Surgery it is. Probably in about a month. I actually have a blown ACL which is not what they initially thought, but which will continue to cause me trouble if I don't have it reconstructed. As for now, I'm getting around pretty well as long as I keep the brace on and the pain is down to a 2-3 on a scale of 1-10.
Health is the great leveler, isn't it? I know in the scheme of things a messed up knee is pretty minimal as far as actual life-threatening illnesses, but it sure is teaching me a few lessons. First, everything clicks into proper perspective. What's important? People, love, compassion, people, family, friends, people,havng a roof over your head and food on your table, people, people and people. I'm discovering some things about myself I imagine people close to me have known for awhile (sorry, ya'll!). First, I'm a terrible patient. I mean, really, I may may be worse than men! Second, even though I do it, I still don't like asking other people for help. Third, as long as I can still sweep my floor I will probably keep my sanity. And fourth, it doesn't do me much good to try and fight depression.
In my last post I valiantly declared that I would not be depressed about this. But over the weekend, like an old friend you really don't care to see again, it came knocking on the door, wanting to sit and have a cup of tea or 50. Finally, I looked at everything that's happened since Christmas. My hours at work were cut in half, my chimney crumbled and I was without heat for a few days but first the inside of my house was covered with soot, I was taken for a quick ride by a married man, I found out one of my best friends has breast cancer and then I fell and tore up my knee and could barely walk for a week. Just to put a cherry on top, the cowboy is not sure this thing with us will work out - and that's when I opened the door and invited my old friend in. I realized most everyone that had had the few weeks I had would probably be feeling a little down and I just embraced the sad mood that settled around me. I learned that when I'm depressed I don't care about much. Especially my big three pleasures: food, drinking and sex. But I knew as long as I still cared about sweeping the floor, and I did, I would probably be ok. And I am.
There's a lesson in here about those big three pleasures of mine and while I'm not entirely sure what is yet, you can be sure I'll let you know when I figure it out.
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