I’m nearly 3 weeks out from knee surgery. About at the point where my limp should start to be less noticeable. Instead, I’m back on crutches because I can’t put any weight on my knee, which is swollen so that there is no discernible kneecap whatsoever. My knee has actually eaten the kneecap. I’ve been running a fever for the last few days, can’t sleep, and actually got stuck in the kitchen in the middle of the night last night looking for the elusive Ibuprofin. I was transfixed by pain, tears running down my face, wishing the Oreos were within reaching distance.
Instead of on the shelf at the grocery store.
A pitiful state of affairs.
Oh, and this is fun. Evidently I have issues with Tylenol with Codeine, as just taking ONE will make me vomit the 3 Cheerios I was able to down. And will also make me loathe coffee. My one and only respite in this dark and brooding storm.
I dialed my doctor’s answering service this afternoon, fully prepared to make an appointment for the amputation.
The answering service, sensing my angst (perhaps the heaving sobs were the giveaway), put the doctor right on the phone. I described my symptoms. He said that he needed to see me first thing on Monday morning because, and I quote, “Not to ruin your Sunday, but it sounds like we’re going to have to drain your knee.”
Drain my knee.
That involves a needle the size used to kill an elephant, doesn’t it?
Why yes, yes it does.
I don’t suppose I can be rendered unconscious?
Negative on that.
The only thing that has me holding out hope, is that I won’t feel like gnawing off my own leg afterward. Allegedly.
Fiddledaddy will be monitoring the offspring in the waiting room while I undergo this tragic draining. He is trying to talk me into filming it, or at the very least, taking pictures with my iPhone. You know, for my blog. I, however, think that it will be hard to hold the camera still while I’M SCREAMING FOR JESUS TO TAKE ME HOME. NOW!
Emme has graciously volunteered to accompany me through the procedure and hold my hand. If you’ll recall, Emme is the same child that paled and slid down the wall as I attempted to explain menstruation to her.
I think it would be best if I brave this alone.
I’ll keep y’all posted. Pictures may or may not follow the inevitable story to follow.
If you hear on the news that there is a seismic disturbance emanating from Alligator Alley, Florida don’t be alarmed, it’s just me. Having my knee drained. Knee and drain. Two words that should never ever enter in to the same sentence.