Things my knees taught me
For… has it been two years already? I have had wonky knees. Knees that hurt. Knees that whinge. Adolescent knees: they are perfectly able to perform any task I ask of them, but it goes with such deep sighs, such woe-is-me, oh-the-unfairness, that you’d just as soon give in and say ALL RIGHT, I’LL DO IT MYSELF – only that doesn’t really work, of course, since I wear skirts, so scaling stairs on my hands is just not going to happen.
I’m not impaired in any way. I don’t have to check web sites before I leave to see whether a place is accessible to me. Sometimes I miss a train because I take ages on stairs, but that’s only during “bad knee days” (which may be up to a month apart). I strongly prefer to sit on floors, and I know in advance that long seminars = ibuprofen. I need a long bed. But that’s about it.
My wonky knees are among the best things that ever happened to me.
My former GP was a bit… over-enthusiastic. She’s greatly in favour of Informing the Patient. This involved, in my case, an exhortation on the current general quality of life for people with prosthetic knees (or, to be more specific, she said “they last about ten years, so we will want to pull you through until you’re at least 40 or so”). There apparently was one word that applied to my initial diagnosis, and that word was “degenerative”.
All of a sudden I had the knees of a seventy-year-old and was invited to enjoy it. After all, in five years I would wistfully think back to this time of comfort and ease.
This must do strange things to your mind at any age, but, I imagine, especially so when you are in your early twenties: invulnerable, immortal, about to take your glorious place in society. Eagerly looking forward to the tax and wear of a job and a family. And suddenly you turn out to be very vulnerable indeed. The days of blindly trusting your body are over. You didn’t get to say good-bye. What good is an eager mind in a body on a ticker?
Or, in my less-than-usual case: what good is a nun who can’t kneel? A preaching sister who can’t show our tradition’s movements of reverence? I can still out-walk most, it is a completely hidden handicap. I could embroider “I don’t genuflect, but you ought to” to my cape… that is, if a community would still accept me.
Many congregations are open about accepting women with various limitations, and they try to keep their elderly sisters home as much as possible when their health starts to fail. But a 23-year-old? I was inquiring with a community of missionary sisters then, and it soon turned out to be problematic. So the rug was well and truly yanked from under my feet.
My trust in my body – over. My life’s plans – over. The knowledge that I could get up in the morning and do everything I planned – over. I couldn’t cycle anymore, it took 30 minutes to get to the nearest grocery store, the elevators in the physics building always took ages to appear and seemed to be out-of-order at least one day a week, and I was in constant nagging pain. All in all, it was a rather miserable feeling, and it took me the better part of four months to grieve what I had lost and get on with my life. At which point the knees got a tiny bit worse. Repeat.
Of course, I have been incredibly lucky, not only in finding a physical therapist who soon had me on a plateau of an almost-painless, cycling existence, but also a community that is more attentive to my needs than I am myself sometimes. (My first visit there was during a very bad knee day, or rather week, but they only chuckled and said “awww” when I hobbled downstairs.)
So it all turned out very well indeed. Instead of losing my comfortable life I have gained the experience of being completely overwhelmed, scared and angry, and then getting over it, even before the physical therapy moved beyond pain, pain, pain, exhaustion, pain, and did I mention pain, to control, strength, control, stamina, pain, and control. It is something you can’t learn from books, and I am ever so glad to have had the opportunity to gain this awareness.
Bodily decline is a given, for all of us lucky enough to reach old age. Being allowed a practice run isn’t.
I can listen to other people who deal with chronic pain and understand just a bit better than I did before. I know what others my age mean with “I’m too young for this!”, and I know the spoon theory. And I have received this all for a baffling low price.
This is called “having luck in life.”
You would appreciate Saudi culture. :) Sitting on the floor is always preferable to using chairs.
I am still at the very fearful stage when it comes to accepting bodily decline. I go for blood tests and blood pressure checks quite often now, and I will be getting a bone density scan at some point. I don’t know what state my bones are in, and part of me would rather not know. The thing that really scares me is the prospect of long-term damage to heart and brain. I love life and I don’t want mine to be shortened unnecessarily.
Then I remember that ’shortened unnecessarily’ is an oxymoron. Recently I attended a talk on St Therese, and the speaker recited a rather soppy poem she had written in honour of ‘the Little Flower, ‘plucked too soon from the meadow of God’s earth’. In my handout, I crossed out ‘too soon’ and put ‘at the perfect time’.
When I was little I once announced that I wanted to live until I was a hundred and five. I am going to work hard towards recovery. Then, when we are both in our nineties and struggling to walk, we can trundle towards Walsingham in motorized bath chairs. I’ll race you. :)
Oh, thank you! Yes. We will race. There will be bath chair racing down… well, maybe we can be a bit elegant on the Holy Mile itself, but raceage on all other parts, most certainly. We will laugh loudly and scare the young people, and/or poke them with our walking sticks.
This is called “having luck in life.”
And that part is beautiful. Thank you.
Chronic is fun, int’it?
I definitely see that having a family member with a condition that needs constant attention has given us a great deal. My daughter’s sisters will be better people for it, as will my husband and I. It makes sense that my daughter will be “better for it”, too, but I have a hard time going there. I can’t imagine when she is old enough to take care of herself and has to do it constantly, it seems Greek hell-ish to me that she may never know a time her whole life when she is not “on the clock” where her body is concerned. It’s so much easier to take care of other people than it is to take care of yourself.
Interesting post, lots of think about, thanks.
Interesting piece.
After the initial “halleluja, the pain is less!” after my ankle surgery, I’m now experiencing a relapse. For some unknown reason *all* the ligaments are now *very* painful, swollen and warm. Just when I was happy to be able to walk again, it’s becoming more and more difficult once more.
So… Can’t say I’m feeling completely lucky and grateful just yet. I’m still a bit sad for the stuff I’m missing out on. ;)
Thanks for the post…..it is good for us to be reminded of our limitations….seems to help with humility.
Ok, this is a for what it is worth thing. Do you drink diet drinks? In my early 20’s I used to and I also used to have chronic knee pain (and also in my hips). I then quit all forms of diet drinks, and a few months later noticed my knees were feeling better. My sister did the same thing at about the same age.
Doctors will say that aspartame is completely safe but I suspect that some people have a sensitivity to it. Anyway, if you do drink them you may want to see if stopping helps your knees.
I realize the point was not asking for tips with your knees but all the same . . . .
Thank you so much for taking the time to give me advice :) Unfortunately, I do not drink diet drinks. It’s a “mechanical” thing – if it doesn’t gross you out: most of the cartilage behind my patellae is gone.
This was so touching and refreshingly honest. Thank you for sharing and thank you for sharing it on my blog. I am so glad to have “met” you. Many blessings and prayers as you make your way toward religious life.
Affectionately,
Elizabeth Esther