The B's Knees

[bcholmes]

I twisted my knee today.

When I was in grade seven, I was in a minor tobogganing accident. I was a scout, then, and I was at a winter scout camp. There was park/campground outside of Sarnia, and it had a really big hill that we used for tobogganing. Actually, it was a terrible hill for tobogganing, because it was all frozen sand. No snow on top. Just frozen sand. It was much like tobogganing on sandpaper, really. We were dragging our toboggans up this hill over and over again. And this was a big hill. Quite possibly thirty feet tall.

Did I mention the part about how this was midnight tobogganing? We could barely see a thing.

One time, two of us were riding down the hill. I was on the back of the sled and one of the other scouts was in front of me. We were whipping down the hill, and I remember my hand scraping on the frozen sand. For years, I had a small scar on the back of that hand as the hill scraped my skin away. I can still see where that was, although the scar is pratically invisible now.

At the bottom of the hill, there was an outcropping of grass, sticking out from the sand. We couldn't see it, though, because it was so dark, and by the time we were anywhere near it, we were moving pretty fast. What I do remember, though, is that one moment, we were going really fast down the hill, and the next, I was lying on my back on the frozen creek at the base of the hill, looking up at the stars.

The other scouts told us how cool it all was. We apparently hit the outcropping of frozen grass at the bottom (which acted like a ramp), and then the toboggan went flying through the air.

I broke my collarbone. The other guy bit off a piece of his tongue.

This was on the first night of camp -- a Friday night. As we went back to our cabin that night, our scout leader took a look at my shoulder and pronounced it sprained.

But when I got back to my parent's place on Sunday night, my parents didn't really buy the whole "sprained" theory. I was favouring my left shoulder too much. Also, my left arm hung down a whole lot farther than my right arm. So it was off to the hospital we went.

Now, I should point out that my family has a genetic aversion to hospitals. Many years ago, when I was in University, my great-grandmother fell down the stairs in her home. The next day, she decided that she was still in a lot of pain -- so much so, that she still hadn't been able to move from the bottom of the stairs -- and decided that she should go to the hospital. When she got there, the hospital went about trying to find her latest medical records. It turns out that the most recent medical records were in the same hospital from when she gave birth to my grandfather, sixty-five years earlier.

For me, the crux of this story is that when I tell it, other people find it a lot more shocking than I do.

Anyway, at the hospital, my shoulder was X-rayed, and it was concluded that I had a broken collarbone. Not just broken, but out of alignment. I recall, vividly, the conversation in one of the examination rooms at the hospital. My parents were sitting in uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs up against one wall, while I was standing, facing them as the doctor, behind me, was pointing out the spot where the fracture existed. There was talk about operating so they could reset the bone, and my stomach just sank.

Then the doctor grabbed my shoulders, yanked them back, while pushing my spine forward, and I could hear the bone audibly pop. "Now we don't have to operate," he said.

"That hurt," I said, emphatically.

"Of course it hurt," he said. "That's what happens in hospitals."

So, my shoulder was set. As was my distrust of hospitals.

I wore a shoulder brace for several weeks after that. My family told me, repeatedly, that the accident ruined my posture. But eventually the shoulder healed and I haven't had any problems with it since.

But there was one other thing: the accident also did something to my knee. In the months that followed, every once in a while, my knee would twist, and the bones would seem to pop into a new position, and it would be horribly painful to walk on it or bend it. Over the months, I got very good at the least painful way to walk on it, and got very aggressive about twisting it in a way that allowed it to pop back into its proper place. Smartly, I made sure that my parents didn't know about the knee problem, lest they take me back to the hospital.

But, to this day, every couple of years, my knee will pop and I'll feel that familiar, "I dare not bend my knee" feeling. Today, it was in the video store. Lasted about a minute or two. It settles back into the comfortable position fairly easily.

Comments

[indefatigable42.livejournal.com]

I popped my kneecap in karate class once. I tried to sweep a guy's leg out from under him and his weight was still on that leg. I've popped it out once since then, and there have been a few times when I've felt that "I dare not put weight on this leg" feeling. ^^

One of my karate instructors had popped her kneecaps out four times each. Every time it happens it makes it more likely to happen again. She had surgery to shorten the tendons that hold the kneecap in place after that.

[kightp.livejournal.com]

"Of course it hurt," he said. "That's what happens in hospitals."

So, my shoulder was set. As was my distrust of hospitals.

See, now, I *wish* some doctor or other in my childhood had been as bluntly honest with me when I was a kid. I spent a good deal of time in and out of hospitals as a child, and doctors and nurses were always telling me, "This won't hurt a bit," or "It'll just be a little pinch." And then it always did hurt, whatever it was, a lot. So I came to distrust doctors, because they lied.