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Nov 21, 2002 I had arthroscopic knee surgery last Friday. They sucked out two chunks of loose cartilage and patched up some holes in my bones. I have six incisions, 15 staples and my swollen leg is shaved smooth. All-in-all, I feel pretty good, though. My leg is in an immobilizing brace to reduce pain, and I have crutches that help me get around. But I’m not going anywhere. Other than hobbling to the bathroom or kitchen, I spent the entire weekend reclining on the couch in a pleasantly surreal fog of pain medication. Doctor’s orders, of course. While swirling in this narcotic current, TV shows blended with bits of actual conversation into lifelike dreams -- I spent most of Saturday hunting pheasants with Jack Nicholson and my son, Spiderman. We had quite a feast. Sunday, I watched my wife, the stand-up comedian, refinish an antique bench with the energetic bunch who does "Zumba". The bench looked great. So did the people who did Zumba. I smiled throughout it all, drank bottled water and continued to flip the channels in my semi-consciousness. I knew that soon my knee would be well and that I’d be able to play soccer again -- even if it was with Big Bird and Bill O’Reilly. They were playing the Rugrats in Mogadishu. I’m not sure who won, but Big Bird is one hell of a goalie. After these dreamy interludes, I was always able to bring myself back to reality by "rattling my bones". The good Doctor gave me the two pieces that he pulled from my knee. They’re in a clear plastic bottle about two inches tall. When I shake the bottle it sounds like I’m getting ready for a Yahtzee roll. Snake eyes! Box Cars! Cartilage Chunks! That sort of thing. These bits of kneecap look like baby teeth -- angled and worn and certainly capable of biting. They might seem disgusting depending on your disposition. But me, I’m glad I have them. They’re not only physical proof that my previous pain wasn’t imaginary, (which could earn me occasional pity points from my wife or other sentimental souls) the chunks will also serve as my rehabilitative inspiration. This ghoulish talisman will be an important reminder: The doctor did what he needed to do, now the rest is up to me. If Tom Brokaw, Mickey Mouse and I are going to make a dramatic comeback and beat the Ancient Egyptians in double overtime, than I need to be ready. Oh, that may have been another of my drug-induced visions, but never mind. The point is that those bits of bone are reminders of my mortality. The Yahtzee sound they make is really a death rattle -- a reminder that my time here is definitely limited. I need to get going if I’m going to reenergize my life and try out for a professional soccer team. Or even just play sports again. And it’s really that -- the pure tribal joy of athletic competition -- that will be my rehabilitative inspiration. But bones in a jar ain’t too shabby. Rattle, rattle. If that doesn’t work, I may have to buy Zumba. ------------ Jeff Milligan lives in West Sadsbury Township, Pennsylvania with his wife and two children. He falls in the following demographic categories: Age 25 - 34. Race: Whitish. Shaving: Does not enjoy it.. Email Jeff: JIam41@aol.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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