Got a problem? Take a pill!
Dec. 18th, 2021 10:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plonqI reached out to my GP yesterday when I hadn't heard back from him about the x-rays. It turns out that they did show something. I didn't catch everything he said (his accent can be a bit thick on the phone), but he mentioned that it looked like a flare-up of an old injury, and he asked if I had injured my knee at some point.
I squeezed my brain for a time when I might have injured my right knee, and all that came to mind was an infection I'd had in the joint when I was about seven years old. I remember that I had fallen asleep on the Davenport, and when I woke up I couldn't straighten my right leg. It was bent at about a 30° angle, and I could neither bend it, nor straighten it without being in excruciating pain. It took a bit for me to convince my folks that I was in genuine distress since it seems a bit suspect when your kid suddenly decides that he can't move his leg. Also, I had a history of questionable ailments to get me out of school - though to my defence, this was during summer break. At one point Dad tried to pull the leg straight until my wails of pain and begging him to stop finally convinced him that I might actually have a legitimate problem.
I had been looking for an excuse to call mom anyway, so I phoned her up after I was done with the doctor to see if she recalled the incident with my knee. She remembered some of the details, including the hospital visit and rounds of tests. She couldn't remember which knee it was, nor if they ever managed to diagnose the cause. Her memories mostly matched up with mine. I remember the doctor showing us the x-ray, pointing to the joint, and a mass of some kind that was forcing it apart and preventing movement. All I know is that they treated it like an infection, and it cleared up after a couple of days in the hospital.
Anyway, while I was talking with her, I mentioned that I worked in the office, so there wasn't likely something that had happened at work -- until I suddenly remembered the time that I injured my knee pretty badly at work.
And then I felt like an idiot for having forgotten all about it.
I'd only been working there for a couple of years, and at one point when I was in line to be temporarily laid off, they set me up as a junior supervisor in the radio room. My job was to ensure that all of the portable radios were charged and working for the crews at shift change. I would also have to drive new radios out to train crews if they requested replacements. One morning we had an eastbound train where the crew (engineer, conductor and brakeman) all complained about their radios, and wanted new ones before they left.
The radios they used were bit a big "lunch box" style that you hung around your neck by a strap. They were bulky and awkward - especially when you had three of them draped around your neck at the same time. I grabbed three that had fresh batteries and drove up to the east end of the yard. Their engine was parked about ¼ mile deep between two other parked trains, so I hiked back there with the new radios. As I was climbing back down to hike back my truck, the brakeman said, "Hey, if you want to hang around on the steps, we'll give you a lift back up to your truck." The thought of not lugging those heavy radios all the way back was appealing, so I stayed on the bottom stop as they slowly rolled forward.
Then they got a green signal, and I think that they forgot about me, because they started picking up speed. By the time we got to my truck, they were probably doing about 8mph - way faster than one is supposed to try and de-train. At this point it was either risk the jump, or be stuck on the train until the next red signal. So I jumped.
If I had known then what I know now, I'd have dismounted properly and probably been fine. Or, more likely, I'd have gone up and yelled at them to slow a bit so that I alight safely.
But I took a deep breath, leaned out and launched myself off the side of the locomotive, pumping my legs to try and hit the ground running. And it almost worked.
Almost.
The radios lagged behind me when I jumped, and I almost fell backward under the wheels. I twisted around to desperately avoid dying, and something tore in my right knee.
I was hobbled for almost a month by the injury, but eventually it cleared up, and has not bothered me since.
Had not, rather.
It's come back to haunt me now.
The pills help, though. A lot. I am amazed at how much of a difference they've made. They didn't magically fix my knee, but they've reduced the pain and stiffness from a seven to a two on the pain scale. I don't want to be on yet another prescription long-term, though, so hopefully reducing the inflammation will give the knee a chance to heal.
I squeezed my brain for a time when I might have injured my right knee, and all that came to mind was an infection I'd had in the joint when I was about seven years old. I remember that I had fallen asleep on the Davenport, and when I woke up I couldn't straighten my right leg. It was bent at about a 30° angle, and I could neither bend it, nor straighten it without being in excruciating pain. It took a bit for me to convince my folks that I was in genuine distress since it seems a bit suspect when your kid suddenly decides that he can't move his leg. Also, I had a history of questionable ailments to get me out of school - though to my defence, this was during summer break. At one point Dad tried to pull the leg straight until my wails of pain and begging him to stop finally convinced him that I might actually have a legitimate problem.
I had been looking for an excuse to call mom anyway, so I phoned her up after I was done with the doctor to see if she recalled the incident with my knee. She remembered some of the details, including the hospital visit and rounds of tests. She couldn't remember which knee it was, nor if they ever managed to diagnose the cause. Her memories mostly matched up with mine. I remember the doctor showing us the x-ray, pointing to the joint, and a mass of some kind that was forcing it apart and preventing movement. All I know is that they treated it like an infection, and it cleared up after a couple of days in the hospital.
Anyway, while I was talking with her, I mentioned that I worked in the office, so there wasn't likely something that had happened at work -- until I suddenly remembered the time that I injured my knee pretty badly at work.
And then I felt like an idiot for having forgotten all about it.
I'd only been working there for a couple of years, and at one point when I was in line to be temporarily laid off, they set me up as a junior supervisor in the radio room. My job was to ensure that all of the portable radios were charged and working for the crews at shift change. I would also have to drive new radios out to train crews if they requested replacements. One morning we had an eastbound train where the crew (engineer, conductor and brakeman) all complained about their radios, and wanted new ones before they left.
The radios they used were bit a big "lunch box" style that you hung around your neck by a strap. They were bulky and awkward - especially when you had three of them draped around your neck at the same time. I grabbed three that had fresh batteries and drove up to the east end of the yard. Their engine was parked about ¼ mile deep between two other parked trains, so I hiked back there with the new radios. As I was climbing back down to hike back my truck, the brakeman said, "Hey, if you want to hang around on the steps, we'll give you a lift back up to your truck." The thought of not lugging those heavy radios all the way back was appealing, so I stayed on the bottom stop as they slowly rolled forward.
Then they got a green signal, and I think that they forgot about me, because they started picking up speed. By the time we got to my truck, they were probably doing about 8mph - way faster than one is supposed to try and de-train. At this point it was either risk the jump, or be stuck on the train until the next red signal. So I jumped.
If I had known then what I know now, I'd have dismounted properly and probably been fine. Or, more likely, I'd have gone up and yelled at them to slow a bit so that I alight safely.
But I took a deep breath, leaned out and launched myself off the side of the locomotive, pumping my legs to try and hit the ground running. And it almost worked.
Almost.
The radios lagged behind me when I jumped, and I almost fell backward under the wheels. I twisted around to desperately avoid dying, and something tore in my right knee.
I was hobbled for almost a month by the injury, but eventually it cleared up, and has not bothered me since.
Had not, rather.
It's come back to haunt me now.
The pills help, though. A lot. I am amazed at how much of a difference they've made. They didn't magically fix my knee, but they've reduced the pain and stiffness from a seven to a two on the pain scale. I don't want to be on yet another prescription long-term, though, so hopefully reducing the inflammation will give the knee a chance to heal.
