Broken, Jack Johnson

When I was 13, and a freshman in high school, my mom made me join the cross country team.  When I say “made”, I really just mean “encouraged animatedly”.  There was something about being active in high school sports, looking good on college applications, and making friends, and running, as a sport, seemed straight forward.  I enjoyed it, a lot.  I could make friends, I could stay fit, but then, my knees started screaming.

Things like this went on for years and years.  Tae Kwon Do didn’t help, nor did all the skiing, I’m sure.  I even stopped skiing for a year to keep my knee healthy enough for my black belt test.  But instead of hurting it on the mountain, I hurt it in the studio.  In and out of place it would go, braces on and off, doctors appointments, crutches.  In fact, I think I was on crutches – or should have been – for more of high school than I was off them.

So it should come as no surprise that again, I have hurt my knee.  While at home for Christmas, I tweaked the knee.  I went home, iced it, as usual, and went on with my vacation.  Once I finally got back to site, I started my normal routine.  Yoga in the mornings, walks and swims in the afternoon.  Running around with kids, hiking in and out of mangrove mud.  And then, I miss-stepped.

For a few years now, I’ve had stability issues in my left knee.  This resurfacing in a place like Panama, with my walk in, boat ride site, is not ideal, to say the least.  I put off calling the medical office for weeks, hoping that, as usual, it would subside on it’s own.  I stopped doing the things that hurt, and started taking it easy – a difficult task for me.  And finally, I realized it wasn’t getting any better.

I called the med office and arranged a doctors appointment at a convenient time for myself, right after Carnaval, trying to plan around a training I hoped to attend.  I arrived in Panama City on Ash Wednesday, a popular travel day for Panamanians, making traffic, lines and other travel requirements horrendous.  I was in line for 3 hours before getting on my bus for 6 hours.  Already in a bad mood, the call I got at 4:00 pm didn’t help: “Your appointment’s been cancelled.  You need to go back to site and come back in time for the new appointment on Friday.”

Travel to Panama City from my site is close to 7 hours, and I only have two transports out of my town into the provincial capital a day; one leaves at 7:30 am and the other at 11:45.  The last one of the day returning to the Island departs the provincial capital at 1:30 or 2:00, at the latest.  Sometimes, it leaves as early as 1.  Getting back home at 4:00 pm was not happening.  I bargained a hotel room from the Office, and arranged to relax on Thursday before my Friday morning appointment – meaning I had to miss the first day of my training.  I relaxed for a day in the old part of Panama City, getting some work done before my doctors appointment on Friday.  I was hoping for it to be quick.

No such luck.

The morning was spent between the doctor’s office, x-rays, brace fittings, before I was scheduled an MRI early the next week.  I returned to the office to inform the medical team what was going on.

“Okay, go back to site, then come back in time for your MRI and the follow-up.”

Excuse me?  The doctor had suspected an ACL injury in the least – making walking in an out of site, and sitting on a bus for 14 hours in 36, a really, really dumb idea, especially when I had to leave the very next day to make my appointment.  I tried explaining this, patiently.  When patience didn’t work, I tried impatience.  Finally, I snapped.  “Fine, I’ll go back, for less than a day.  But you’re paying my excess transport.”

They did.

My MRI revealed what we already knew – my knee is not in great shape, still.  A month of med leave later, 10 sessions with a physical therapist, and some very creative exercises, I was finally allowed back home.  I’ll have follow up appointments probably for the rest of my service, but that’s what happens when you’re klutzy.  So it’s my own fault, really.