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Ouch
In the nearly two years now since I hurt my leg originally, there have been a lot of doctor visits and a lot of speculation, and a lot of treatment of symptoms, with a certain degree of inability to find causes for the problem.
Almost a month ago exactly now, I hurt my knee again. Knowing that there would be more trouble if I didn’t go to the doctor than if I did, I went in and had the knee looked at. Anyone who’s been here often since then remembers the janky diagram I made using slashes and the ‘absolute value bar’ symbol to illustrate what my knees were doing. The painkiller I got in response to that injury, to be taken until I got to the referral appointment, caused agonizing side effects that required me to stop taking it and turn to alternative remedies.
Today was my referral appointment. I woke up at around five this morning with a soreness in my leg and a crunchy pain in my jaw. The knee would eventually shut up, but the jaw pain—well, that’s my TMJ disorder acting up on me.
I thought it was a migraine at first, but 1) there was no nausea, 2) there was no aura, 3) it’s on the wrong side of my head, and most importantly 4) I can’t move one side of my jaw. I took two Alka-Seltzers for that and will cross my fingers.
Nine AM arrived and so did my shuttle. I hopped in and was transported two towns and three zip codes over to an orthopedic clinic that I can tell you wasn’t there two years ago—ah, local progress. Problem was, there was some confusing stuff going on and so there was a delay. I was glad I’d brought my Nook Tablet. When reading began to render me drowsy I forced myself to try Sudoku puzzles. I cleared one and only used 30 hints!
I didn’t enjoy getting weighed. I’ve crossed the 150 lb mark. 150.3, to be exact. I don’t look like it, but frankly that’s too high for my height. I need to lose a dozen pounds—or convert it into much, much muscle. My BMI’s 28.4. Normal range for my height is between 19 and 25. Most of you have seen my convention pictures—remember that tiny woman in the pink kimono and hauling a Turtwig? Did she look borderline obese? I didn’t think so. That’s me. I think it might be time for a professional fitness assessment. Numbers alone are wonky now. Even so. I’ve never weighed this much and it makes me feel kinda paranoid. Anyway back on topic:
By about noon, I was getting x-rays done. The place was cold. The x-rays didn’t take as long as I thought they would—especially considering that the imaging was digitized, unlike in the last place I went. But then I had to wait in another room. After overhearing an obvious mistake (No, I wasn’t in the middle of receiving a steroid shot and therefore just about on my way out the door, thanks, now could I get seen by the doctor please?) the doctor finally saw me.
The next few minutes were: small talk, small talk, small talk, flex leg, get the “Uhh, that ain’t right” look. Questions, about the initial injury and then the December reinjury. I explain exactly what I felt/heard during that injury as we look at my x-rays. I’m asking questions the whole time, noting that the little bit of space that should indicate the presence of cushioning fluid and cartilage is not there—I’ve got bone-on-bone-on-bone. I’m no doctor and even I can see that ain’t right. I explain that both times now, the kneecap’s dislodged itself without outside contact
“Straighten that leg out for me?”
I do so. Poke, poke prod—
—slide—
“Yeowch!”
It didn’t take much to knock that knee loose. Luckily, the doctor’s hand was right there, so it didn’t finish that slide out of joint. We prod it back into joint and resume testing its range, as well as the rest of the leg’s range, noting that bizarre thing it does where it doesn’t hinge forward properly. And that one thing where it hinges side to side, which knees aren’t supposed to be able to do.
—stick—
We’ve gone from entirely too much movement to the kneecap going “Like hell am I moving that way.”
“Won’t let me move it that way, huh?”
“It’s nothing I’m doing, sir—I can feel it knocking into something and not moving.”
“Okay, I think I’ve just about found the problem. I need some more information, though. Tell me everything that this leg does that seems, as you put it, ‘stupid.’”
I happily oblige. There’s more poking, more prodding, another slide, another stick, and then a poke at a zone on the leg that I’m fairly certain I’m supposed to be able to feel but am only aware of because I’m looking at it. I say as much as he does a couple more things to the leg.
“Yeah, I think we found it. Technically.”
Um, that sounds a little wonky. “Technically?” I parrot.
“Yeah. That ligament’s gone.”
I know one of the younger nurses heard me and that’s why the giggle when I said “Um—whut?”
“There’s nothing there.”
Suddenly I remember one part of the injury: a loud TICK! noise and a snapping sensation that happened while my bosses stood me back up when the knee went out, followed by a stabbing sensation in the leg that lasted two weeks. I recount that detail.
“Yeah, that’s probably when it went. As it goes, right now, there is nothing there. Your patella’s tracking wrong because that ligament—it’s basically the support cable for the knee, and without it there, your leg’s turned itself that way to hold the knee into the groove the bones make. And now the tendon in that leg is overcompensating for the absence of that ligament—and that is why that nerve in your leg is on fire. Now, normally, we’d hit this with physical therapy and it’ll rebuild and repair, but this thing keeps going out without outside trauma—and that’s not supposed to happen. We’ll have to do something about it.”
“Huh!” So now we have our answer. “What do we do about it?”
“Well, there’s about five solutions to this one.”
“Yay!”
“All of them involve surgery.”
“Oof.” Just because I’m curious, I ask for details.
“Well, we’ll need an MRI to see which approach we go in with, but we’ll either take a cadaver ligament or pilfer some from elsewhere in your body to rebuild that support structure—but we can fix it. We can rebuild that knee and make your leg stable again.”
At this point, I’m doing two things: 1) internally lol-ing at the fact that the doctor actually did use the term ‘pilfer,’ and 2) thinking “Well, now what?”
As I’m about to ask “Now what?” I’m given two scrips: one for an MRI arrangement and another for a specially-fitted brace designed to ape the function of the missing ligament in my knee. So I’ll be going to get a new knee brace soon, one that will fix the actual problem.
And after the MRI I’ll probably be fitted for CADAVER LIGAMENTS.
I should be terrified of all this crap—bone damage! Nerve damage! NO LIGAMENTS IN THAT LEG! SURGERY!!!—but you know what? I’m just glad that, after all this time, I have proof that this is NOT all in my head.
Now if the swelling in my face will go down, I’ll feel awesome.
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I have since started referring to Japanese Kuja as HOLSTEIN COW!!! or Saori Ojousama!!! whenever I see him (which is constantly)
Kuja doing the sexy no jutsu is pretty much it's own kink meme fill. You can just imagine him looking at himself and expecting all the men to fall at his feet within a few seconds. (All this time Zidane's been saying he doesn't have a fine ass sister and then lo and behold!) Really I think Kuja would expect the men to fall at his feet already, the sexy no jutsu would just add breasts to the equation.
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I got half a mind to try that one. I mean, come on--it almost writes itself. Or it would if my brain wasn't hanging up at the mental image of fem!Kuja striking a pinup-babe pose in the mirror, looking for the absolute best way to showcase the new assets.
"If there were two of me, then I'd do me."
no subject
Knowing Kuja he'd be looking for a bikini that perfectly matched his codpiece. In that it was still as garish as possible but it somehow worked as an ensemble.
And this is why thanks to the fact that you can battle yourself I ship Kuja/Kuja. Ultimate narcissism. (After all Kuja's the only person he's going to consider worthy of himself, right?)