I had a knee arthroscopy today.
My right knee has been pretty dodgy ever since I ran that 12km run (which I was super proud of at the time, but a bit gutted afterwards when I realised my running career was officially over. Not that I want to run that much, but big walks were also becoming an issue and anything more strenuous than yoga made it swell. This chick wants to dance, with and without an air guitar), and although I have tried many a remedy, I decided that everything in combination, including surgery was the next step. Forward. Moving forward. Step by step. In the right direction.
I was a bit nervous about the whole thing this morning, and angry because the whole knee surgery booking came the day after I realised that the guy who is definitely no longer my guy could definitely not be my “next of kin” on my surgery booking form. I didn’t take it that well at the time, and cried when I wrote my big sisters’ name and had some dramatics in the driveway to him when I got home (which in true form I apologised for later. I know WTF????). This morning I also had to field a call from my insurance company and discovered the excess is too much to make claiming the “disappearance” of my bike worth it. I have a number of shitty theories about where my bike is, but with my dodgy knee I haven’t been able to ride it anyway, so at some point in the future I will get a new, awesome bike from the universe who it appears has once again decided my life needs filling up with great things. Oh, that might actually have been me who decided that.
I seriously hate anesthesia. My favourite doctor though was definitely the anaesthetist, who gave me a little relaxing “entree” before solidly knocking my head off within seconds of my arrival in theatre – and all with a cheeky smile. The bit I hate though is waking up. In tears, panicking and declaring my pain level at a 6. Three breath’s later I was like “oh, it’s probably only a 2 actually” – and then I wiped the tears and just felt weird and woozy for about 4 hours. I DO NOT LIKE THAT. While I was waiting (2 hours) to go in (wearing a sexy compression sock on one leg and an aqua open- backed gown) I read heaps of a book about our multiple brains (head, heart and gut) and I was LOVING IT ( I’m going to write all about that when I feel smarter again). But when I came out I couldn’t even scroll through Facebook and could barely write a text message, and I am generally pretty obsessive about both of those things. I slept on and off and felt really anxious about being unable to do anything EVER AGAIN.
My Mummy picked me up (she’s here looking after us for 2 days and got teary at the sight of me), and I got home and attempted to converse with 5 really excited children, and then had to go to bed with a ruggie on my head and panic about not being able to anything EVER AGAIN. But then my “next of kin” came after work and lay on the bed with me and I can’t even remember what we talked about but it was GOOD. And my friend came home with flowers and chocolates, and my big girl came and held my hand, and my Mum took Miss 3 in the pool and then she (Miss 3 ) jumped on me with her wet knickers. And all the kids came in and out, and I took one of the pain killers the really cool anaesthetist prescribed (and I think they’re pretty serious, which is great for a girl who rarely takes paracetamol) and ate dinner and I’m really OK. In fact, I’m playing air guitar RIGHT NOW (yep, those painkillers….).
I have got this shit handled, and it feels good. Regal in fact.
And I saw Mama Kin play on the weekend and she sang this song. About saving yourself. She’s pretty regal too. She reminded me of someone I know how to be.