I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.
Wait. Let me back up, because that’s an open ended question and the answer is always “a lot.”
My knee has been clicking since August. I don’t know why or what happened to produce the clicking, but here we are. Every time I walk up a flight of stairs it clicks after ever single step. You can hear me coming at least a mile in away and my career as a serial killer is now ruined. Thanks Obama.
Anyway. After polling my friends, I decided to see a specialist. About 3-4 weeks ago I saw an Orthopaedic specialist. The actual spelling of “Orthopaedic” feels unnatural to me, just like my experience at this doctor’s office. I will preface this post and say that if you know me well enough, I’ve seen the same doctor in the past, around 2005 and he fixed up a broken ulna for me. He has an odd bedside manner and sense of humor, WHICH I TOTALLY APPRECIATE.
All signs point to a torn meniscus or some kind of awful knee thing that requires rehab or surgery, but he can’t prescribe any of that shit until he does “A PROCEDURE” first to satisfy my insurance’s needs. Fine, whatever. Except its actually not fine according to my body. (what I’m about to say is probably 1000000000% exaggeration because I hate medical procedures) He comes in with a 12 inch needle that he proceeds to jam into my knee cap without warning. Not only did it feel like an alien probe, but I didn’t mentally prepare myself for a needle that day. I circled the drain on the procedure table. I started hearing things and seeing spots. All color drained from my face. I saw angels hovering over my body calling me home. Oh the joy of having vasovagal syncope.
After the dagger was removed, and upon noticing my ghost like appearance, a nurse came into the room and asked if I wanted smelling salts. What are smelling salts? NO IDEA. I imagined it was something like bath salts (the kind you snort and not soak your feet in). I declined and asked to lay down and have cold water to drink. After about 10 minutes, I was able to get up and move around. I was alone – 30 minutes from my house – and was allowed to drive back home. I felt drained and limped around the rest of the afternoon.
Reflecting back on this experience weeks later, it made me remember my tolerance scale of medical procedures. Getting a knee needle, or whatever the fuck the official scientific medical term is, reminded me a lot of getting an epidural. It feels like an alien probing your body. Someone is jamming a long needle in your body and its the most weird uncomfortable feeling ever. I have a follow-up appointment next Thursday. I’m terrified of getting another one of the alien knee probes. My knee is still clicking ALL. OF. THE. TIME. It’s all that is occupying my thoughts all of the time. I wake up and think “Oh shit, only 6 days until they jam a huge ass needle into your leg today!” I think about it so much that I actually get nauseated because I’m a weirdo sadist.
In talking to a friend from High School, I decided that I will make a “Knee Needle” bucket in my life. Anything I hate gets a needle straight up in the knee. Taking out the garbage? KNEE NEEDLE. Winter months? I’m jamming a dagger into your leg. Playing Nickelback music much? Bitch please, I will Lieutenant Dan you.
I don’t know. I just need to get through next Thursday. This helps?