I know it's been awhile since I've made a blog but life has pretty much come to a stand still and lets face it... I just don't like Blogging a lot, I'm a non-attention seeking, attention whore. If you know, you know. If you don't, you're scratching your head wondering what that looks like. Anyways, back toward the end of January of this year, I injured myself at work chasing a mental client through a field of ice and snow. They turned and went that way, I turned and my footing "boggled", my knee went the other way and I heard a "POP!". Immediately I thought, oh fuck, this is going to hurt in the morning... I... was wrong. I ended up having to force my next few steps and thankfully some others were there with me who were able to take care of the client and return them safely back to where they belong. I however, had a 10 minute walk of 15 yards to get back to our Security Center where I'm stationed... for those who don't know me, I'm a Security Supervisor for a mental facility. Needless to say, every step was intentional, shallow, wobbly and painful. Yes I should have hollard for help, one or two of my officers would have come to assist me but psh... I got this shit... It's just pain... mmmmhm.... gawdamn was that a long ass walk as I sucked it up like a man, and bore it. Once I got back and sat down, I could feel the swelling and grabbed an Ice pack that we keep on hand for similar occasions. That did nothing more than make my knee cold. Filed reports, filled out appropriate Workers comp documents and drove myself to the ER, where they took X-Rays and said, I need to see and orthopedic surgeon and get an MRI done. Oh the joy... they put me in a knee immobilizer, gave me crutches and said, have a good day. Fast forward to actual diagnosis after MRI: jagged meniscus tear in the white zone (I can't remember the doctors terminology) but simply stated, there are two zones in your meniscus. Red zone, where the blood can get to the meniscus and it stands a chance of healing over time, and the white zone where no blood gets to the meniscus and even with surgery it won't heal. They just remove the "crab meat", as the doc put it so I could understand, to make the area smooth, thus relieving the pain that I was in. Ooookay then... I'm on board, lets do this! Workers comp moves at it's own pace so over a MONTH later (nearly 6 weeks) they fit me in for surgery. Everything goes well, same day surgery and I remember nothing... like.. I know at some point I woke up and Bunny drove me home. but between the anesthesia and the Oxcod/blah blah blah... I remember noda!
"Rest, ice, and no load bearing" for the first few days, then try to walk with crutches more often then just to go to the restroom... by day 4 I was off the pain meds by self choice and decently getting around the house with the support of my crutches. In my head I'm like.. psh... I got this shit. It's just pain and I eat that like fucking tic tacs! Bring it on bitch. Day 7 I go in for my first after surgery consultation and I'm feeling pretty fucking good with myself. I can't hardly bend my leg much more than maybe 10-15 degrees but I can support my weight with the help of the crutches. Ezy pezy. Walked into the Doc office feeling pretty damn proud of myself, however reality is more sadistic than I am... that five yards from my bedroom to the car, another five from the car to the Dr Office, another five to ten from the lobby to the room, and all that back.
HOLY FUCK!
I was wearing that same face I did when the injury first occurred... Man up mother fucker, eat that shit, hide the pain and don't be a burden on anybody, face... You Subs out there with a "manly man" Dom.. you know the face. Strained relaxed where the pose don't meet what the eyes are saying. Conversations are short, direct and you get more "looks" than you do answers. Lots of ice, some Tylenol, Bunny knows me well enough that she just grabbed something simple to eat and brought me my coffee. She accepted what I was giving and helped me get into bed. My ass was thoroughly wiped (exhaustion, ya damn perverts! lol) It's fucking embarrassing to realize your limit is twenty fucking yards and that may have done more than what you should have. Keep in mind, my ego has had some serious hits... I end up having to call my son to come over just to take the damn trash to the curb but oh no.. not every time. Hell no. First several weeks, sure.. I was just injured, awaiting surgery, just had surgery, this was justifiable need of assistance but I just got my ass handed to me by going to the dr office.
Week 7: I'm gonna take this damn bin to the curb, with the recyclables, one fucking step at a gawd damn time! I got this shit. "You never coulda, woulds, if you don't ever try."... you're playing too damn safe. Be cautious, take your time... so picture this:
A man in a long black Celtic robe, hood pulled up, wearing sandals in 35F weather (I think that's 1.6C), using crutches in the now melted off snow of my driveway... step, pull, stop, step pull, stop, take a breather, repeat, repeat, repeat for the almost 10 yards from where I keep the bins to the curb. Fuck yes! I got that shit on lock down *FLEX* and I'm pretty damn proud of myself once again. It sucked having to do it like that but I've regained a little independence, and the cost of that venture... another day and a half of not being able to do shit because my stubborn ass NEEDED that win. At this point I'm tired of my knee hurting to the slightest bending and the best I can get is maybe 20 degrees so I start doing the light leg muscle workout that the doc said was safe, lean against the wall stuff for upper body and gently forcing my knee to bend. Yes it was uncomfortable and it hurt a bit but within three to four days I had achieved an almost sitting down, 60 degrees. This helped tremendously. It gave me some of my gate back in my walk, boosted my confidence on what my knee could handle while waiting for WC to approve therapy. So here we are... nearly two months after the injury and I finally get to therapy and you know I'm walking into that place like "I got this shit." I know it's suppose to hurt the first day so I'm mentally prepared and the Doc had warned me to take one of my oxy's with me just in case... pop it soon as I get home but Noooooo.. I'm a fuck'n man! I don't need that shit.
OMFG!
I
WAS
RIGHT!
Fuck yeah!... buuut for all the wrong reasons. My student assistant therapist is a wonderful lady, who didn't push me at all... like.. I do more to exercise my injured knee/leg area than what we did in that session. I was pleasantly disappointed and a little annoyed because I prepared for nothing. However she did give me better education on what to do correctly and told me to get off both crutches and down to one and showed me the proper procedure.
YUP! Damn straight baby. I'm fucking Pimp walking with a crutch. 🤣
so now in my head I feel like:
but in reality, I'm probably more like:
I don't give a shit. I'm doing well, the therapist says I'm doing better than she expected on day 2 of treatment and the bend I started with was 70 degrees without help, 100 with her help on day one. Today I pimp walked my ass out with 107 degrees without help and 110 with her help. So what if I live in some manly man delusion of what I think I can do because in reality.. I'll fuck'n get there. 😉😎 (or hurt myself trying 😂). If you're going through something similar, you got this shit boo/bro. If you've been there, feel free to share.
Max.