Back in 2013 I loved to run. I didn’t run prettily, I was like a ungainly colt, flailing elbows and knees thrown to the side, but I ran. I enjoyed the wind through my hair, spurring me n, burgeoning me up. I felt strong, mighty, empowered. I had a pedometer from McDonald’s GoFit Campaign forever ago, back when Ronald McDonald had a crew, a group of friends. The pedometer somehow got stuck on kilometers and would not change back. I ran 1.23 km – 1.32 km a day. Granted that isn’t much but it was a challenge. After some time I developed tendinitis and had to sit still until it healed. When that trial was over, I went back to running in the woods behind my house.
One day, I stepped in a hole in the same path I always used. I fell on my hands and knees, checked I hadn’t twisted my ankle and ran on. The next day my knee like nobody’s business. I was told to quit running until the pain went away. After a few weeks, the pain left. I waited another week before running again. Weeks later the pain was back and not going away. I went to an orthopedic doctor who told me it was growing pains. Seriously? Growing pains at twenty-three? It was time for a second opinion.
The new doctor felt my knee, looked at the MRI and said, “Yep, you have a bipartite patella.” Which means that when I was twelve my knee cap didn’t fuse completely and was in two separate pieces. He set me up for surgery. After the surgery, he told me the bone fragments had broken off and lodged in my tendon. No wonder I was in pain.
◊◊Tune in next time for “After knee surgery and how my dog became my nursemaid.”◊◊