A Ron Sylvester joint
I still remember the “pop” in my knee on a spring day in 1973. I was a freshman in high school, who had made the varsity track team. I was in my last practice for the first meet, where I would be running against juniors and seniors.
The doctor said I tore a cartilage. But I woke up from surgery with a cast from my ankle to my hip. Not only did I have cartilage damage, but I also tore ligaments and ended up with a hole in my kneecap. The only way I could remember possibly doing such damage was during basketball season, when I had landed on the floor during one game. That was months ago.
The doctor said I shouldn’t have been able to walk into the hospital. “You must have a very high threshold for withstanding pain,” I remember the surgeon saying to his 14-year-old patient. It made me feel tough, even though that surgery would bring me the greatest pain I’d ever felt in my life.
My mom pasted a small newspaper clipping to the headboard of my hospital bed, a paragraph telling my hometown that I would miss my freshman season of track. I ended up with three scars circling my left knee, which would become a conversation starter at the pool for years to come.
I remember the doctor saying it would increase my chances of having arthritis and problems later. There was a chance, he said, I might have trouble walking by the time I was 40. I cheated 1970s medicine by 10 years. Three knee surgeries later I’m now 50 and am having trouble walking. I had my last surgery this past October. But it started hurting again this month. I heard another “pop” two weeks ago. This week, my doctor told me I will need a new knee.
After that first operation, I came back and won medals in conference and district and qualified for state three more years. A coach who noticed an article I’d written in journalism class suggested I think about becoming a sportswriter, which is the way I started a 32-year journalism career.
In some ways, I want to say “it’s about time.” My knee is shot. I want to look forward to getting a new joint. My doctor now said it will relieve the constant deep pain that has followed me around all my adult life.
Another part of me is a little frightened about the thought of have my bone sawed through and part of me taken out and replaced by something another human made — like a replacement part in a car.
Despite that high threshold for pain, knee surgery is painful. I remember talking to a group of friends before my 17-year-old son was born, saying that knee surgery had been the most painful experience of my life. My then-wife, criticized me, saying that since I was a man I had no idea what it was like to give birth.
“I’ve had both knee surgery and given birth,” one of our friends, a nurse, replied. “And let me tell you, I’d choose giving birth any day.”
I’ve been reading about knee replacement surgery. I’m trying to prepare myself. I go to the specialist who will take out my old, worn out part, and put in a new one, this week. That’s when I should also find out when I go in to get my new knee.
My wife wonders if I will ever be able to walk silently through a metal detector at the airport.
She also remembers how difficult it was, when I had surgery on this same knee in October. My doctor had hoped that surgery would fix my knee for five years. It barely lasted five months. It’s difficult on her working full-time and taking care of me and the kids. I’ve promised her we won’t try to do it alone this time. We’ve already started telling some of our friends that we will need their help.
I have been experiencing moments of dread as I haven’t had since I was 14. A voice inside tells me I should be tougher and not be a whiner.
What I really wanted to do this week was call my mother. She would know what to tell me. Here I was a 50-year-old man, who wanted my mommy — the strongest such urge I’ve had since she died 10 years ago.
2 years ago • 2 notes
