Last night, while walking down the stairs to take my dogs out for one last wee, my left foot slipped, my knee hyperextended with a loud crunch, and I fell. Within seconds, I was writhing on the carpet in extreme pain, panicked that I’d broken my leg and would need to call an ambulance. Thankfully, it only took a few seconds to realize I had a joint problem (I tore my ACL in my early 20s and I know this kind of agony very well) and to panic for a wholly different reason.
I may be the subject of a voodoo curse.
My shoulders aren’t even healed. I have a nasty head cold. And now my knee is bunged up beyond all recognition. It’s about three times its usual size and looks like an elephant’s knee. Oh, and it really, really hurts!
So, I hit the ice pack immediately, popped four ibuprofen, and plopped my knee atop four large pillows. I cried a lot and tried to sleep. Then, I listened to some late-night conservative talk radio, got pissed, and started googling knee injuries. (A former WebMD addict, I’ve moved on to Mayo Clinic. It’s way classier!)
Mostly though, I feel stupid, sad, and frustrated, and like maybe there’s some cosmic lesson I’m not getting. Or, maybe I’m just trying to understand why someone is always peeing in my Post Toasties (that’s an old expression from my dad; I so rarely get to use it).
I’ll keep you guys posted on the knee. I hate going to the doctor for these things because they only ever tell me what I already know and they charge me an assload of cash to do it. But, maybe I can get a cool brace and some even cooler painkillers. I’ll need them when the full depression of this setback starts biting in a day or two.