I've had little on my mind these last two weeks other than pain. My pain. My pain from receiving a new knee. It's been an eye-opening experiencing; one could even say an eye-flooding experience, as it has brought tears to my eyes more than once.
I had a torn Meniscus repaired in this knee back in 1998. I had been in a great deal of pain and the surgery eliminated it completely. I don't remember too much about the recovery period which no doubt means it wasn't terribly difficult. The repair held for over ten years but eventually the pain returned and I asked for a knee replacement. My surgeon wanted to try another remedy first; he put me in a quite substantial brace that kept the bones from grinding against each other. It worked, mostly, but was damn uncomfortable. By early this year the discomfort was as bad as the pain and so we agreed it was time for a new knee.
As I write that I am struck by the fact that such a thing is even possible. That we can, within limits, replace bad organs and bad joints is absolutely amazing. But there's a price to pay.
And that price is pain.
OK, let's have it out right now: I am a weenie. When it comes to physical suffering, I fail. I'm a man after all; we're not built for this; women are much better at handling pain. My knee starts to throb and I'm holding my breath, grinding my teeth; it gets worse and I am tossing and turning, trying desperately to find a comfort spot; when it's at its worst I am literally crying out loud.
The three days in the hospital were not so bad, largely because I had a pain-killing catheter inserted directly in my femoral nerve. When I moved to rehab the needle came out and I relied on pills only. That gets dicey, but at least I had smiling nurses bringing me drugs around the clock. Now I'm home and it's up to me; not always easy to judge when best to take the next dose. Last night I simply forgot and spent 45 minutes in agony waiting for the meds (Oxycontin and Oxycodone) to kick in.
Some of the worst pain though is actually self-produced: it comes from doing the exercises prescribed by Dominatrix Wendy, my physical therapist. They are all absurdly simple – walk in place, lift your leg from a prone position, lift your heel toward your back while standing – things I could by the hundreds two weeks ago. But today? Ay yi bleeping yi! It hurts! It REALLY hurts.
When I'm in pain, nothing works right. Even my writing skills take a hit, as evidenced by this lackluster performance. Let me at least end that pain.
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