Doc said you were gone.
How? I never knew your name.
A tear for my tear.
It took something pretty big to bring me out of bloggie hibernation. Here's the story:
Somewhere between 1992 and present day I lost my ACL. Like an episode of X-Files, nobody will ever know for sure when or where it left. I am left instead to contemplate the curious matter of its disappearance...
The first mystery is what and where exactly is the ACL? It looks innocuous enough...
But let me tell you, when that little sucker goes, you sure miss it. I missed it for years without even knowing I didn't have it! The experience has been engulfing enough to send me back to my oh-so-patient blog in the hopes of getting advice.
For years I thought I had a "bum knee" and cringed at those poor suckers who had REALLY bad knees leading to things like surgeries and months of rehabilitation. Well this past spring I went for a routine visit to the physiotherapist hoping to get some advice on orthotics. (Sidebar: I know I sound like I'm 80, but they really help!) Anyways, imagine my shock when I was told that my ACL is completely torn. "No, no, doctor, you have it all wrong. It can't actually be all that bad..."
After X-rays and an MRI, the casualty list has grown to include not only my ACL, but half of my meniscus, and cartilage. Most heart-stopping though was probably the incredulous look on my family doctor's face as he scanned the MRI report and repeatedly asked "Are you SURE you aren't in any pain?"
Physical pain? No. Well not yet, anyway. That will come. But there is that ache of knowing that my body has let me down and that even at the tender age of 28, I am fallible.