Falling apart and a fabulous new accessory

It's official.

I'm falling apart.  Or snapping, tearing, stretching, whatever.  It's all the same isn't it?  I refuse to say I'm getting old because you are only as old as you feel and I don't feel old most days.  

Until last weekend.  (well, a week and a half almost)

I'm tickling my middle......Ryan.  Yes people, I said tickling.  Who knew that laughing and tickling your son could be such a dangerous thing to do!!  Watch out people!   So, I'm tickling, he's trying to escape, he slides over juuuuust ride and BAM!   My knee pops out.  But it doesn't pop back in.  Oh no, it's not going to be that easy.  I pick him up, lightly toss him over to my left and I start yelling.  Not at the top of my lungs but my voice is most definitely raised.  I'm yelling for my husband and I'm telling him that my knee is out.  I am absolutely in agonizing pain.  I look down and you can quite clearly see, through my jeans, that my knee is out to the side of my left leg to the point that my jeans are completely distorted.  John is telling me he's calling 911.   Now, not my finest moment but I yell NO!  We can't afford the $600 ambulance bill!   He says what do you want me to do???   I tell him I'm going to try and fix it.   No, not because I'm a badass.  But because this isn't my first rodeo.   This is the 5th time I've dislocated this particular knee.  To be fair, it's been 8 years since the last time.   Also, I might as well say the last time I landed in the ER and I came out with a hip to thigh immobilizer along with Physical Therapy for 8 weeks.  But I'm keeping it honest here.   So, as I said, I've been down this road before.  So I bend my knee (screaming) and I kick my leg out.   Damnit.   This knee isn't going ANYWHERE and it now feels like someone is jabbing a white hot poker through my kneecap.   Shitshitshit.   I try to shimmy myself down off the couch.  Agony.  Yup, we're calling the ambulance.  

It literally takes them about 4 min to get there.  They assess the situation.  I'm sobbing, although trying to keep it together because I don't want to scare my kids.  They don't see me cry.  Ryan is crying and holding on to his teddy bear for dear life because of course he feels responsible.   EMT's have to cut off my jeans.  (this is noteworthy b/c of course they are my "skinny" days jeans and my favorite pair to boot.  Effers.)   They strap my knee into an immobilizer, put me on a body board to get me out the door and then they put me on a stretcher.  Into the ambulance and off to the ER I go.

At the ER they load me up with Morphine and get me comfortable.   My knee gets put back in place.  I get xrays.  Nothing is broken.   Well, thank God for that - imagine the strength of my son's booty if he BROKE a bone?  Oh my.   I'm given the immobilizer, two prescriptions and the number for an Orthopedic surgeon to follow up with on Monday because the Dr that saw me in the ER listened to my history and told me that, unfortunately, he thinks I'm going to have to have surgery.   Super.

Fast forward to Ortho on Thursday.  He examines my knee, is poking, prodding, pulling at it.  He looks at my knees side by side and tells me that my left knee isn't even located where it should be on my leg anymore.   Me, being the wiseass that I am, look down and tell him it looks okay to me.   He laughs.  I say but, then again, I'm not the one who went to school for this.  He laughs again.   He said I like your style.  I said hey, if you can't laugh it's a pretty sad life.   He starts manipulating my knee again and I started to tense up.  He asked if it hurt and I said it does but you're freaking me out right now because I'm feeling like it's going to dislocate again.  He said oh yeah, I could pull it out right now if I wanted to.   I said please don't!!   He said he thinks I've torn my PCL but the MRI will confirm.  He said I don't want to ruin your day.  I said I'm a straightshooter, just tell me.  He's 99.9% sure that I'm going to need surgery.   I said look, I'm 37 years old and I have 3 young children.  I want and need to be able to play with them.  I'm not 90, I have a long life in front of me.  Let's just do this.   He said I love it!   Let's get you  your MRI, get the results to confirm what I already know and get this done.  I said great - laproscopic, right?    Then he crushed my world to shit.  Ohhhhhhh.....no.   Um, say what now?   No, no laproscopic for you.   With this kind of injury and the placement of your patella there is just too much to do.  We're going to need to make a 3-4 in incision "here," we're going to drill two holes into your bones "here," and we're going to cut the muscles on the other side of your patella "here" that are pulling too tightly and causing your patella to dislocate so easily.   Well alrighty then.   

So, there you have it.  When everything is all said and done though I'm going to have some kick ass battle scars to show and a knee that will never pop out again!   There's something to be said for chicks with scars.   They're hardcore!!  ;-)

Annnnnd - my new fabulous accessory!   I'll have this bad boy until the end of the summer.   My kids think I look like a robot or a bionic woman.  I'll take it!  (silver linings here people, it's all about perspective - right?)