A Man In Knee'd

The MLB scouting report report on me has always been short and to the point. "Big stick, no wheels." My wheels have been suspect for years, but recently, one of them has come off the rim and today is the day I set that right.I have to keep this short, which, if you're a regular reader, of course means this will be the longest post in the history of the Internet. That's usually the case, but I am in full pre-op mode and scrambling to get my affairs in order before going under the knife. How dramatic!

I've had problems with my left knee for years. It all started on the gridiron when I was in seventh grade. After bursting through the offensive line and readying myself to lay out a grade school quarterback, I was hit from the side and sent screaming to the turf. "Suck it up and have some pride" my caring coach advised and so I did, but my speed in the 40 was never the same. Over the years I have encountered a series of doctors and family members who basically echoed my coach's words and chalked up the grinding, popping and pain in my knee to everything from weight to chronic hypochondria. As recently as December, I was told to just flex it more and everything would be fine. Maybe if I hadn't sought medical treatment in the third world, things would have been different, but you know how HMOs are. In April, I finally sought the opinion of a doctor trained in modern medicine, and after checking X-rays, an MRI, and hearing me scream like Jamie lee Curtis fleeing a knife wielding maniac, I heard the words I had longed to hear. "That's a pretty messed up knee." Oh joy! The fact that I had been pulling myself up and down the stairs for months and would crumble unexpectedly had now been confirmed as something other than a figment of my over active imagination.

Later today I will undergo arthroscopic surgery. I've heard from different people that it is an easy procedure, but as my doctor told me yesterday, "There are scopes, and there are scopes." He leaves things pretty open for a guy who spent years in school. I was asked to sign a permission slip detailing all the procedures the surgical team (Yeah, I'm not messing around any more. I got myself an entire team. I've waited this long, I'm going all out.) might have perform on my "messed up knee". Let me assure you, it's quite a list, but only one item worries me. I won't give it any power by typing it, but if it is performed, it would mean six weeks on crutches. That sounds fun huh? The doctor couldn't give me any specific answers yesterday because "we have to wait until we get in there." There's that fine medical training again. This is an outpatient procedure, so I'll be home tonight and I've been assured that I won't feel any pain due to an "excellent block" I'll receive and some high doses of Vicodin that I picked up yesterday. My friend John has asked me to post in an altered state so you can see the difference. Sadly, I don't think there would be any, so I'll spend tonight in the big chair whining and trying to curry sympathy from my family.

I had my last drop of liquid half an hour ago and am off to scrub myself with an anti-bacterial soap to ward off any micro organisms that may see my ample carriage as a succulent buffet. Normally I don't drink too much during the day, but being told I can't have anything is making me dryer than British wit. I hope I don't begin to hallucinate and see mirages of cool water and cherry limeade. "Wife" will be driving to the hospital which I'm sure she's looking forward to. I'm a surly patient. Not with medical professionals since they control my destiny, but with the people I figure have to put up with me. Since I'm so self-aware, (HA!) I'll try to keep my surliness to a minimum.

Time to go. I'll let you know how things work out, but I fully expect to be too busy running marathons, salsa dancing and winning a PGA Major on my new and improved knee to spend time sitting at my desk. I'm off to have this mess cleaned up. Later...Brian