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September 30, 1997
Just another Tuesday for me, volleyball class at 11 this morning,
followed by an hour or two at the Madison Student Radio offices and
studios (I chair the Governance Board). I usually eat lunch there and
read the newspapers as well as catch up on what's going on around the
station. After that, I'll head home to do some reading related to my
thesis and then catch a few hours sleep in the evening before my graveyard
shift tonight at the 24-hour computer lab on campus.
I arrived fairly early for volleyball and spent a good bit of time
stretching and jogging to warm up before class. Actually, this is
probably the most I've warmed up all semester. We start class as we
always do, learning and practicing different skills. Today, attacks. The
drill: Start at the ten-foot line with a ball, toss it to the setter at
the net, make an approach to the net and attack (literally jump up and
spike the ball over the net). I run through a couple without incident or
any particularly amazing success. Then, I toss the ball to the setter,
approach, attack, and land, left leg first, ending up in an inglorious
heap on the floor. I start yelling, "Knee, knee," to let anyone around
know that I'm injured. Our teacher gets me ice, arranges a ride to the
emergency room, and, with the help of the guy who was setting the for our
group, gets me down to the front entrance for my ride.
At the hospital, they x-rayed the knee and discovered that no bones
were broken They told me that I had probrbly bruised the cartilage and
maybe strained the ligaments. They wrapped the knee in an ace bandage,
gave me crutches and sent me on my way with the advice to ice it and take
ibuprofen for the pain.
Later that night, as I was trying to catch a few hours of sleep before
my graveyard shift, the pain became unbearable. Thus, I returned to the
emergency room. On this visit they said there was almost definitely a
tear to the cartilage and some strain to the ligaments. They put an
immobilizer on my left leg, and told me to see my primamry care physician
in a week (in the case of my HMO this is the UW Health Services clinic).
I wind up calling in sick for my work shift that night.
October 7, 1997
I've spent the past week hobbling around campus to classes and work,
running (limping?) errands and all the usual stuff. In these last seven
days, I've learned just what it means to be a
handicapped person.
Today I saw the orthopedist at UW Health Services. After a brief
examination, he referred me to an orthopedic surgeon at Physician's Plus,
the next step up in my HMO's care plan. Tomorrow I'm scheduled to see Dr.
William Mott.
October 8, 1997
After an examination, Dr. Mott is concerned that I may have torn
ligaments in my knee. He wants me to have an MRI to determine, what, if
any, soft tissue damage there may be in my knee. His secretary sets up an
appointment for me in twelve days. In the mean time, he tells me, take it
easy on the knee, and I can walk without crutches or the immobilizer, as
long as I feel comfortable that way, that is my knee feels strong enough
to support me. With that advice, I tend toward optimism, thinking that if
that's the case, he must feel there's no serious damage to my knee, how
wrong I will be. Even though, from day one I've been prepared for
surgery, but I have no idea what that entails, just that I need to be
ready for it.
October 20, 1997
I arrive at the MRI center and the staff works hard to put me
completely at ease about the procedure. It takes about half an hour, and
afterward I have to wait for the images to be processed, so that I can
hand carry them to my appointment with Dr. Mott tomorrow.
October 21, 1997
The day of reckoning. Three weeks to the day after my injury, and I'm
finally going to find out what's going on inside my knee. The one great
hazard of having health coverage with a penny-pinching HMO is that you
have to jump through so many hoops to finally get to the end result.
What, in the very near future, is going to make this experinece so
madenning is that two days before my surgery the Carolina Panthers' big
defensive lineman Don Davey will tear his ACL, have it diagnosed that
same day, and have reconstructive surgery the following day, a turn around
time of roughly 24 hours. I guess that shows you what money can buy.
Dr. Mott goes over the MRI images with me, one sheet at a time,
explaining from what angle each set was taken. He points out a couple of
light colored slivers that indicate tearing of the meniscus, the cartilage
that acts as a buffer between the upper and lower bones of the leg.
Then come the big ones. He points to what he describes as a grey,
mushy area on the images (in my knee!), where there should a nice black
band indicating a perfectly normal ACL. That's it, right there,
parctically jumping off the image. You've got a torn ACL, he tells me,
and we should schedule surgery as soon as possible. If I want to live any
kind active lifestyle in the future, I need to have this done. Later I'll
read something on another person's ACL web site where the doctor basically
said either change your lifestyle to suit your knee or change your knee to
suit your lifestyle. "I do believe, sir, that I shall opt for the latter
choice. Thank you very much."
Now is as good a time as any, I don't have any classes this semester,
except that volleyball class, and what I've just heard convinces me that
that's pretty much a wash. My earlier promise to the teacher that I'd be
back next semester is pretty much out the window, too. So, I go ahead and
schedule surgery. November 11, 1997.
Pre-Op & Surgery
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