Well Worth the Faint
Hello all. Me again. I entered a contest given by the Canadian Broadcast Corporation. The tale is a humourous personal account of my knee surgery. It runs for roughly 1200 words. Wasn't sure if I should post the story itself or a link.
A marvelous blue sky clashed poetically with my off-white linen attire. The sand never felt softer as it comfortably formed itself under the soles of my feet. Walking along the shore, I observed that the water was much calmer than it was the previous day. Cool and assertive, it therapeutically surrounded my ankles. Wind and air were the next elements. This time, it was the contours of my face that benefited. My feet, ankles and face were all being seduced by earth's finest elements. What could make this dream fresco perfect? Caravaggio painting the scene? I settled for the next best thing. A scantily dressed sensual lady showed herself as she jumped into my arms. I was set.
With one eye open I could see a thick blanket of frost had designed itself on the window of my bedroom. "Dreams can be so cruel," I thought aloud, as I clamored out of bed.
The second my foot hit the wood floor, my knee reminded me that it was indifferent to sultry dreams about a sexy girl, sand, water and air. It was damaged and no amount of natural voodoo hocus-pocus was about to fix them.
After many weeks of ignoring the truth, it had become glaringly apparent to me that it was time to go under the knife. Conventional medicine beckoned!
I sat like a bump on a log in the examining room. My mind occupied by the fact that I was being yanked out of regular school and sent to prep school. I wasn't a very reliable student. Just as I was about to pull out an apple from my pocket, the doctor walked in.
He asked two questions and said, "That's an ACL tear."
"What's an ACL?" I meekly asked.
"You're anterior cruciate ligament. You see, the ligaments that run…" I tuned out as he began to rub his knuckles together to explain how the ACL functions.
"Oh."
"Let's check you out."
Medically speaking.
He took my leg and placed it between his arm and chest and began to push and bend the leg towards me.
"Feel that?"
"Yes."
"That's your ACL giving way,"
I tried every way to weasel my way out of it. I asked the specialist if it could be rehabilitated through physiotherapy.
That sound you hear is the exaggerated laugh of my doctor.
Once he regained his composure he said curtly, "No. Judging by my examination it's completely torn."
I tore it nine times.
That was that. More impressively, he accurately deduced all this without the benefit of a MRI.
I was 18 years old and already washed up. A soccer player has-been before it ever began.
Nonetheless, if I wanted any shot at an active life the knee had to be sliced open, stapled and stitched. My decision was made.
While wearing those girly gowns I had a choice of a full anaesthetic or an epidural. Italian or ranch?
"What's the difference? I asked.
"Under a full anaesthetic you are asleep throughout the surgery. With an epidural we freeze from the waist down. You can witness the whole thing," the doctor explained. I decided to go for the epidural. Ring side seats to my own repair. All I was missing were some peanut M&M's.
"Ok, Alessandro. Here we go. It's the right knee," the doctor tells the nurse.
What? It was the left knee! Is he mad?
"Kidding," he said. I was not amused by his childish wink.
The anesthesiologist was young and talkative. Reading my chart he asked, "Nicolo? Do you have a sister?"
"I have two."
"What are their names?"
"Maria and Giovanna."
"Maria! She went to Laval Catholic High School right?"
"Yes. So did I."
"Wow. I knew her. She was going out with Joe, right?"
"Yeah. She married him. Not to sound like a smart ass but I'm about to lose a knee here and my ass is exposed."
"Ha, ha. You're sister was pretty funny, too. Ok, here's how this is going to work. I need you to curl up and place your head between your knees. Whatever you do, don't move. It can cause spinal damage. Ok?"
"Got it."
I cracked. I looked back. I saw the needle. It was as big as a lobster. I fainted.
"I told you not to look back."
"I know. Sorry."
A nurse came over and held my head down. I was now injected.
"Pretty soon you won't feel a thing."
"How will I know?"
"You won't feel your penis," Dr.Seinfeld interjected.
"Yeah right"
Within minutes he asks, "So, can you contract your penis?"
I tried. Boy did I try. I even burst some capillaries. My eyes turned purple I strained so hard. For some reason my fear entertained the nursing staff.
I began to wonder what life would be like without the use of my penis. I secretly began to panic. Alternatively, I always dreamed of making love to a nurse on an operating table. Not today.
"Ok, Alessandro. You can watch the whole thing on the screen up above and to your right. Sit back and relax."
Just then he raised my leg. It didn't look like mine. It was orange and listless as he manipulated it however he saw fit. The iodine made it looked like road kill. I fainted.
"Are you going to be ok?"
"Yeah, no sweat."
"Ok," the doctor said unconvincingly.
Lying back on my elbows I was sure the worse was over. So I fainted twice. Big deal. Until….
I swear there was blood everywhere. Like that scene in The Shining where Danny sees the twin girls. A flood of blood buckets. The nurse handed the doctor a tiny square shaped cloth to apply on the incision. I fainted.
I could overhear the doctor say, "Give him a sedative."
It was just what the doctor ordered. I never felt so composed in my life. I don't remember much about the surgery but I do remember him pointing to the torn ligament. It looked like a torn Kleenex.
Soon the doctor proclaimed, "That's it. We're done."
A couple of weeks later I visited the doctor to check up on my wound for the first time. The knee felt extremely tight and my leg had been reduced to a mere twig-like limb. He began to remove the bandages. I felt woozy. Finally, he reached the knee. One look was all it took. I fainted.
My mother looked at me as she handed me a glass of water. "You're such a wuss."
It took months of rehab, but fixing the knee gave back my athletic life. I was active once again. Psychologically, I'll never be the same but there is no doubt that if one plans to lead an active life surgery is a necessity when it comes to the ACL.
When I tore my right knee16 years later it took me seconds to make my decision. On the operating table the anesthesiologist suggested an epidural. I chuckled and said no. I wanted to get out there with some dignity.
I may have even dreamt of that sweet girl as I frolicked with her on the beach.
Needless to say, I didn't faint.
A marvelous blue sky clashed poetically with my off-white linen attire. The sand never felt softer as it comfortably formed itself under the soles of my feet. Walking along the shore, I observed that the water was much calmer than it was the previous day. Cool and assertive, it therapeutically surrounded my ankles. Wind and air were the next elements. This time, it was the contours of my face that benefited. My feet, ankles and face were all being seduced by earth's finest elements. What could make this dream fresco perfect? Caravaggio painting the scene? I settled for the next best thing. A scantily dressed sensual lady showed herself as she jumped into my arms. I was set.
With one eye open I could see a thick blanket of frost had designed itself on the window of my bedroom. "Dreams can be so cruel," I thought aloud, as I clamored out of bed.
The second my foot hit the wood floor, my knee reminded me that it was indifferent to sultry dreams about a sexy girl, sand, water and air. It was damaged and no amount of natural voodoo hocus-pocus was about to fix them.
After many weeks of ignoring the truth, it had become glaringly apparent to me that it was time to go under the knife. Conventional medicine beckoned!
I sat like a bump on a log in the examining room. My mind occupied by the fact that I was being yanked out of regular school and sent to prep school. I wasn't a very reliable student. Just as I was about to pull out an apple from my pocket, the doctor walked in.
He asked two questions and said, "That's an ACL tear."
"What's an ACL?" I meekly asked.
"You're anterior cruciate ligament. You see, the ligaments that run…" I tuned out as he began to rub his knuckles together to explain how the ACL functions.
"Oh."
"Let's check you out."
Medically speaking.
He took my leg and placed it between his arm and chest and began to push and bend the leg towards me.
"Feel that?"
"Yes."
"That's your ACL giving way,"
I tried every way to weasel my way out of it. I asked the specialist if it could be rehabilitated through physiotherapy.
That sound you hear is the exaggerated laugh of my doctor.
Once he regained his composure he said curtly, "No. Judging by my examination it's completely torn."
I tore it nine times.
That was that. More impressively, he accurately deduced all this without the benefit of a MRI.
I was 18 years old and already washed up. A soccer player has-been before it ever began.
Nonetheless, if I wanted any shot at an active life the knee had to be sliced open, stapled and stitched. My decision was made.
While wearing those girly gowns I had a choice of a full anaesthetic or an epidural. Italian or ranch?
"What's the difference? I asked.
"Under a full anaesthetic you are asleep throughout the surgery. With an epidural we freeze from the waist down. You can witness the whole thing," the doctor explained. I decided to go for the epidural. Ring side seats to my own repair. All I was missing were some peanut M&M's.
"Ok, Alessandro. Here we go. It's the right knee," the doctor tells the nurse.
What? It was the left knee! Is he mad?
"Kidding," he said. I was not amused by his childish wink.
The anesthesiologist was young and talkative. Reading my chart he asked, "Nicolo? Do you have a sister?"
"I have two."
"What are their names?"
"Maria and Giovanna."
"Maria! She went to Laval Catholic High School right?"
"Yes. So did I."
"Wow. I knew her. She was going out with Joe, right?"
"Yeah. She married him. Not to sound like a smart ass but I'm about to lose a knee here and my ass is exposed."
"Ha, ha. You're sister was pretty funny, too. Ok, here's how this is going to work. I need you to curl up and place your head between your knees. Whatever you do, don't move. It can cause spinal damage. Ok?"
"Got it."
I cracked. I looked back. I saw the needle. It was as big as a lobster. I fainted.
"I told you not to look back."
"I know. Sorry."
A nurse came over and held my head down. I was now injected.
"Pretty soon you won't feel a thing."
"How will I know?"
"You won't feel your penis," Dr.Seinfeld interjected.
"Yeah right"
Within minutes he asks, "So, can you contract your penis?"
I tried. Boy did I try. I even burst some capillaries. My eyes turned purple I strained so hard. For some reason my fear entertained the nursing staff.
I began to wonder what life would be like without the use of my penis. I secretly began to panic. Alternatively, I always dreamed of making love to a nurse on an operating table. Not today.
"Ok, Alessandro. You can watch the whole thing on the screen up above and to your right. Sit back and relax."
Just then he raised my leg. It didn't look like mine. It was orange and listless as he manipulated it however he saw fit. The iodine made it looked like road kill. I fainted.
"Are you going to be ok?"
"Yeah, no sweat."
"Ok," the doctor said unconvincingly.
Lying back on my elbows I was sure the worse was over. So I fainted twice. Big deal. Until….
I swear there was blood everywhere. Like that scene in The Shining where Danny sees the twin girls. A flood of blood buckets. The nurse handed the doctor a tiny square shaped cloth to apply on the incision. I fainted.
I could overhear the doctor say, "Give him a sedative."
It was just what the doctor ordered. I never felt so composed in my life. I don't remember much about the surgery but I do remember him pointing to the torn ligament. It looked like a torn Kleenex.
Soon the doctor proclaimed, "That's it. We're done."
A couple of weeks later I visited the doctor to check up on my wound for the first time. The knee felt extremely tight and my leg had been reduced to a mere twig-like limb. He began to remove the bandages. I felt woozy. Finally, he reached the knee. One look was all it took. I fainted.
My mother looked at me as she handed me a glass of water. "You're such a wuss."
It took months of rehab, but fixing the knee gave back my athletic life. I was active once again. Psychologically, I'll never be the same but there is no doubt that if one plans to lead an active life surgery is a necessity when it comes to the ACL.
When I tore my right knee16 years later it took me seconds to make my decision. On the operating table the anesthesiologist suggested an epidural. I chuckled and said no. I wanted to get out there with some dignity.
I may have even dreamt of that sweet girl as I frolicked with her on the beach.
Needless to say, I didn't faint.
posted by T.C. | 4:17 PM
3 Comments:
Been there, done that! Different knee problem though.
Pretty funny.
I especially liked the "Italian or Ranch" bit.
This was very humorous. I could picture everything, even your bare ass:)
I'm just a passer-by but I think I'll keep coming here to read some posts. I wish I could say I was a writer, but alas, I'm nothing of the sort. Your short story challenge sounds like fun. I hope I get to read some of the submissions on this blog.
I wish I had pictures. Head on to Dave's (link below) page. He has a great story going. Welcome.
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