The PRP/Synvisc procedure was today. All things considered, the procedure went very smoothly. So now I am staring down the barrel of two days of hard down time. I'm nine hours into it and already feeling like I'm imprisoned. Riot and escape attempt to follow. Stay tuned.
The morning started off very rocky. Frustration was already thick because the wife refused to let me drive myself to and from the doctor's office. My Army of One mentality and refusing to let her "take care of me" are sore points. So we compromised by agreeing to allow her to drop me off on her way to work and then having my mother-in-law pick me up after the procedure was over. We were out the door on time (a miracle in-and-of itself) and went through McDonald's drive-thru so that I could put something on my stomach before the appointment. Interestingly enough the medical staff at the doctor's office suggested this as they said that many people become light-headed or pass out during the injection. The majority, they said, were men. Although I had no fear that I would swoon, I do have a very delicate image to maintain.
In the drive-thru I realized that I did not have the check book. As this was a pay-to-play, out-of-pocket procedure, I would need it. Then the rush back to the house to get the check book, which was never found. We write checks for so few things that keeping up with its location is far from a priority. Luckily I did locate a temporary check for the right account and back out the door I went; now running behind. My frustration level was high. Very high. I didn't like the idea of being chauffeured like an invalid. I didn't like not being at the wheel to cut through traffic like a trained stunt-car driver. I didn't like the idea of having the mother-in-law come to pick me up, again like an invalid. I sure as hell didn't like the idea of being bullied into any of this dependency BS, but there I was. I am now, however, contemplating writing a book titled "Army of One: The Low Stess Life of Operating Independently". Watch for it. It will be a best-seller.
I arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes late and walked into the reception area. The first thing that I noticed was that the waiting room was vacant. This is one of the best orthopedic and sports medicine practices in the the region. The office is always crowded. For it to be empty was a little disconcerting. Or maybe they were afraid that the One Man would have a negative experience and for safety they had cancelled their morning appointments. The latter makes me smile, therefore I'll stay with that assertion.
After the nurse drew my blood (which we now know contains magical healing properties) and took it to be spun in the centrifuge, the doctor came in to prep my knee. I will say that the prep for the injection was the toughest part of the entire procedure. Lots of sprays and needles to "numb" the injection site before he inserted a very LARGE gauge needle into the joint itself to aspirate fluid from the knee. I was surprised when he was able to do so. The knee hadn't seemed swollen or aching at all this morning. But draw fluid from the joint he did. That was the only part of the procedure that produced any sharp pain (no pun intended). The injection of the PRP (3 1/2 cc), Synvisc (48 mg), and Kenalog (40 mg) was relatively painless - only a sensation of pressure - and very quick.
The highlight of the post-procedure was sitting outside the hospital and talking with a homeless man from Paducah, KY while I waited for my mother-in-law to pick me up. He approached and introduced himself, showing me his ID as though he felt compelled to prove the name he had given me. I showed him my ID which totally threw off his OODA loop. Although I'm sure the original intent was to ask me for money, he seemed all too eager to put distance between himself and I after I gave him directions to the local shelter that was only a block or so away. Maybe he didn't get the memo that everyone else around the doctor's office had received.
So here I am locked down for three days of rest, ice, and Advil. Luckily I still have the AirCast Cryo/Cuff from my surgery years ago. Always knew it would come in handy again. Days four and five are suppose to be light activity days - biking, elliptical - but no running until day seven. That is a little different (more prolonged) than what I was initially told, but I will give the doctor the benefit of the doubt and err on the side of caution.
In the mean time I have set up camp on the the couch with the intention of getting caught up on work. Instead, I've found myself watching episodes of Magnum P.I. on Netflix. Which has me thinking: if you are going to police - or be a P.I. even - why not do it somewhere with palm trees? So I have decided that as soon as day seven comes I'm packing up and moving to Hawaii. I just need a cool Hawaiian shirt, a Ferrari, and a wealthy benefactor who'll let me stay in the guest house on their private estate. That should be easy enough. Oh, and I'll have to grow an awesome mustache too. Better get started on that right now...
The morning started off very rocky. Frustration was already thick because the wife refused to let me drive myself to and from the doctor's office. My Army of One mentality and refusing to let her "take care of me" are sore points. So we compromised by agreeing to allow her to drop me off on her way to work and then having my mother-in-law pick me up after the procedure was over. We were out the door on time (a miracle in-and-of itself) and went through McDonald's drive-thru so that I could put something on my stomach before the appointment. Interestingly enough the medical staff at the doctor's office suggested this as they said that many people become light-headed or pass out during the injection. The majority, they said, were men. Although I had no fear that I would swoon, I do have a very delicate image to maintain.
In the drive-thru I realized that I did not have the check book. As this was a pay-to-play, out-of-pocket procedure, I would need it. Then the rush back to the house to get the check book, which was never found. We write checks for so few things that keeping up with its location is far from a priority. Luckily I did locate a temporary check for the right account and back out the door I went; now running behind. My frustration level was high. Very high. I didn't like the idea of being chauffeured like an invalid. I didn't like not being at the wheel to cut through traffic like a trained stunt-car driver. I didn't like the idea of having the mother-in-law come to pick me up, again like an invalid. I sure as hell didn't like the idea of being bullied into any of this dependency BS, but there I was. I am now, however, contemplating writing a book titled "Army of One: The Low Stess Life of Operating Independently". Watch for it. It will be a best-seller.
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| Where did everybody go? |
After the nurse drew my blood (which we now know contains magical healing properties) and took it to be spun in the centrifuge, the doctor came in to prep my knee. I will say that the prep for the injection was the toughest part of the entire procedure. Lots of sprays and needles to "numb" the injection site before he inserted a very LARGE gauge needle into the joint itself to aspirate fluid from the knee. I was surprised when he was able to do so. The knee hadn't seemed swollen or aching at all this morning. But draw fluid from the joint he did. That was the only part of the procedure that produced any sharp pain (no pun intended). The injection of the PRP (3 1/2 cc), Synvisc (48 mg), and Kenalog (40 mg) was relatively painless - only a sensation of pressure - and very quick.
The highlight of the post-procedure was sitting outside the hospital and talking with a homeless man from Paducah, KY while I waited for my mother-in-law to pick me up. He approached and introduced himself, showing me his ID as though he felt compelled to prove the name he had given me. I showed him my ID which totally threw off his OODA loop. Although I'm sure the original intent was to ask me for money, he seemed all too eager to put distance between himself and I after I gave him directions to the local shelter that was only a block or so away. Maybe he didn't get the memo that everyone else around the doctor's office had received.
 |
| Why, yes, those are Balega socks. |
So here I am locked down for three days of rest, ice, and Advil. Luckily I still have the AirCast Cryo/Cuff from my surgery years ago. Always knew it would come in handy again. Days four and five are suppose to be light activity days - biking, elliptical - but no running until day seven. That is a little different (more prolonged) than what I was initially told, but I will give the doctor the benefit of the doubt and err on the side of caution.
In the mean time I have set up camp on the the couch with the intention of getting caught up on work. Instead, I've found myself watching episodes of Magnum P.I. on Netflix. Which has me thinking: if you are going to police - or be a P.I. even - why not do it somewhere with palm trees? So I have decided that as soon as day seven comes I'm packing up and moving to Hawaii. I just need a cool Hawaiian shirt, a Ferrari, and a wealthy benefactor who'll let me stay in the guest house on their private estate. That should be easy enough. Oh, and I'll have to grow an awesome mustache too. Better get started on that right now...
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| Check out that stylin' mustache! |
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