This morning I had an appointment with my orthopedic doctor. Following my knee surgery a few years ago, I learned that the abuse the I put my knees through was going to have long-term effects on me. Certainly my surgeon corrected my injuries to the best of his ability. Screws and wire now hold my meniscus into place and keep my right knee cushioned from impact. I am happy to say that my knee functions well—most of the time.
However, about every few months I must return to Dr. Frank’s office for an injection into my kneecap to alleviate recurring pain. You see, weeks before the appointment, I deal with swelling and I live with a limited range of motion. During that time, ice becomes a more constant companion in the evening. I elevate my knee while we watch TV or talk in the living room. JonMark, home from college for the summer, wrapped my knee to help provide support.
This is the normal course my life takes, and honestly, I am content with it. Some day, I will be forced to have a full knee replacement, but these injections help to stave off that reality for as long as possible. I am, after all, too young for a full replacement of my right knee. If I have one now, I will likely have to have another in 20 years—or so I am told. The prospect of multiple rehabilitations following knee surgery is not appealing.
So there I sat, my sore knee hanging off the examination table waiting for the doctor to come examine it. And so he did. . .
He examined my knee closely and compared what he ‘felt’ to what he saw on the latest x-rays. We talked about the pain that I deal with when it flares up and he noted how my range of motion changes. Then the expected happened. . . It was time for an injection into the knee itself. I won’t trouble you with the specifics of the procedure expect to say that it is the most disturbing feeling I have ever dealt with. It is not pain, but something else.
After it was over, and the bandaid was placed, I was allowed to leave (and no I didn’t get a sucker or sticker to match my bandaid).
The first step after the shot is painful. . . So is the second. Gradually as I walked down the hall the pain lessened and my range of motion improved. I took the stairs to the parking garage because I knew that the more I worked the knee the better it would feel. Now as I get ready for lunch, I have virtually no pain in the knee. My life has returned to normal—for now. I will see Dr. Frank in about 4 or 5 months for another shot. It is my routine, and it helps.
This whole experience made me think about our pacing of life.
Like you, I am in such a hurry so much of the time that I dedicate very little time to being present in the moment. I smirked in the doctor’s office when I read the sign that instructed me to keep my phone turned off while in the office. Seriously, who does that now? We are in constant contact with each other, and some say with God, but I wonder if that is true? I wonder how I would feel, if I just sat here, watched the rain that is now coming down and was attentive to my breath?
I wonder what my prayer life would look like if I put aside the shopping list of prayers and just . . . was?
My trip to see Dr. Frank helps with that. I have to walk so much slower fo the rest of the day as the medication flows around my knee and reduces the swelling. As I walk slower I can’t help but notice what is before me. . . the homeless man outside the hospital who, by his eyes, tells me that he struggles with addiction. . . The mother trying to wrangle a child into backseat while already looking like she is at the end of the line and it is only mid-morning. . . . The clerk at the counter who is still anxious about what covid means for their lives and their family.
It is all right there, if we stop and are present. . .
Blessings
Rev. Derek
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