE" Not what you want to hear from your doctors. They did a number of tests on me, and made the decision that I was indeed going to spend the night, and transferred me to the pre-ICU. Every hour a nurse would tickle my right foot and feel for a pulse. I had to push down against her hand, or pull my foot back. It was a long night.

Monday morning they told me an MRI would be done to check on what other damage might be done, and then I would be discharged.

The MRI came at 9:15 that evening. I had finally been transferred to a private room, with a TV and a phone, and a bathroom. (I had been using a bedpan up until this time, not something I'd care to ever do again)

Tuesday morning, the new doctor came to visit me. He's a sports medicine doc. He said my MRI showed two tears in a ligament, which may be fixed at a later date. He told me I'd be fitted for a Bledsoe Brace and discharged. The brace salesman came and fixed me up about an hour later, and then the physical therapist came and taught me proper crutch techniques. By noon I was on my way home.

So here I am. Home sweet home. Bedroom upstairs. Bathroom upstairs. Dumb dog to be walked.
I have to take sponge baths for awhile, but it has to be easier here than at the hospital. Dog is on a long lead, and I can let him go off the front porch to do his thing. No meandering walks around the outside of the house for awhile. I've got my trusty laptop, the phone, and a couple DVDs. Friends have dropped by to lend their support, and to bring me food. I still haven't regained much of an appetite, but I'm sure it'll come roaring back one of these days. It always does.

More later.
Carry on!