Last week I posted the stories about
being a big, whiny baby my knee injury and the subsequent MRI. The follow-up appointment was yesterday, and there is both good news and bad news.
The good news is I only waited forty-five minutes before seeing the doctor, as opposed to the two hours last week. At this rate, I’ll be able to see the doc in a timely fashion by… 2022.
The bad news? Well, it’s pretty much what I expected.
The orthopedist came into the room and pulled up my MRI. (I assumed he would have done some show prep beforehand by actually, you know, looking at the MRI first, but hey, what do I know?) He scanned through the images – I have very sexy bones, by the way – stopped at my kneecap, stared at for a few minutes, and gave his diagnosis…
“The arthritis under your patella is worse than I originally thought. Unfortunately, there is not a lot we can do with that, except a knee replacement, and you’re too young for that…” I kind of spaced out after that, but I picked up a few phrases along the way.
“No jogging or running… walk on a high school track… ice when necessary…” The appointment ended with classic bedside manor; in this case, the doctor basically told me to rub some dirt on it, and when the pain becomes unbearable, come in for a cortisone shot. Thank you, that’ll be $25.00.
So my initial guess was spot-on. The arthritis is bad, and there is nothing they can do for me. In the meantime, my knee still hurts, but at least I can take the full length knee brace off now. Hooray.
OH YEAH: Speaking of depression, I had my mental illness appointment last week, too. While I am still obviously batshit insane, the psychiatrist dropped my meds from 75mg a day to 50mg. She hopes to have me being totally off them in September.