not so bad

Okay so it’s been a few weeks since my diagnosis, and while I only just made the physical therapy appointment with my doctor, things aren’t so bad and I’ve (somewhat) emotionally recovered from that business.

I still wish that I could run, but oh well.

I’ve been distracting myself with crafting projects and dog sitting. A LOT of dog sitting. First it was a weekend with 2 little yappers, and then 3 weeks with Max, a black lab mix, and now I’m at the tail end of my last week of dog sitting for the summer (again, with the yappers). It is a lot of fun, but seriously? I am over the barking.

THE BARKING, THE BARKING, ALWAYS THE BARKING.

It doesn’t help that Mitch (wire-haired dachshund) is Very Concerned with Whatever I Am About To Do so he has to BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK if the door is closed, or if I’m getting into my purse, or if I take down my hair, or if I stand up or if I sit down or if I look at him or if I don’t look at him.

It’s not like I blame him or anything, I am incredibly unpredictable.

Glennys, the corgi mix, doesn’t bark as much as Mitch, (FOR THIS I AM THANKFUL) but she does make this delightful sound that sounds like a combination of a lawn mower and a really full dishwasher. She is adorable and hilarious and I love it. Last night she sat at my feet and growled at me for twenty full minutes (after awhile I was just like, “how long can you keep this going”) in the hope that I would give her another dog treat. Glennys lives for dog treats. Glennys always deserves a dog treat and no matter what you are doing or are about to do, you are probably going to give Glennys a dog treat because she’s adorable and a good girl and STARVING because nobody ever feeds her and she really really deserves a dog treat, don’t you think?

Of course, dogs are disgusting (WHY WOULD YOU POOP THERE WHY oh no DO NOT EAT IT NNNNOOOoooooo) but I love their stinky, smelly faces and their bad breath. My first friend was a giant Great Dane named Boots, so it’s not like I ever have a chance of resisting their furry charms.

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diagnosis

I was really looking forward to this doctor’s appointment, seriously. Going on three months of hobbling around, feeling silly, and not running combined makes me ready for this to be over. I feel like every summer something stupid happens to me and I have to go see a million specialists and pursue some sort of therapy regardless of what I do.

I realize this is extremely fatalistic, but it has kind of become my life.

So I saw the doctor, had my knees x-rayed (nowhere NEAR as exciting as the MRI, let me tell you), sat in a cold examining room while he developed the films, and finally had a short chat with him.

normal knee x-ray (not mine)

normal knee x-ray (not mine) taken from trentmueller.com

He says I have Patellofemoral pain syndrome. It’s also called “runner’s knee”, and it is also called “something that ladies sometimes get especially if you are loose-jointed” (which I am). Basically, my kneecaps sit off to the side, which has ground a lot of the cartilage off of the top of my knees. And because of that I have osteoarthritis (again, both knees). He has prescribed some physical therapy, but that is about all there is to do, besides pain medications and just learning to deal with this for the rest of my life.

I realize that this isn’t a death sentence, it could absolutely have been a worse diagnosis, but still.

This is incredibly discouraging. I have to avoid high-impact workouts like running, crossfit, etc, and pick up on low-impact workouts. My knees are always going to hurt.

Now, I’m an extrovert, and the baby of the family. I’m used to and often enjoy being the center of attention. It’s a part of who I am, how I entertain and make friends, and also my job. Since I’ve started having joint issues in high school, I often get to this point in the cycle of pain and achy-ness where I get incredibly paranoid about the pain, and how people react to my pain. I essentially get to this place where I feel like a) nobody believes that I’m actually in pain and b) everyone thinks that I am talking about it/ going to the doctor for more attention.

This is pretty much where I say (more for myself than for anyone else):
I DO NOT WANT THIS TO BE MY LIFE.

seriously.