Do I Really Need Two Knees?

This can’t be good. This cannot be good. Anytime you are visiting your doctor and, when describing a procedure to you, he uses the word cadaver, you know you are in serious trouble.

Actually, I knew I was in serious trouble a few minutes before, when he asked me how old I was. Or at least that was the language he used. What he really meant was, “are you still young enough to make this worthwhile? Do you still lead an active enough life style to justify the intense, horrific, you-are-going-to-wish-you-were-dead pain that this is going to entail? And by the way, we are going to stick a dead guy’s body part in you.” Or at least that was what was in his eyes.

I love my knees. I really do. I try to use them every day. The only problem is that one of them does not love me back. I have soccer to blame. Yes soccer, that ankle-twisting, nose-bloodying, shoulder-separating and now ACL-destroying satan sport (or football as some of you call it) is the cause of my grief. And what grief it is!

I am not going to go into a technical description of the surgery. When the doctor explained it to me, I was not listening. Instead, I was flashing back to that movie where a guy had the organs of a serial killer transplanted into him and then became possessed.

The surgery is actually a long way off. I have approximately six months before my preliminary arthroscopy followed two months later by the real deal. The wait is a product of our free, but slow Canadian health care system. I have had a similar surgery before, but this time I am told it will be worse. Quite frankly, I am scared as hell.