Clutching Crutches

     Until yesterday I had not used crutches for 31 years. At age 24 I had surgery to correct a kneecap that had been dislocating since I injured it playing in a sawdust pit at age 9. I was not very good with crutches back when I was younger, stronger and more coordinated. Having grown older, weaker and fatter has not improved the situation. Fortunately, I did not need to use them for long thanks to my bff Cortisone. Within a few hours my knee went from pain from any movement to able to bear weight. Now I only need a crutch for walking longer distances, like out to our mailbox, and I only use one crutch. Even I can't be too big a clutz using one crutch.
     The culmination of the crutch crisis was another of those odd answers to prayer I have blogged about.  Having a stiff, painful knee is nothing new for me, what was new is that the problem was my right aka "good" knee.  I have always counted on "Righty" to make up for "Lefty" and I suppose it felt taken for granted, so about a week ago, Righty got sore.  But not too sore.  I have had two cortisone shots in my left knee because it not only got sore, but unbending.  Bending is a handy thing for a knee to do.  It is practically their entire job description. Righty was painful but still bending fairly well so I couldn't decide whether or not to have it shot.  Then, like an idiot, I prayed about it. The answer came quickly.  Wednesday morning I gimped out to get the newspaper and around the house as usual but when I sat down at the table my right knee hurt like crazy.  I decided to have it shot after I was finished taking blood pressures at Sykes.  Halfway through my two hour shift I hobbled back to the rest room. The trip back to the pharmacy took the remaining hour.  Not really, but I realized partway back that Righty had about had it for the day and I wasn't sure I could make it back without her.
     I knew I could have asked someone to help, but the number one unspoken rule when I was growing up was--Don't draw attention to yourself. If I ever have a heart attack, I will probably text 911 so they can get back to me at their leisure. It is very hard not to draw attention when the place wounded knee decides to make its last stand is in the middle of a restaurant. I got back to my chair in the pharmacy, but by the shock waves I was experiencing, I knew I would not be able to walk out of there. I could have asked the pharmacists to help me into my car but, even if I could have driven, I still wouldn't have a way into orthopedic urgent care.  So I called Reed to pick me up after my shift--literally.
     Another odd God thing is that the doctor I have been waiting two months to see about a knee replacement for Lefty, happened to have an opening between patients and decided to help out the urgent care.  He gave me a cortisone shot, recommended crutches, and told me not to run any marathons.  What luck, I didn't happen to be scheduled for any.  For my birthday Monday, I'm getting an MRI--and I hadn't even asked for one.  If my miniscus is torn, I will need arthroscopic surgery.  I should use that time as crutch practice for my upcoming knee replacement when Clutzy Connie clutches crutches again.