In a flurry, rushing to get things done, always rushed, I stepped out of the shed carrying boxes of camping food and SNAP! (BAM? WHOOTZ? some kind of comic book sound for sure) my knee buckled and camping food went everywhere (flying marshmallows!) and I was in the dirt, helpless. Good thing I have all these kids to bring me ice and clean up the cans of baked beans I’d thrown asunder. Dave came home ten minutes later and helped me hobble inside.
That was Friday night. The doctor on Saturday said I’d done something. It might be a tear, but we’re hoping for a sprain, she said. Though later it occurred to me that I’ve never heard of anyone having a sprained knee. Have you? So I’ve got to go get an MRI this week and see what I did.
Until then: crutches, ice. Less frequent internet communications since I’m on the couch.
Oh No! I am so sorry to hear. I do hope it isn’t too serious. Take Care.
Knee sprains…yes, indeed, they happen. Stink, especially when that’s the good diagnosis! Sending you thoughts of soft pillows and ice, and children who do all the dishes.
Oh no… That doesn’t sound good. Now is your chance to start that new game “who can help Mom the most?” Here’s to a speedy recovery!
This is all not helped by the fact that anything related to knees apparently really grosses me out. I go in for an MRI tomorrow. The most possible possibility right now seems to be that my miniscus folded over. Excuse me while I hop around and do a creeped-out dance.
Just to update: I tore my ACL. I’m having surgery on October 1, at which point they’ll put a dead person’s ACL in me. (It was surprisingly easy to convince Eli I was going to become a zombie afterwards.) And then, I think, two more weeks of crutches after that. I’m trying to be upbeat about all this, but oy. It’s hard. It’s depressing not being able to carry things, or drive.