I write this blog while my left leg is propped up on a pillow while a licked-clean bowl of chocolate ice cream lies to my right.
I write this while being confined as a prisoner surrounded by the same purple walls of the room I call mine.
The reason I’m being dramatic is because I’m forced to be here, trapped in my room.
And yes, my walls are purple.
Yes, that’s right, folks
I just got out of the hospital.
That’s where I was, these past couple of weeks
Let’s get started, shall we?
Flashback to the merry month of December when my parents decided to send me for badminton coaching.
At the ripe age of 16.
Okay, I’m a good person so I went along with it.
A few weeks in, though, we were playing a practice match. The shuttlecock suddenly whizzes past me on my right and I quickly turn to hit it but I pulled something really frickin bad.
I go down like a sack of potatoes, blinded with pain in my left knee.
The first thought that passes through my head is that I’ve broken it, because it hurts that bad. But, contrary to my belief, when I opened my eyes, I was still standing(but in a really awkward position). My coach dragged me to the side and told me to keep my leg straightened and to not move it. Pain shot through my leg even if I moved it an inch. My coach had confirmed that it wasn’t a broken leg but might be a ligament tear. So okay, I’d heard about such things before. A classmate of mine underwent surgery for the same thing two years ago and missed three months of school because of it.
I was terrified of that happening to me. Half an hour later, my coach send me home. My mother went ballistic and she started massaging my leg. An hour later, the pain significantly reduced and we hoped that it will get better.
A week later, I was out with my dad running errands. We had taken the bike because we both loved it. While getting down, I placed my left knee ie. the injured one down and turned.
My knee wobbled.
The pain was excruciating and gripping. My bone literally wobbled and I was scared to death.
Fast forward to two weeks later, when I was back at practice. While running laps, my knee wobbled again.
Then, we decided to take action.
We visited a doctor recommended by a colleague of my mother. This guy was intense. He was a sports orthopedic and specialized in these kinds of injuries. One look at my leg and he demanded that I go for an MRI.Now the thing is, I’m terribly claustrophobic.
I can’t stand small spaces and have a panic attack. I start hallucinating and feel like the walls are closing in on me. But, he forced us to go for it. I went for the MRI, literally drowning in my tears.
Once we got through with it, we went home. The report came out two days later. The doc then confirmed it.
It was a ligament tear.
This guy then starts explaining the procedure and he just drones on and on. You know how you feel comfortable with a doc? You start to trust him and whatever he says?
Yeah, that didn’t happen with this guy.
He scared my mom and me to death about the recovery procedure and all that fun stuff.
We went home and decided to go consult another doc for a second opinion.
Now this second guy, now he was a real charmer. A good seasoned doctor, in his fifties, explained that this process was about two hours of my life and could get back to doing things normally in two, maximum, three months.
The second we left his office, I declared that he was the guy we should hire to do the surgery. All was well and good until next week.
The very next week, when my mum was leaving for work, my knee swelled up and started hurting. And of course, my mom freaked and said that we do the surgery as soon as possible.
The next few things happened in a snap. Mother dearest went and talked to the dean of my college and the dean granted me exemption from my junior year finals. So I think, that could be considered as the silver lining in this huge pile of mess.
Dad talked to the doc and he said that he was fine with doing the surgery. Now the thing is, recovery after this surgery takes about three months. And for me, college ie. senior year for me begins in June. So it was best that we had done it right then.
Unfortunately, the surgery date landed on the 10th of March aka my birthday. Yes,folks, that’s how I spent my seventeenth birthday-getting admitted in the hospital.
I got admitted and I was keeping my spirits high. I kept watching FRIENDS on the hospital tv. The nurses came in and inserted the tubes inside my hand which was able to pass fluids in me. I tried to put on a brave face for my parents. Mom stayed with me and sent dad home.
Next day morning, nurses come in and tie up my hair in braids and move me into a stretcher. They take me to the recovery room to check my vitals and blood pressure. A good solid hour later, they wheeled me into the surgery.
The very first thing that I sense and feel about the surgery room was that it was cold. Nail biting cold. They place me on the bed, cover me with blankets and place this tube inside the blanket that released hot air to keep me warm. It somewhat provided hope and relief to me in a way.
As the surgery was t be conducted on my leg, the anesthesia had to be given in the spine. Now, that was painful. 10 minutes later my legs started to tingle and I lose consciousness.
When I opened my eyes, I’m back in the recovery room. I spotted this huge brace tied to my leg and couldn’t move at all. Soon, they took me back to my room.
That’s when I started acting delusional. The effect of the anesthesia was wearing out and my mind started to clear. I don’t know what I did but my mother said that I said incoherent stuff and demanded tea when I’ve never had tea in my entire life.(I’m a coffee person). Around six is when I fell asleep. I woke up two hours later to steaming hot, disgusting hospital food.
At night was when the trouble started again. I was in agony and my leg was hurting really bad. This was because of the stitches, as I would come to know later. I move around a lot in my sleep,twist and turn in every single way possible. But the cast and the brace weren’t allowing me to do that. I wasn’t able to sleep and mom wasn’t either.
The next day was when they took an X-ray of my leg, just to check wether everything is in place. When the reposrts came later, trouble began again. The in house doctor claimed that a tube attached to my leg, when removed, had left a hole in it. Therefore, I had to go back in the surgery and place stitches. “Just gonna take 5 minutes” is what he said to me. I broke down,because by this point I was just ready to go home. The pain was unbearable. What I didn’t know that he had to conduct another surgery because of an anomaly.
It took 4 hours.
Now this point can be argued from both sides. One can say that it’sthe doc’s fault that he made a mistake.One can also say that it was brave of the doc to come forward with the truth. Well, this resulted in my dad fuming and my mom upset. But the surgery was done again, much to my disappointment,and I was discharged two days later. It has now been more than a month since the surgery and I now can normally walk and sit but I still can’t run as fast. But, this is tremendous improvement according to the doctor. So I guess, fingers crossed until then.
What I wanna ask you guys is your opinion.
Was it the doc’s mistake or his good nature?
Lemme know your thoughts.
This is my story.