Arthroscopy 4 - Reality Bites - 1st Day Post Op

The night I return from the hospital, pins and needles shoot though my leg, parts of which are also numb. It’s scary. By early next morning however, the feeling in my leg has returned. 

That first night I dream that all my friends from Jerusalem have dropped by sister's home to pay a visit, but that some bastard has hidden my crutches. I wake up, take some pain killers and then soon drop back to sleep.

My first day post-op is spent in bed with my hot laptop resting on disabled knees. Later on I try to stand up. Despite only having a small gauze over the surgical wound, I feel like my leg is in a plaster cast. The entire leg has swelled up and I take the opportunity to inspect it closer. My knee, of course, is in incredible pain. But then I notice the bruising along the underside of the knee and along my calf. In fact, the bruising comes high up my thigh. Spots of dry blood and needle puncture marks dot various points of my leg. I can remember someone inserting an IV in my arm, and I look for the spot. The entire area shows a dark bruise. I then recall that after surgery an IV needle was removed from the surface of my hand, and I look there. A large bruise paints my hand. In fact, a number of needle points show themselves on the top of my hand. Wow, those doctors really had a good go at me. I feel as though I have been assaulted.

In truth I have, in fact, been assaulted, although it was not illegal. Prior to surgery I was required to sign a consent form. But it makes you wonder; on what basis should I trust these guys? I had actually agreed, in writing, to submit my person and my body to their good will. They could have done anything to me in there. What am I, an idiot? 

I recalled when I signed the consent form for my appendectomy. Unlike this knee surgery, on that occasion I didn't really have a choice; failure to sign would almost certainly have meant that I would die (now there's a sobering thought). I considered the possibilities of living with recurring knee pain for the rest of my life. What did cave men do when they suffered meniscal tears and arthroscopic surgery was not an option? I pictured myself as a Neanderthal, hunting in the fields, limping towards my pray. Would the other tribe members share food with me? Or would I spend my time gathering fruit with the tribe's women folk? Come to think of it, that's pretty much what I spend my time doing these days.

I thank my lucky stars that I came away from this latest medical experience with only a few bruises.