On Friday morning, I’ll be having another knee surgery. It’s just a scope this time around, but the “fun” part is I won’t know how long I’ll be out from work. It could be two weeks. Or I could be on crutches for up to eight. It all depends on what they find once they get in there and see what’s going on.
So I won’t know until I wake up.
There’s not much they can do for my knee, between what the condition is and how old I am. Or in this case, how young. I’m not old enough for a knee replacement, which will wear out and need replaced again in 20-ish years. But at the same time, my knee is full of arthritis which you’d expect in someone twice my age.
I’ve had surgeries before, more major than this one will be. Why then is this one worrying me so much? The anxiety has my stomach in knots, and at times I wish it was already here so I could get it over with. Other times I wish it was another few weeks away.
They’ll clean it up, my doctor said. And if they find a “pothole” in my meniscus, they’ll cause micro-fractures so that a scab will form. The scar tissue left behind will be a “patch” then. One that will last perhaps four years. Hopefully the technology for a better cartilage solution will come along during that time.
But that’s a worry for another day. For now, I need to get through the next 36 hours. I need to be stronger than my anxiety.