Happy Friday, everybody! By the time you read this, I’ll be sitting in an Orthopedist’s office, masked up, waiting on my appointment to address my left knee.
This is the first time my body’s actively betrayed me while in the line of duty, so I’m not quite sure what to expect.
Everything with my knee really started about eight years ago when I was acting a fool with some friends at a local trampoline park. After attempting what some would refer to as a “suicide dive” from a springboard into a foam pit, I felt something move in my left knee.
That something was bursitis, according to my doctor. I’m not sure how it all works out but apparently a sac fluid had built up in my knee and was inflamed, causing me a good deal of pain.
It’s worth noting at this time all injuries in my medical history happen at the most innocuous times. I’ve never been injured zip lining or rock climbing, but I injured a knee climbing out of a pit full of foam blocks and broke an ankle once tripping on a coffee shop step.
My knee went from irritable to downright testy about two months ago. Conveniently, it started getting worse around the time my in-laws came to visit. There’s no better way to excuse yourself from an annoying argument or situation by saying “Excuse me, gotta go stretch the leg out.”
This in-law visit also marked me going to bed around 7-8:30, a rarity for me. It’s just easier to let the in-laws subject everyone to their godawful taste in Hallmark rom-coms by saying I need to stretch my leg in bed, head upstairs, and then turn on pro wrestling.
As the knee swelled to unbearable pain, I had difficulty moving or bending the knee. It was easy to tell something was inflamed and pushing on the tendons and ligaments surrounding the kneecap.
There was no getting around it. The creams and knee braces weren’t helping. It was time to go visit a doctor.
Since my primary care physician is about an hour away, I chose a local Urgent Care clinic to examine my knee. The doctor there confirmed the swelling in the knee, told me there was some kind of buildup behind my kneecap, and I needed to try rest and anti-inflammatories.
So with a supply of Meloxicam and a little hope in my heart, I began the time-honored tradition of Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation of my battered knee.
What bugged me most about this doctor’s visit were the admonitions to avoid heavy lifting and stairs. First, I’m the only person in the entire house capable of moving the gargantuan Amazon shipments that seem to arrive daily. Second, my bedroom’s up a flight of stairs.
I still gave it the old college try. My knee reminded me my undergrad days were far behind me for my efforts.
Twelve days later and without much progress in my knee, I called my actual doctor and scheduled an appointment on a Friday I had off.
“They’re going to look at the knee, refer you to an Ortho, and maybe suggest an MRI” my wife told me as I fretted over the eventual appointment. “That’s it.”
“We’ll see,” I responded, knowing she would, as usual, be right about everything. That gets annoying.
Modern medicine’s pitfalls meant I didn’t get to see my actual doctor that day. A Nurse Practitioner examined my knee, noted the swelling, ordered an X-Ray, and prescribed anti-inflammatories. Again.
When I pointed out the anti-inflammatory suggested had already been tried with little success, she suggested another one.
The NP tried to hornswoggle me by using the generic name for the medication. She was unaware Google allows common folks like me to find out what drugs we’re getting before we leave the office.
“You’re prescribing me Voltaren,” I told her. “The cream stuff you can get over the counter?”
“No, this is an oral medication, sir.”
“And will it help the pain in my knee so I don’t feel physically ill from it?”
“Hopefully. We don’t prescribe pain medication in this office, sir.” Apparently this was her attempt at a positive “bedside manner.”
“If this is the royal ‘we’ you’re using, could you please get a doctor who will prescribe something so I can eat and sleep without being in excruciating pain?”
This heretical request was met by my actual physician with a throwing of hands in defeat and a mealy-mouthed explanation of how pain had to be treated on a spectrum and this was the lowest possible pain intervention the practice could let him use.
“I’m already having difficulties eating and sleeping because of the pain in my knee, Doc. How much worse does it have to get?”
“It’s all I can do right now. Sorry brother.”
Few things come to mind that make a doctor’s apology more hollow than by calling the patient “brother.” You’re a doctor, not Hulk Hogan. Cut it out.
My next stop was the X-ray technician, who threw my legs into a painful position resembling a pretzel, and snapped photos away until I begged for help up.
“You’re a grown man,” the tech replied. “You got on the table yourself, and you can get off it yourself.”
Either this lady never heard of the Hippocratic Oath or it doesn’t apply to X-ray technicians. I’m still trying to suss that one out.
“We’ll call you in a day with the X-Ray results. Would you prefer an orthopedist in Knoxville?”
“Sure,” I said as I limped out of the office.
A day later I got a call from the orthopedist’s office. I started laughing uncontrollably when the poor lady taking down my information asked what problem prompted the referral.
“Was that information not conveyed by my doctor’s office?”
“Sir, all the referral says is ‘unspecified knee pain.’”
Just twenty-four hours ago I’d had my pants down in a doctor’s office with a supposed medical professional examining my knee, with pain I graphically described in admittedly colorful language, and the best they could manage was “unspecified knee pain.”
Such incidents cause a layperson like myself to wonder how often the medical system REALLY fucks shit up.
Anyway, here’s hoping you’re having a better start to your weekend than I am! If anything really good comes from this appointment I might try and update everyone next week.
For now, once I get this crap over with, I want a nap.
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