Under the Knife

(Part III, and the conclusion in the story of my knee. See part I Injuries and part II Bad Idea)

When we last left our hero (that would be me), I was scheduled to go under the knife on September 30th. That was just short of exactly two years ago as I write this.

Since it was a day surgery, and I was supposed to be fine the next day, I'd planned on taking just the one day off of work. Anyone I shared this with, to the person, told me I was nuts. But I was determined, not because I loved my job (actually I hated it), or because the company wouldn't give me any more time, but because... Um... Well... Possibly because I'm stubborn...

The day came and Devilboy dropped me at the hospital. It was my second time there, so I had a rough idea of where to go. (I'd been there a week or so before for some pre-op work, but it wasn't very interesting and I don't remember much about it, so I've skipped it). I checked in and was given one of those horrible hospital gowns that won't close properly to wear. I stood and waited for whatever was going to happen. A nurse came by and told me that I should go ahead and sit. I advised he that I was fine and that my current garment just wasn't that conducive to sitting...

Eventually a nurse who would be involved with my surgery came by. She asked me a few questions about whether I had been fasting, as instructed, and double checked which knee it was. She then drew a big X in magic marker on the problem knee.

Later the specialist stopped by. He asked me some similar questions, and then initialed my knee. At least I was pretty sure they wouldn't be cutting into the wrong one...

I was called into the operating room and instructed to lie down on the gurney. I didn't really expect it to happen that way. I figured I'd be knocked out somewhere else and be wheeled into the OR. Walking in under my own power just seemed wrong.

People started hooking me up to various machines that seemed to monitor all sorts of different life sustaining functions of my body... I'm sure that to a person with good eyesight they'd have been fascinating to watch... As it was they were rather fascinating blurry colours...

Next an IV was put in and I was given an injection of something. I asked if that was the anesthetic. No, I was told, this was just to relax me, the anesthetic would come later. I asked to be told when the anesthetic went in and was assured I would be.

When I regained consciousness, I was in some sort of recovery room, with similar gurnies on either side. I checked my knee, it was all bandaged up. They had indeed gotten the right one. Someone noticed I was awake and I was wheeled into a curtained off recovery room. Oddly, since I hadn't had a drink all day, I felt a need to visit the men's room. Possibly the IV had pumped some saline into me, I don't know. I was also anxious to test out my knee and see if it was indeed fixed.

It was! Finally!

A nurse freaked out that I was walking around, but pointed me in the right direction once I explained what I wanted.

I spent a little more time recovering and then my mother picked me up, and drove me to Orillia to finish recovering there. On the way I decided I really wanted something in my stomach, but wasn't really ready for a real meal. We stopped at McDonalds and I got some fries and a shake. Nice healthy recovery meal.

I ended up missing work the next day, as everyone predicted I would. I felt crappy but mostly really didn't want to go.

Turns out that my problem had been a "medium sized tear in my left lateral meniscus" and half had been removed. Apparently you don't need to whole thing... Or so I was told, and so I hope.

When the bandages came off you could barely tell I'd had surgery, and I had no stitches to speak of. Just three hole, each about an inch long. One at the top, and two on the bottom. I don't even have much of a scar to show for all my trouble!

My knee is mostly fixed now, it will never be quite the same again, though. I still walk with a bit of a limp when I'm tired, I just don't swear when I do it anymore.