Zumba

I was re-reading old posts today, when I came across this one (go read this now, I'll wait) which was about me worrying about snow when moving to a new city for school.  I never did fall, exactly, but I did have numerous slippy moments.  One of which was because I slipped on the ruts of frozen slush on the sidewalk on my way to a night class and did something to my knee (I have figured out since that I dislocated my patella).  I didn't hit my knee, my foot just twisted enough to pop things out.  Stuck halfway between class and home with a knee that felt locked in a weird place, I started to panic.  How do I move?  How do I get help? Why did I not bring my phone?  I eventually shook my leg enough that things went back into place and hobbled the rest of the way to class, where I arrived late to the glare of my prof.  I hobbled around for the rest of the week.

I dislocated my knee-cap thrice more over the next year.  Once while trying to catch the Baz, and my mom pulled on my ankle a bit and everything popped back into place.  And I mean popped!  It looked like the two bones for my lower leg separated a bit and then sproinged back together.  Seriously cool!!  The next time was my first week at a new job, I was putting my things away in my cupboard and turned without moving my feet.  My new co-worker held my ankle while I rolled back in my chair.  POP!

Then one day, I had a really bad time at work.  I had to take off for a walking "coffee break" before I hit someone or started crying.  I called my brother to see if I could talk it out with him at lunch and an hour later he was making me a sandwich while I cried.  One of his suggestions for getting rid of the punchy feeling was to "Go to the gym, do some kick-boxing class or something".

That night I decided to finally try out a Zumba class.  Things were good during the warm up, but then there were a lot of step turns.  In running shoes. On rubber floors.  My knee half-popped out, but went back in, so I continued, being careful to make sure my knee went with my feet.  Then I got into it again and was just trying to keep up with the steps and not get hit by flailing arms, and I forgot about my knee. CRUNCH.

This did not really feel the same as the last times.  I hobbled to the back and tried to figure out what to do.  This was only my third time at this gym, so I didn't know any of the people or the trainers.  A few people asked if I was ok, but only in passing.  I figured I was going to have to leave the building anyway, so I had to make my way back downstairs to the locker room.  Some lovely ladies finally helped me in the locker room, but my knee was not budging and would not straighten all the way.  They took me out into the weight room so that a big personal trainer with an expensive prosthetic leg could see if he could help.  Nothing doing, so he offered to accompany me to the hospital.  The other ladies assured me he was a good guy, and so did the guy at the front desk.

So, with a few twenties from petty cash, we were off to the hospital in a cab (well, I had forgotten my phone again, so we made a quick stop where I was living, told my landlady I was off to the hospital, and grabbed my phone!).  I was texting my friend and my brother on the way, the only friends I had in town.  My friend was away, and her husband would have come if it was a super emergency, but I told him I was ok enough he didn't need to come sit in emerg all night, so it was just me and the personal trainer.

Apparently, when someone arrives at the hospital with you, they no longer question if the person is related or not, because that personal trainer came with me everywhere  (I really hope they would have questioned his being there if I had had to take off any clothes). He came in with me to examination, where my months un-shaven legs were examined by a young male doctor, and then back out to the waiting room to wait for x-rays.

My brother had still not answered my texts, and I didn't want this poor nice guy to wait around all evening with me, so I called my brother.  We had a very confusing conversation where I told him five times what had happened.  I couldn't tell if he was doing his usual teasing thing or not.  He eventually told me he had already been asleep for two hours and wasn't awake yet (it was only 9pm at this point), but said that he was coming and that mother would kill him if he didn't come to help me.

He arrived when I was in x-ray, and later told my parents that he did not think it was at all a good omen that the man who said he had been taking care of his sister did not even possess the knee that she had busted.  The personal trainer waited until I got out of x-ray (prob to make sure it really was my brother), and then went home.  When I finally saw the doctors again, one of them was the doctor I had been seeing at a clinic downtown for a sinus infection.  They were immediately very disappointed that my knee was no longer dislocated, I think they were really excited about getting to pop it back in.

Their disappointment made me feel like I had wasted their time and I was so embarrassed.  But then I remembered that my knee still hurt a lot, still wouldn't go straight, and still felt like it was in the wrong place.  They said that it had gone back, but I had probably hurt ligaments or something, so I at least left there with a tensor bandage wrapped around it and an appointment at the fracture clinic.

My brother got me home and I spent the next day, Friday, home from work trying to get comfortable and going up and down the stairs on my bum to get to the washroom or go lie down.  Saturday, my brother and his girlfriend drove home with me for family dinner and my mom got to baby me. I selected a cane with an antler handle from the family supply.  Sunday, my friends took me out for dim sum and then we went for a walk on the lakeshore.  I pushed the baby stroller so that I would have a walker.

The next time I saw my brother's girlfriend, she said that she had been down on the lakeshore one day and was watching people while waiting for the streetcar.  She saw a woman hobbling slowly while pushing a baby carriage and wondered what her story was.  Then she looked closer and realized she knew that lady and exactly what her story was!

I spent the next month trying to use public transit with a busted knee and a cane.  I did physio twice a week and did all my exercises every day and was pretty much back to normal by the end of the month. I used the cane for weeks after I actually needed it to walk so that people would have a visual clue that I needed a seat on transit.  There were still enough rides home where I ended up hanging from the bar in the middle on the train standing on one foot while perfectly able people sat with their eyes closed so they could be selfish on their way home.

I haven't had a dislocated knee since, knock on wood, but I do have good and bad knee days.  It was really just a matter of time before I hurt my knee badly, so I am glad I was in a place where I could at least get help safely.

The thing that still irks me though, is that I left my water bottle behind in the Zumba room.

I really liked that water bottle.