It's been awhile since I last posted in this blog. As my former mother-in-law used to say, I don't know where the time goes, but it does. I posted all about my Seattle trip in December after my sister and I returned to the Midwest. And then New Year's Eve happened, and then MLK Day, and Groundhog Day...and the world just kept on turning.
Early in the morning of February 11th, I was up early, as usual. My first excursion out of bed is to head for the bathroom, as usual. And, as usual, I got there...except...just as I got to the bathroom door, my left knee blew out. I don't know how else to describe it. It was sudden and excruciating pain. I couldn't bear any weight on it at all. The pain almost put me to the floor--and I'm not particularly a pain weenie. I grabbed the bathroom doorknob which is, fortunately, close to the toilet so I could lower myself down and take care of business, but then I had to figure out how to maneuver to the rest of the house to summon help.
Usually, when I have something that hurts, I give it a little time, and usually, the pain subsides. That wasn't happening this time. I stumbled and bumbled and hung onto furniture surfaces to wend my way to the kitchen chair where I keep my "nest". On the way, I grabbed the house phone so I could call my Nosy Neighbor Fred, across the street. It was maybe 8:00 AM by this time. Fred has a key to my house because he and/or his wife pick up my mail for me when I am traveling. Fortunately, they are early-risers, like me.
I wasn't decent. I was covered only in a t-shirt and underwear, but there was a small throw blanket in the kitchen by my nest chair that I could reach, so I covered myself with that. When he came in, I told Fred where he could find my robe so I could cover up, then made him turn his head while I put it on. Another crisis averted! Fred brought my rollater in from the car. (A rollater is a walker on wheels that has a seat in the middle. I take it with me at all times in case I have to shop in a place that doesn't have carts to lean on or places to sit.) I could tell immediately that it wasn't going to help my mobility, so I asked if he could go to the drug store to buy me some crutches. God bless him, he did. I didn't have any cash on hand to send with him, so he bought them with his own money, with the understanding that I would pay him back as soon as I got some money.
When I was a kid, it was fun to play with people's crutches. I can now tell you from personal experience that crutches aren't fun if you actually need them. It took me a bit to understand the dynamics of how to use them while trying to keep one leg off the ground. Ugh!
I kept the phone with me in my robe pocket. It was probably noon or so before I figured out that I needed medical help. I needed to go to the ER, which is 15 miles away. (Prompt Care wouldn't do.) I reasoned I would probably need an ambulance because I had NO idea how I could possibly get from the house to a car. And so I called Judy Heffelman.
I wouldn't know much about Judy were it not for the fact that her youngest son and my only daughter were married once. We share two beautiful grandchildren. We go to the same church. Judy and her husband are pillars of the church, and we share experiences and holidays together as family even though our kids are divorced. We decided as an entity back at divorce time that we would stay strong with both of our children for the sake of our grandkids. It has worked. And since I no longer have any blood family anywhere close to me, Judy and Phil are my go-to people in emergencies. It's a big-time plus that Judy is also a retired RN and has been relied on by virtually every "alone" friend for help. She has a HUGE heart!
Within an hour or less, Judy showed up on my doorstep with a wheelchair. I went to the hospital ER in a robe and slippers, totally in need of a shower but too desperate to do more than just wash up as best I could.
Judy stayed with me in the ER, where they x-rayed and ultrasounded my knee and leg. They were looking for broken bones, blood clot, bad circulation, and/or baker's cyst. Nothing. I was given prescriptions for pain meds, advised to see an orthopedist, and sent home with the diagnosis of "knee pain." DUH!!!!
We left the hospital around 7:00 PM or so. We stopped at a McD's because we were hungry before heading back to Plainfield. Stopped at the Walgreen's in Plainfield to turn in the prescriptions, then came home and wrangled me back in the house. Judy then went back to Walgreen's to pick up the prescriptions with the last of my cash. It had been a long day for both of us! Judy never complained, bless her heart. I'm sure she could have thought of a hundred other things to do with her Saturday afternoon and most of that evening. She didn't want to leave me, but armed with heavy drug meds and the inability to walk around to get in trouble, I assured her I would be okay. And I was.
The next day, after church, Judy came back over to check on me. I sent her out with my debit card to get me a shower stool and a "grabber" to pick stuff up off the floor, and get me some cash. Of course, she brought food. By this time, I was motivating with just one crutch because I had figured out how to do it, and the pain meds helped a bunch.
I had prescriptions for Naproxen and Hydrocodone. Although they helped with the pain, they also upset my stomach, so I stopped taking them. By this time, the pain wasn't bad enough to make them necessary. (I wouldn't be a very good prescription pill abuser. I hate those things!)
That Monday, I called the orthopedist for an appointment. It took 1 1/2 weeks to get in to see him. Judy took me. My knee was x-rayed again. The orthopedist said my knee was arthritic and recommended steroid shots and physical therapy. I passed on the shot that day--only because I remember my big, strapping father complaining that the cortisone shot he got in his shoulder for bursitis was the worst pain he had ever felt. Buuut...my sister convinced me that I should go back for the shot because "they help". So I scheduled another appointment a week later. Took the shot and scheduled myself for physical therapy that same day. (Are you following me, so far?? I swear I wasn't told that the knee injection was a 3-shot deal. The doc says he told me....) The physical therapist put a knee sleeve on my knee and most just did an assessment, but gave me an exercise to do in between visits.
Here I should probably mention that every one of my visits to the orthopedist carried a $45 co-pay, and every visit to PT would cost $40. Originally, I was scheduled for PT twice a week until I found out the financial part. I scheduled it for once a week...but then life happened.
After the second knee injection, with my concerns that they weren't helping and that I doubted the arthritis diagnosis, the orthopedist finally ordered an MRI. I wasn't doubting the doctor, per se. I was mostly musing that if my knee were simply arthritic, it would have hurt over a longer period of time--not just WHAM! To the doctor's credit, he understood that insurance companies and Medicare don't particularly like paying for expensive tests before cheaper therapies are tried first. (Of course, they don't care how much we suffer in the meantime!!) Thus, the MRI was scheduled locally for the day before my third scheduled knee shot.
When I arrived at the orthopedist's office, he announced that there was "news". The MRI showed a torn meniscus. All I could say was, "Oh, thank God!" I was so concerned that the MRI would show nothing, in spite of my pain and suffering. The knee injection was canceled; the physical therapy was canceled; the orthopedist washed his hands of me, saying that I would now be in the hands of a surgeon to perform arthroscopic surgery--"two poke" surgery. Yay!
Well...yay only for a moment. I had to set up an appointment with the surgeon from that office...but he would be "out" the next week, and was highly-scheduled for the week after that....so....I don't even get a consultation for surgery until April 6th!!!! Almost two months after the initial injury. I'm getting around. I have a cane, crutches, a grabber, a shower seat and a tub grabber...etc. I hate this but am dealing with it. It's hell to get old, but I'm happy to be alive.
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