Knees, apparently, are essential in life. When knees refuse to perform their function all of a sudden the things you took for granted are gone. *Poof* vanished.
Walking becomes a major issue, climbing stairs an impossibility, gardening a dream from the past.
My knees have decided, very suddenly, to do this. We had been diving into the jungle we call our garden (though on 3 acres on the top of an extremely fertile mountain it is a little bigger and more overgrown than most), slashing, pulling and poisoning. My asthma was not happy at the lantana dancing, my body was creaking and moaning at the unexpected exertion.
Then one morning my left knee decided not to co-operate. My LEFT knee. Not my *twenty years of pain and problems but totally ignored because I am a tough bitch push on through the pain sorta wench* RIGHT knee. My good *hey let me take on the extra we'll be fine just let's get on with it* LEFT KNEE.
Which meant both knees were fucked.
So, off to my local, very tolerant GP me and my knees trotted (with dibber-dobber Big Boy shadowing closely). Like me, she suspected cartilage *time to do some basic clean-up work* damage, inconvenient but not too bad. Off to x-ray I go.
Results came back quickly.
Moderate osteo-arthritis in both, right worse than left, bone-on-bone you need TWO knee replacements within the next couple of years if we can pain manage and string it out that long result from hell.
The usual lose weight and exercise plan forcefully suggested (did you know that for each kilo you lose, four to five kilos of pressure is removed from your knees? I didn't), appointments with dietician, exercise physiologist and orthopedic surgeon put in place.
Rest for left knee to recover demanded.
I listened, for once. Well, sort of listened and capitulated to a degree.
Until Saturday all seemed to be getting better. We had a family playdate planned for that night, so being keen I kept my feet up most of the day.
And disaster struck. For some insane reason, when I went to arise to leave my RIGHT knee decided that twenty years and it was done. Could not put foot to floor without tears of agony. Honestly, it takes a lot to make me cry from physical pain, I have a truly high pain threshold (emotional stuff, well, Telstra ads can set me off) but this was off the richter scale.
So now the situation is as follows. Appointments are not until mid-October, the surgeon is mid-November. My GP is away for this week.
I cannot walk. Seriously.
Am taking my x-rays off to the physio this morning, if I can manage to hobble there.
I had no idea my 14 year old is so strong, and can nearly balance his mother with one hand. I did not dream that my 13 year old's shoulder was exactly the right height to allow him to be a human crutch. I did know that they love their Madmother very much and will do anything to help.
Both knees. Fucked.
Not happy Jan.
Bloody derby drops... something tells me they had more than a little to do with this. Who says exercise is healthy?
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