Disclaimer: If you chanced onto this post expecting a crab leg recipe, sorry, you may want to try again!
So now that I have cried, and whined, and complained and elaborated in great detail on what was going on with my knee, let me continue to give you all curious people further news on how the knee and me are doing.
The knee is apparently doing very well. [I am however not. But let’s stay focused on the knee.] That’s what the doc and the PT (physical therapist) tell me. I disagreed. They just looked at me like I was still high on drugs. I decided I’d just whine here instead. At least you folks are sweet enough to read me and obligingly chuckle, cluck and laugh at my discomfort. Hey, attention of any kind is good for a speedy recovery, am told.
As a side note, for the last time, I cannot work from home. It isn’t allowed. I can’t. So next time I say “yes, am back at work.” it literally means “yes, Ive hauled my ass into the van, squished my knee behind the wheel, drove 20 miles at a snail’s pace, dressed in work clothes that still fit me after Ive cleaned my closet, and am actually physically sitting behind a desk and hopefully churning out something productive at the end of my short 6 hour work day.” Thank you very much.
So, getting to my knee, it now looks like a piece of driftwood that’s spent one too many days laying on the sand under the hot sun, and shriveling in a way that looks like a racoon’s dried carcass. Oh, okay, it isn’t that bad, but it comes close. My bruised knee complete with scars from the numerous falls from my bike is now slowly getting back to its bony self. Of course it’s still bent at an angle, that makes me look stylish. The kind where I put my hand on the raised hip, swing my hair back and pretend am walking the ramp. Except in this case, I can fling my hair all I want, but I can only dream the walk.
Since some time now I have been visiting the therapist’s office. Physical therapist. Not any other kind. Not yet at least. [The husband had a nice laugh when I said the same, though am sure he knows me better than anyone on earth and is hence actually just being polite knowing the future.]
I know the PT routine by now. It’s the stationery bike, then the circular flying saucer disc thing, then the balance beam on the floor thing, then squats along the wall, then the lateral stretches on the stomach, on the side and the back, and then the ice pack with little jolts of electricity firing through your muscle. My first post-op visit, I was cheered on to make a complete full rotation of the pedal with my right knee. It was just like in the movies. The knee hurt like hell, but there I was beaming with pride!
Alright, have I mentioned the therapists? They are the sweetest energetic fun loving bunch. Except for one. Will get to her soon enough, but here are the rest:
Big Daddy M: The boss. Handsome, Elegant with a neat sense of humor. The one who stretches me, goads me and talks to me like am a 12 year old. Not that I mind, but I can look at him and make my tiny eyes go round as saucers shrieking “no way!” and he’d look down at me and say “O cmon, don’t put a show on for me, you can do it, let’s go now”. I then shut up and do it.
Ms. “Roseanne” Chatter: An absolute sweetheart. The one who actually cuts me slack when I whine. I know where she went to school, where she lives now, and what she’s had for breakfast including the fact that her son burnt a chicken pot pie in the oven and then went and did the laundry thinking it smelt bad. She’s the one who says “honey” and “dahling” and clucks her tongue in sympathy for me. The only real angel out there!
“Jason” Sr. : Remember Jason Priestley? . Now imagine him 20 years from when he looked super cute in Beverly Hills. Perhaps with a little loss of hair on the top, and a little thickening of the waist. Yeah, that’s who the quiet, with a subtle smile always hovering one is. He’s tall. Very tall. Perhaps 6’4″ tall, coz I midget next to him. He in fact tucked me under his shoulder and hobbled me to the bench. Then slammed a pound of ice cubes on my knee with NO cloth in between and then said “aw, you’ve been such a trooper”. Since, that day, have been a trooper alright!
Jaunty Judi Jr: Tall, with an edge in her voice, always cheerful with everyone who walks in, but with just the slight amount of reserve. A pleasure to watch as she twists and stretches and basically yanks the heck out of those muscles. Is always in the same sweatshirt. Which sorta bothers me. One day before I skip out of the place, I shall ask her. What do you think?
The Quarterback: The baby of the place. He’s ADORABLY CUTE! He looks even more so, when he refuses to make eye contact and looks down onto his tie and on his shoes when he walks around helping. I thought it was me, but the guy wouldn’t even look at these teeny boppers who came in to get their legs stretched in itsy bitsy shorts! I wonder now. Just coz I said cute, doesn’t mean he’s cute cute. He could just swing on the jersey and look as gorgeous as he would posing as a David lookalike. He’d be the one who jokes quietly, the kind if you don’t pay attention, the line’s sprinted its way out the door and you lose the moment!
Desi Diva: Since we are everywhere, why not a PT office right? Okay, so she’s petite. She can most likely fit into munchkin’s baby seat easily. She not only flirts with everyone who comes in and fortunately for her, there are more younger, athletic young men walking in, she flirts with Jason and Bog Daddy too! She chews gum all the time, something I can’t imagine a professional doing. All the while, strutting her small tight behind in either white or black tight fitting pants, showing it off by tucking her shirt in, and get this, there’s no belt! There’s no jacket either! *gasp. Don’t even get me started on the shirt.
No, am not jealous. Serious. I originally liked her. Then she did some pretty stupid un-professional things.
My knee in the meanwhile’s been going through some rough times. At the end of the day, am shakin’ in my shoes!
More in part 2.