arthroscopy chronicles

thiswontheurtabitnowdidit
There has been some talk about the ultra personal blogging, TMI, and people who share too much. This is one of those posts. You have been warned.

The focus of the camera's stare today is my right knee. I like to walk and bike, so this joint gets a lot of use. I can thank an orthopedic surgeon that it works today.
One drunken afternoon in 1987, I found myself on the wrong side of a creek. I jumped across, and marveled at the way my duck shoes felt as they sunk into the sandbar. Look, there’s a bluff over there, just a couple of feet higher. Naw, you aren't afraid of that, go for it. Oh no, the sand is a bit looser here, that bluff was a bit higher than I thought, gee my knee sure does hurt.
It got better, and I hobbled through the next couple of months. Then one night, I was cleaning out a tight corner of my apartment, and this hot butterscotch flowed through my knee. I couldn't put any weight on it. A pair of crutches was procured, and the emergency room gave me some pain pills. Finally the appointment was made, the tests run, the follow up appointment, the second opinion, all in addition to much angst and concern. Finally, on June 1, 1988, I was driven to the outpatient center. The nurse marked a big NO on my left knee, and I was given some gas and told to count to ten. When I woke up my knee was fixed.
Arthroscopy is a great thing. I have heard the horror stories about old fashioned knee surgery, and seen Joe Namath try to walk at a public appearance. I am grateful for modern times.
I don't aggressively jump across creeks.