Lame

My right knee appears to have gone again. I proportion blame on striding round Liverpool or the utterly inadequate bed at the Albert Dock Premier Inn … or just being a little bit broken.

 It suddenly became a significant problem in June 2017(?) stepping into the garden to tend the barbecue, a shooting pain felt behind my knee and suddenly not being able to adequately weight-bare. Then it just worsened as I worked a lengthy & stressful shift the following day, where I couldn’t be released to return home. By the time so landed at Huckleberry Heights, after hobbling to my car parked miles away in Bethlehem I was in a bit of a mess. Almost crippled.

A visit to A&E and X-ray the next morning revealed I had ligament and tendon damage, and underlying early joint wear indicative of arthritis. 

Matters were significantly complicated by my Dad going not hospital the following day for cancer surgery, and knowing I needed to be on-duty to support my parents. So I dosed myself with heavy duty painkillers, strapped my knee up and got on with it; knowing I was only making it worse.

My mobility has been poor since, significantly worse post-covid, but no incidents like this. 

I don’t dismiss that it’s potentially psychosomatic; there is certainly a link between my physical health and my mental health. I can’t deny my mental health has been shocking of late, again significantly worse since Covid, but always a spectre nearby. I can’t dismiss its debilitating effect. Highlighted by the assessments as part of the Long Covid course, obvious to Liz, apparent to family & friends and commented on by colleagues. And conspicuous to myself.

I’ve taken ownership; tried to be open & honest, which I find painfully difficult. Commenced counselling (CBT). Started medication. Continued to tell the truth.

I’m also going to have some blood work done. I can’t pretend I don’t have a feeling of being “not quite right”. I report when asked about my well-being that post-covid I’m not the man I once was, but I’m obviously fearful of uncovering something else. How typically male!

Even terrified by the procedure itself, the process of obtaining blood. Ludicrous, approaching twenty-eight years as a Children’s nurse and as yet have not encountered anyone who died from an injection or blood test, but still absolutely terrified.