Hi, everybody! I’ve injured myself. I’ve torn a tendon my knee, the one that leads right up the front of the thigh.
According to the emergency room crew, it’s “partly torn”. As I begin this, I haven’t seen my own doctor yet.
What happened:
I flew up to Seattle for Norwescon on Thursday. Steve Barnes picked me up a little after noon. We talked RINGWORLD’S CHILD, and he led me through some valuable insights. We followed maps to Brenda Cooper’s new apartment. There, as planned, we three changed for a yoga class that is held at 106 degrees temperature.
However crazy that sounds-Marilyn hated the idea-what could happen? I’m bracketed by collaborators.
The yoga went okay. The heat got to me halfway through; not unusual; I lay down to get past that. Finished the class. We were outside, still hot in Seattle damp weather. Presently, ready to make for the car, I tried to stand up. My left slipper slid on the slippery pavement-slid back under me-and I felt and saw my kneecap slide out of place. Yoga had softened all those muscles.
One of us called 911. An ambulance and stretcher arrived. I was told my kneecap was in place, so I straightened my leg and found I could stand up. Steve was up quick, telling me to grab him for support, and I did. One step and I learned that my knee was buckling without resistance.
I got X-rays. Came home with them. They’ll have to be returned.
The ER doctor said: “Partly torn tendon. Don’t bend the leg for (usually) four to six weeks.” And I was given a leg brace, a torture implement to hold my leg straight by force. Yes, I sleep with it.
The next couple of days were…interesting. It could have been a nightmare…but Brenda wheeled me around in a hotel wheelchair all Friday, brought me ice, etc. Without her it would have been a mess.
Toilets have to be negotiated carefully when you can’t bend your knee. Even handicapped toilets.
You notice a lot of handicapped at conventions, when you’re handicapped yourself. Algis Budrys is in a wheelchair for awhile, Charles Brown caught us, and we’ll appear in tandem in LOCUS.
People keep asking the same question.
I barely slept Thursday. Friday I got over that: went to sleep in the filk concert room, entertained to sleep, stretched out on four chair. Brenda thought I was applauding in my sleep, but I wasn’t; I was aware of the music.
The handicapped elevator to half the meeting rooms goes up from the kitchen!
By Saturday I’d tired of the wheelchair. I could stand up, and I developed a half-arc footstep. Brenda stuck with me. I could fall over. I was trying not to bring her, and Steve, down. What could have been a nightmare, wasn’t. People are too solicitous for that: friends, strangers, and the ones whose names I should remember, were all kindly and sympathetic.
Marilyn had called my own doctor. Appointment Monday.
Saturday evening: the plan had been to fly home, be home for a traditional Easter egg hunt. I called Alaska Friday and got upgraded to First Class with a bulkhead. …Only, it didn’t take. The seat was given me only through Portland. That had to be fixed.
It got fixed. I flew home in a bulkhead seat with room to stick my leg past the bulkhead into First. At one point a delighted flight attendant announced she’d got me all three seats…then realized, as I had, that the arms don’t come up; the trays are in them. From Portl and I was riding with a woman and child, part of a group of nine skiing enthusiasts. The flight attendant didn’t like me “blocking” them.
Hey, I can stand up and let them past. The only thing I can’t do is bend my leg.
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Easter Sunday was fun. I’m mobile enough if Marilyn drives. Lunch was good, and the conversations were a delight. Thank you all. Kim, thanks for the charity egg. I never found one. With Sandy’s wit I would have found many.
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So I’m home, and it’s Monday, April 16, 2001, and I’m planning an altered life.
The doctor told me that this is the major muscle in the leg, that if it isn’t reattached I may never get function back. It must happen fast. On Wednesday they’re going to reattach the tendon. Then-maybe I’m in a cast; if not, it’s something that absolutely immobilizes the leg. I spend the first night in the hospital.
Marilyn is optimistic. We’ve had knee surgery before. (Torn meniscus.) This isn’t as extreme as knee replacement, which we may face someday. I hope she’s right, and I intend to emulate her attitude.
The restaurant forays we planned depend on my being able to straighten my leg. I hadn’t planned any trips until July, so there’s no need to dread an airplane seat.
I can’t sit in a barber’s chair. I feel shaggy already.