Tag Archives: knee surgery

I Have a Stitch In My Knee

See that behind the bandaid?  I know my knees are in serious need of some moisturizer.

See that behind the bandaid? And I know, my knees are in serious need of some moisturizer.

I am in awe of anyone in the healthcare profession.  Particularly those who can look at, touch and fix broken, bleeding and cut open body parts.

Yesterday I went to have the stitches in my knee removed.  I was full of complete anxiety all day long.  All day long.  I kid you not.  Every time I thought of it, my heart rate would speed up, I’d break out in a little mini sweat and my extremities would curl up within themselves.

When I got there, I told the so-young-he-could-be-my-son physician’s assistant who was to be doing the removing that I am a big fat baby and that I was utterly disgusted by the fact that there is thread in my leg holding together pieces of skin.  Utterly, utterly disgusted beyond words.  I’m not sure if he thought I was funny or just another nut job.  But I’m guessing the latter.  Because his giggle was more of the “I hope I get the hell out of here alive” anxious type.

So, I laid down on the bed/gurney/whatever it’s called thingy and put a magazine over my face.  I yucked, gagged and basically made an ass out of myself.  I asked him what was taking so long to which he replied, “I’m done.”

What do you mean you’re done?  So, it took him 3 seconds each “hole” to remove my stitches. I guess I should say “stitch” because that is what each incision had.  A stitch.  All that anxiety over that?  Come on.  Those people really ought to make it look better.  I mean, how dumb will I sound repeating this story to my friends and family (like right now) without any drama.  Embarrassing.

So, now I have another issue.  I’m freaking out because I have to deal with this weird pulling sensation.  Where my stitches were.  I’m so incredibly grossed out by this feeling.  I don’t know what I’m going to do.  And there is something on my bandaid.  I had DH look at it last night to make sure there is no blood.  He says there isn’t blood.  He’s no doctor.  But I think I need one.  Pronto.  Or I may bleed to death.  Don’t you think?

Knee Deep

knee surgery

Before, During and After

The day was perfect for surgery.  Rainy, windy, disgusting.  Perfect.  Perfect for me to lie around sleeping off my anesthesia.  Which, I have to say was awesome!  The anesthesia, I mean.  Honestly, I’m so glad I didn’t cave to peer pressure when I was a teen.   Because there would have been a problem.  A serious problem.

I woke up at 5:30.  Because I had to pee.  But I didn’t get up to pee because I was too lazy.  So I laid there thinking that in less than 3 hours a surgeon would be cutting little holes in my knee.  A knee that I’ve always liked.  A knee that on our second date, DH commented on how cute it was.  I was wearing shorts.  Get your head out of the gutter.  But I wasn’t nervous.  The morning of my hysterectomy I was like a child gripping the doorway.  Kicking and screaming.  Not wanting to go.  But this definitely was less invasive.  And if I survived one bout of anesthesia, I knew I would survive another.

The nurses were super, super nice.  A little too nice, actually.  I was hoping for a bit of a Nurse Ratchet so I had something to talk about.  But, no.  It didn’t happen that way.  I got to change in an area where the only thing separating me from all the other patients was a curtain.  “Everything off except your undies.  Gown, opening in back.  Robe, opening in front.”  I’m just glad I opted for the grannies with a touch of lace instead of my usual thongs.  The entire Operating Room probably didn’t need to see my ass cheeks.  Which, by the way, no amount of running makes those suckers go up to where they were once upon a time.

They asked me the same questions over and over again.  I signed my life away a million times over and told them they better try to save my life if I die.  Okay, I didn’t say that.  But I did say I would have a blood transfusion.  That’s the same thing, right?

They wheeled me into a room.  A room they take you to before you go to the Operating Room.  Again, only separated by a curtain from the other patients.  It was like a cattle call or something.  Then the party began.  The needle containing what I could only describe as liquid heaven was inserted into the back of my hand.  “Ooh, I like this, I wouldn’t mind having a little of this every day, I don’t seem to care about a thing” was the last comment I remember saying to the doctor.  Or was it a nurse?  I don’t know.  They were all starting to look the same to me.

What seemed like 30 seconds went by.  The first face I saw was my doctor’s.  Asking if I was okay.  But boy did I feel good.  I’m sure I said something silly or stupid because that’s what I do.  But I guess I’ll never know.  Which makes me kinda sad.  They should let you record these things.  Really.  I’m not kidding.  I wonder if someone would have taken notes if I asked them?  This shall be one of my biggest regrets.

So, here I am.  With my downloaded Cow Bell app, having DH wait on me.  He’s being a very good servant man.  I’m sure by the end of this weekend, I will be on his last nerve.  But until then, a little higher to the left honey, oh and would you be a prince and fetch me a bucket.  This Vicodin makes me feel like I’m going to vomit.  Because my nerve block wore off and I’m not feeling so great anymore.  Where’s that Liquid Heaven when I need it?

Most Ridiculous Inconvenience

MRII had an MRI the other day.  I’ve never had an MRI before, so I didn’t know what to expect.  But really?  Why does it take 30 freaking minutes to scan ONE knee?  My experience in 6 bullet points.  In case you were wondering.

  1. There is one thing they need to add to the “How to Prep for an MRI” list:  “Don’t bother waking up early to spend extra time in the shower shaving your legs because we will be providing lovely pajama bottoms for your convenience.”  And I totally would have loved my 3XXL pj bottoms if I were sitting around pigging out on pork rinds and Krispy Kremes watching back episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” on a Saturday afternoon.  Totally.
  2. Thank you so much for the headphones with the volume set on 1.  I assumed they were meant to drown out the sound of the MRI, not Barry Manilow.  My bad.  “Oh Mand…bangbangbang…you came and you…boomboomboom.”
  3. The nice technician lady told me that when it makes a “clicking” sound to be very, very still.  Because I am a rule follower, I did as I was told.  The only problem is I never quite heard a “clicking” sound.  What I did hear was a jackhammer and a machine gun.  There is nothing worse than lying in the same position for a half an hour scared shitless of what will happen to you if you so much as breathed too deeply.  It took 15 minutes to get feeling back in my right foot.
  4. I find it funny that when you can’t move, itches multiply.  It’s an odd phenomenon, isn’t it?
  5. It’s probably not a good idea to let your mind wander during one of these things.  My mind happened to wander into a story I heard a long time ago about an MRI gone bad.  All I could think about were the keys hanging by the door that unlocked my locker.  It was possible that they could have come flying off the wall and stab me in the brain, right?
  6. I kept wondering when it was going to be over because I really needed to move my foot.  Then 27 minutes into it, I noticed there was a timer above my head.  I just love how detail-oriented I am.

Whelp, the results are in.  Not only is my left meniscus torn in one place, but in two.  Apparently, it’s both a quick fix and a quick recovery.  In fact, they do it while you are awake.  Great.  I can’t stand the thought of having a bloody nose.  Imagining that they will be making two holes in my leg while I lie there awake will most likely freak me the freak out.  I’m hoping they give me something other than a knee numbing drug.  A brain numbing drug would be really nice.  Yes, I would like that very much.  Taking the chance I may say something inappropriate while under the influence is one I am willing to accept.  Oh hell, let’s face it.  I say something inappropriate even when not under the influence.  Bring it on.

And as far as running is concerned…I am going to run my ass off for the next 7 days.  Because after that, I can’t do much for a week.  Ok, two weeks.  Ok, after I ran into someone I know today at My Retail Job, it turns out I need to not run for 6 weeks.  Shit.  I’m now thinking I should have crammed a pair of those 3XXL pants into my bag.  I may be needing them.