That nickname deserves a hyphen this week. With the knee still swollen and not responding to the treatments, the P.T.s at my client’s Sports Medicine Center sent me to the head orthopedist last night. He thinks I either have worn cartilage or a blown meniscus. The latter would require surgery. Otherwise, it’s strengthening and stretching. An MRI is the next step.
Just got off the phone with the head P.T. who has known me for years as the writer and devout Red Sox fan. He’s been looking out for me the past couple of weeks. He, so far, has been spot on about everything. Which right now is annoying and scary. He thinks I blew out my meniscus. If I did. I did not do it running or biking or swimming. I did it in bed. Alone. Coughing.
So I won’t be running in the Long Beach Marathon this Sunday. It became obvious about a week ago. I just didn’t feel like typing those words yet. Not doing my normal activities has been cramping my style. I have to think more judiciously about how I do everything, including laundry. Whatever it is, I'm grateful it's treatable. After working for this place for almost a decade and helping out with CAF's Operation Rebound in Oceanside, I haven't lost perspective.
To help cheer me up, 734’s Dad surprised me the other day with a bar of dark chocolate and this handmade sign made by his 83-year old client. You have to look at it very carefully to find the “i” – in fact, we looked at the collection of letters about three different ways – “Well, may this is the ‘i’ and these are the two ‘n’s.” It’s more than a puzzle. It was a really sweet gesture that I’ll look at every day as I do my work. Or avoid my work. And read my friends’ blogs.