This week has been about aches and pains.
The first injury is not new: a tear on my right knee from hiking, continuous running on uneven concrete, and sitting for countless of hours in front of a white screen. Every time I look at a diagram explaining the structure of our knees, I’m amazed by the complexity—all the parts interconnected and complex, and I manage to mess up one. These last couple of months the pain became worse, so much, that it hurt to go up the stairs. More or less I’m turning into a grandma, and my cats don’t help; they make me want to stay secluded in a box.
If that’s not enough, I spent most of my hours at home the previous week thanks to my wisdom tooth being removed. It was done healing by last Friday. I thought yay, I’m finally free. But no wait, then I fell off my bike on Monday, going fast, causing my left knee to scrape on top. I was reckless, and it was bloody. Cleaning and covering up my first scrape on my new bike is a lesson on patience. I’m not wonder woman— at least not yet. Once again, I was to stay at home for the entirety of another week with only minor escapes.
By now the wound has healed mostly. I can bend my left knee and go upstairs without difficulty— though there’s still a tingling sensation telling me the scabs are fragile. The good news is my right knee is much better thanks to therapy.
I think back to that last big injury I had, and this is nothing. I was home for 3 months waiting for my bloody, stitched up Achilles heel to go back to normal so I could walk on two legs. This injury was right around my birthday. I was hopping on one leg while aging one more year. I’m a mess— always hurting myself.
My doctor laughed when I told him I was clumsy. He probably thinks I’m a reckless patient always coming up with new injuries. I tell myself, it’s important to pace yourself and know your physical limits; your body will thank you.
Either way I’m back to the active life.
Everything has an end.
