Up front I am going to put it out there – I am a prenses (princess) and I will yell it from the rooftops.  I do not like pain.  I do not like it at all.

I blew out my left knee when I was 13 playing netball.  I remember going to the hospital and having my knee wrapped from the thigh to the ankle.  The doctor told my mother that I had to walk on it and use it or it would never heal.  Of course I didn’t listen to him or my mother and I spent the next week dragging myself around on the ground rather than putting any pressure on it.

Fast forward to 4 weeks ago when Daughter brought home a stray dog.  She named him Matty.  He was a lovely dog (I say was because I haven’t seen him for a few days).  A Golden Retriever who had obviously been abandoned as he knew the doggy basics “otur, dur, yapma!”  Anyway Matty loved it when I came down each morning to take My Hurley Dog for a walk and would anxiously be waiting for me.  One morning he was so excited he jumped up onto my chest to say “Gunaydin” and sent me flying to the ground.  Of course I smashed my never fully recovered knee to smithereens.  But being the stubborn sod that I am I would rather chew off my leg than go to a doctor so persevered through the pain until it was clear that it was well and truly stuffed.  The Turk blew a gasket and after much tears (on my part) and a little yelling (on his part) I finally had arthroscopic knee surgery to repair the partial tear in my meniscus and remove old cartilage.  Which sucked.  Big time!

Up until now I have had it pretty good with my health.  I’ve been incredibly lucky.  Other than giving birth to Daughter and my supposed gangrene of my foot last year I haven’t had any major issues that required a stay in hospital or surgery so I was shit scared to say the least.

The surgery was fine I guess.  I was awake having been administered an epidural so the doctor chatted on throughout the surgery on different subjects including but not limited to his divorce, his 15 year old (single) son available to meet my beautiful daughter at any time, his new girlfriend and anything else that entered his brain.  Meanwhile I found myself singing the last song that I had heard over and over which was, thanks to Daughter trying to cheer me up, Jet Black Heart by 5SOS.

Post-surgery they had me up and attempting to walk unaided within an hour of the epidural wearing off which, when you weigh as much as I do really isn’t an ideal situation.  I was able to walk as far as my door with a majority of my weight on The Turk and my SIL so the hospital released me.  I then had to climb up 2 flights of stairs to get home.  Seriously thought I was going to pass out from the pain.

Now up front I have never had this type of surgery before but can I just tell you that on Friday when I went for my first “control” the doctor stuck a fecking great fecking needle into my fecking knee to fecking remove fluid.  I guess you are wondering whether I got any pain relief before he did that?  Yeah?  Nope.  Fecking nope!  Is this normal?  I fecking don’t know but it is something that could be used as a form of torture.  Mind blowing!

(Edit:  I have now been told by 3 separate readers that the needle in the knee is done all over the world, its just not something people talk about so think of this as a public service – they’ll fecking stick a fecking needle into your fecking knee!!!  You have been warned!).

It’s now Monday and although I am still using the walker (forgive my dirty feet) I’m feeling somewhat better.  I wasn’t referred to physio therapy, the doctor merely suggested I bend my knee (excellent advice) so I am using You Tube videos to give me some clues to regain strength in my leg.  Not ideal but meh!

Am I disappointed with the quality of care?  Yeah!  I’m pretty sure you don’t stick a fecking needle in someone knee without pain relief!

Am I wishing I got a few referrals before I went under the knife?  Yep, yep and yep but I guess in the long run and assuming that the operation was a success I shouldn’t really complain but right now I am just feeling sore and sorry for myself.  Boo fecking hoo!

So if you need me for the next few weeks I shall be holed up here in my home watching old movies and eating my weight in chocolate.

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