I'm at the hospital this morning, undergoing knee surgery. As a respite from my usual rantings and ravings, here are some amusing anecdotes from Mr. Joel Alexander Miron regarding his knee surgery:

Joint Dysplasia,

I actually tore my medial collateral ligament (the one on the inside of the knee) which is a lot less common than the ACL, he said with foolish pride.

Similar to you, I gimped around on it for several months before having it diagnosed and repaired. My parents were against the procedure, but as I kept falling down at awkward moments (I worked construction that summer, lots of scrambling up and down uneven terrain carrying heavy things), and whining about it they eventually broke down.

To reconstruct the ligament they shaved off a strip of my patellar tendon (that which connects your kneecap to your shin) and stuck it on... somehow. The surgery was, as I say, a really great process. After the spinal injection of... essentially heroin, I had no sensation of pain, but I also felt completely lucid and involved in the process. Then I started cracking jokes, doing impersonations, making fun of the doctors. The nurses started cracking up, then the orthopedist began to guffaw. The anesthesiologist, of course, maintained a serious mein throughout.

At some point, I passed out. I woke the next morning feeling awful. I was nauseous, my leg really ached, I couldn't read or watch TV or do anything other than think about how puffy and painful and terrible my leg was. Then I discovered the morphine button, and all was well.

At some point I was fed breakfast, then ushered into the rehab area. I still wasn't feeling too well, but I did my best to have a positive attitude and set a good example for my fellow patients. The rehab area was largely inhabited by the very elderly all of whom seemed to be regulars and, perhaps consequently, full of despair. There was also a very unhappy little girl who was missing a limb. Anyway, the nice lady took me through some simple exercises that would get me back on my feet. The last one involved sitting on a special bench that moved electronically up and down to adjust to the patient's height.

The nice lady said, "Now of course at home you'll have to find a platform of the correct height to do this..."

I interrupted cheerfully, "Oh no, that won't be a problem. All of my furniture is hydraulic." She started to laugh, then I threw up on her.

That's actually the most distinct memory of the whole episode, her face changing from gleeful chuckle to horrified disgust. The elderly patients all tsk-tsked as I apologized and she cleaned herself up. But the little lame girl let forth a peal of silver giggles.

Anyway, I crutched around quite painfully for several days, then after a week or two the swelling went down to the point wherein I could limp fairly slowly without the crutches. I wore a big brace for about a month, then a much smaller one (like Jonathan of The Saints has) for several months after that. I played a little flag football about three months after the surgery, which was absurdly risky, but hey. That winter I attempted unsuccessfully to downhill ski, again, a very stupid thing to do. That spring (seven months after surgery) I played soccer very poorly. But by about a year after the surgery I was as you see me now. The knee is usually sore after any serious exercise, especially after running downhill, and I'm not as fast as I was before the injury, but I can still participate.

So that's the longass story. Your professional career is probably shot, but you can look forward to a largely normal life.

It's inspirational to see how well Joel has recovered from knee surgery: he flashes across the soccer field, proof that a full recovery is possible.

I'm hoping that the rehabilitation process will allow me to incorporate a fitness regimen which also helps me shed some of this excess weight that I've been carrying; I'd like to get back on that bike again.

I'll try to post something once I'm lucid.

Nicole, Dave, and I had an e-mail exchange yesterday about the horrible angst-ridden poetry we wrote in high school. I'm going to post some of it here soon for general mockery. If you wrote angst-ridden poetry in high school and are willing to submit it for ridicule, please e-mail me (jdroth@fooledspace.org — with the obvious correction) and I'll add it to the pillory.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2001 — New Horizons   If a person limits his or her reading material to science fiction and fantasy (or some other genre), is the person somehow less educated, somehow cutting himself (or herself) off from possible horizons?