Please Keep Trying!

I tried to make an appointment yesterday to get Leftie (my torn left knee) checked out by an orthopedic surgeon. We won’t have our new health insurance until February 1rst, but I figured, hey, I could at least make an appointment now, especially since it takes weeks to get in. Well, first doctor I called was booked till March, the second one till April. The third doctor’s office I called informed me to shove it till I had my insurance number, which I won’t have until the 1rst, which is on Friday.

It doesn’t seem like that long of a wait, three days, but anyone who’s ever made an appointment for any specialist will tell you time is of the essence. If you want to get seen quick, every day, nay every hour counts. Not only can I not make an appointment now, I need to get a frick’n referral from my primary doctor. What primary doctor? I haven’t had health insurance for three and a half years, and the insurance I have now is catastrophic. I couldn’t make an appointment with a primary doctor even if I wanted to; no insurance number. Balls.

I was so close to having actual hope that my left knee would get fixed and it was cruelly taken away. Now I have to stew and wait and work and stew some more. This bastard meniscus has been nothing but trouble for six months. I can still workout, but not as hard as I used to, nor can I go down steep stairs, practice taijutsu, ride a bike, run, hike, jump, dance, or you know, live.

Leftie is actually a chronic offender, as it’s been torn before, back when I was morbidly obese. That time, I fell on the ice and the two hundred plus pounds tore the cartilage like a banker tears up a bad check; horribly and beyond self-repair. I had to get arthroscopic surgery and it healed up okay afterwards. I was back to wobbling my lard around after three weeks of lounging around. Since exercise and I weren’t to meet for another three years, I didn’t mind the bed rest.

Rightie felt left out however, and got ripped up pretty badly on the Stairmaster. It’s funny, when that happened, I had begun going to the gym, but I still wasn’t at my fattest. I was unable to exercise for six months, and Rightie healed up on its own (poorly and slowly, BTW), but I had gained another forty pounds because of it.

When Leftie II: Revenge of the Meniscus occurred, I was practicing taijutsu in the park with my senpai. It was my fault. And it wasn’t even a spectacular move. Taijutsu doesn’t have flashy high kicks or super sonic moves. I liken it to tai chi with attitude.

It was one bad move, one misplaced foot and not enough hip movement, but it was all SNAP! After it happened, I knew. I knew. I knew what pain awaited me, I knew I didn’t have the cash to fix it, but I didn’t know if I ever be able to get back on my feet after a second tear.

Hells yeah to stupidity and stubbornness, aka, perseverance!! I was too dumb not to stay in bed for six months and too stubborn to accept I’d been laid out. I tried to go back to taijutsu but, oh, no, believe me, practicing was a sweaty, painful bitch. I did go back to exercising. I did do that. Just not as hardcore as before.

Leftie still acts up, its still a pain, but I think it’s healing. I might not need surgery, but I’d like a professional’s opinion. I believe in my heart of hearts, Leftie knows its time has come, and the countdown has begun for its demise…3.2.1. Insurance!!