Monday, Oct. 03, 2005 - 4:52 P.M.

Here, to you all, I�ve offered up my struggles with sinus infections, an embarrassing pharyngitis debacle, an incredibly painful kidney stone episode and even a visit to that doctor (Ladies, you know the one). Today, for your reading pleasure, I give you chondromalacia patellae. Quite literally, in lame (wo)man�s terms: kneecap FUBAR. Or, if you are rather odd and prefer the medical definition: �when a blow to the knee cap tears off either a small piece of articular cartilage or a large fragment containing a piece of bone kneecap.*�

I don�t know if this comes across in my entries, but I�m actually pretty neurotic and worried about the sky falling most of the time anyway, so it would�ve been just awesome if the doctor hadn�t walked back into the exam room with furrowed brow and pensive tone all, �You have chondromalacia.� Because of course I was all, �Oh my God! What? What? This can�t be happening to me! What will I tell my kids? My husband? I have chondro what? How long do I have, Doctor?!� Seriously. Really, really would�ve been great if he had just led with, �Yeah, hey listen, your kneecap? Screwed.�

Prior to being diagnosed, while out and about and hobbling along, people would stare at me oddly. Grab their children and move them from being in close proximity with me. Whisper to their partners. Ogle me and then look away quickly. Like I was Quasimodo! The fact that my knee was the size of volleyball being the cause for alarm, I�m sure.

I�ve learned something about people.

People will stare and cross the street to avoid you if you hitch and limp around with a swollen knee and constant grimace, though they will make no comment and give no unsolicited advice. But slap a brace on that joker and it�s all of the sudden fair game -- �Hey! What happened to you?� �Ooooooh, did you just have knee surgery?� �My Aunt Ida had knee surgery and everyone thought she was okay until she started having some problems. Nobody knew what it was and then finally through nuclear x-rays and an arduous and painful process of elimination the doctors discovered that a gauze pad was left inside during her surgery and OH MY GOSH she was absolutely near death! Wow, dude I sure hope that doesn�t happen to you!�

Now, wearing the brace under pants or jeans also brings a lot of quizzical looks being tossed your way. They will say nothing but you can tell they�re thinking something. Something along the lines of -- �What in the holy hell is happening with that girl�s leg?� or �I wonder if she knows there�s a small animal attached to her knee, still alive and, apparently, trying to escape?� Honestly, it�s like they have little balloons above their heads containing their thoughts.

So, which way to go? Questions, comments and scary surgery stories or perplexed peeks, glaringly obvious glances and unnerving (though unspoken) thoughts?

Either way? I figure I�m good to go for Halloween.

*Source: WebMD.com

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I'm Not Dead - Tuesday, Jan. 10, 2006
Ebert And Roeper? Watch Your Backs. - Tuesday, Nov. 29, 2005
Coffee? Tea? Map? - Monday, Nov. 07, 2005

� Purplecigar

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