I’ve just had knee surgery. This because of a police action involving booze and a football. Only policemen were present.
This happened some time ago. I believe it was the Ford administration, possibly Nixon’s. In any case the knee has misbehaved at inconvenient times ever since.
Kinda pisses off my wife that I never did anything about it.
Oh, they sent me to someone at the time. He commenced to wrenching my knee around so he could see something or other, I don’t know what.
I checked myself out of that situation pronto.
So all these years it’s been giving me anxiety and giving her the creeps. A few weeks ago it attacked me during yoga class in front of about fifteen students. Concern on their part, embarrassment on mine. And one of the students, an MD, says, Why don’t you get that thing fixed? And I’m thinking, Well, maybe it’s time.
So my wife takes me in, and my blood pressure is off the chart, and they’re late getting to me, and I’m trying to breathe, but…
They finally wheel me in and the doc looks down at me and says, Okay, I’m going to put this shit in your IV and you’re going to be out in five seconds. And I say, ? zzzzzzzzz….
Next thing I know a nice lady is offering me peanut butter crackers and earnestly asking me how I feel. I’m a little woozy, but… I feel fine.
My wife drives us home and I’m waiting for the pain to hit. We’ve already filled my prescription for a family size bottle of weapons grade pain-killer. I’m loaded for bear.
Nothing. Pain doesn’t come.
A nurse called me this morning and asked about my pain. I had to confess that I had none.
After all this time if I were my wife I might be standing over my bed with my knuckles on my hips and one eyebrow up in the air. (Thankfully, she’s not me.)
I’ve told my yoga friend in Michigan about this ahead of time. And she’s told our sangha and they were all sending me prayers and good will at the moment of truth.
And my yoga friend in Colorado seems to know a lot about constipation and she’s told me what to do when the weapons grade pain-killers inevitably bring my bowels to a standstill.
And a yoga student who is a Reiki master has given me a treatment to prepare me for my ordeal.
And other students have given me hugs and blessings.
I had planned an heroic struggle. The tapas of searing pain. I would refuse all chemical relief until martyrdom seemed a real possibility.
I’m hobbling around on crutches (at least there’s that) and I can’t take a shower until Friday (can’t get the dressing wet). Other than that, no problem.
My ego would rather have glory than peace.
Maybe all the prayers had something to do with it.
Anyway, there’s yet hope. My other knee isn’t all that good.