I'm sat on the big brown leather sofa, wearing an Afghan Trust t-shirt, grey marl yoga pants and a pair of pink slippers. The dog is asleep in her bed, and the only thing I can hear is Gounod's Faust on the radio being broadcast live from the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. The lamp is on dimly and throwing heart shapes through the cheese plant leaves again, the spiky edges of the out of control cactus seem to be glowing in the light that is bathing it. I have a glass of Bailey's to the left of me and I've not long had some pretty hardcore analgesia.
I will make no apologies if I get upset or swear - it will, however, only happen the once. After that, normal service will be resumed and the swinging rock for a heart will be hung once more.
It's been results week. I have waited a few weeks for this to come, and secretly I knew the outcome as I saw the scans and x-rays, but to see the reports in black & white and have "the discussion" with the Surgeon really rammed it home. I did a rather silly thing really - I lied to him. I told him that it was only the one side of the knee that was really bad. His puzzled look told me he didn't believe me, and rightly so. He proceeded to tell me that the MRI scan showed that the medial and lateral femoral condyles (the 2 ends of the femur that make up part of the knee) are equally fubar'd, whilst the bone density scan shows that the medial (inside) aspect is the worst. So why did I lie when he can see the scans??
The outcome is vastly different. If just the medial side is bad, I'll get away with a partial knee replacement. If both are as bad as each other, I'm left with an altogether shit decision. I can stay as I am, wearing a brace to stop the knee collapsing and the kneecap dislocating, only being able to walk using crutches, having physio that doesn't work, an injection into the joint every 6wks that only lasts for 3, having the bony spurs sanded down and the little cartilage that is left trimmed every 6 months, maybe another dozen or so fractures put in to possibly stimulate some covering on the bone, not be able to go back to a job I love and pump myself full of morphine every day, or I can have the leg amputated above the knee, get used to it and be back at work within 6-9mths. The first of those choices is no choice at all - I'll take amputation over that every day of the week!
I say it's my choice, but it isn't really. I sat with the surgeon on Monday and we discussed this at great length. I had begged at one point, when the pain was so bad and the kneecap was slipping out up to 6 times a day, for someone from Maintenance to be called to bring his saw and cut it off. That's how bad it can get. The surgeon got me to sign the consent form on Monday for him to take me to theatre again as soon as possible. The reason for this is threefold - for him to see the damage for himself, to sand down the nice bony spurs that are poking up into the exposed spongy bone in the femur and causing me no end of pain, and to trim & flush out the bits of raggedy cartilage that are trapping themselves in the collapsed side of the knee. What he sees inside will seal the fate of my leg. So effectively, my lie that it's only one side that is crucifying me so that I can keep my leg is immaterial because he'll see for himself. He has the last word, and he knows that I accept that.
Now some people are finding this really hard to deal with and cannot understand how I can be so stoical and matter of fact, but they're not in my position. They don't have the pain, the lack of sleep, they don't have to push their kneecap back into place whilst trying not to scream the street down, they don't have to sit wondering whether to call the ambulance to put it back in, they don't have to put up with the falls and the chunks missing from their heads because of them. I want my life back. I want my job back. I know it's very selfish, but I don't think I have the energy to keep myself and everybody else upbeat about this. I need to keep my own head above water emotionally, and that has to be my focus. I just hope that by keeping my own shit together, it will make life easier for those that care for me and in turn, make it easier for them to cope.
I don't want pity if the worst option is the outcome, I don't want treating any different. I'll still be me, I'll just be a bit lop sided and I'll also weigh a bit less - bonus!! I may ask if they can do a tummy tuck whilst they're at it. Anyone showing any signs of pity will be swiftly bitchslapped and told to fuck off!! Should they be out of arms reach, a crutch will be deployed. Failing that, I shall release he who is known as "IW" to kick arrse!
I'm on the last part of this journey now and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I just hope that when I get there, I see the faces of those I love and care about smiling back at me. If I lose some along the way, then so be it.
Watch out NHS, I'm coming back!!
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