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The time has arrived, dear friends. By the time you read this I’ll be drifting in dark unconsciousness while my knee is opened up and subjected to extensive repair. I have done all I can to prepare.

When the MRI report came back it showed complete tears in four knee ligaments: the ACL, PCL, MCL, and patellofemoral ligaments. My meniscus is also torn, and there were partial tears in the LCL and the popliteus tendon. I was thorough in my destruction.

It had not been part of my plan to wait nearly four months to repair the damage. I had to deal with glacial pace of Kaiser’s orthopedics department and the woeful state of the PT they gave me. Then, when I finally jumped ship and found better help, I had a lot of catch-up to do with reaching the minimal mobility benchmark for surgery.

With knee surgery, outcomes are often determined by the state of the joint when you go in. My surgeon said I needed at least 120 degrees of flexion and I was stuck at just shy of 90. And because months had gone by without proper help, the scar tissue had formed thick, unruly, chaotic ropes all through the injured area.

So for the last six weeks I’ve been making regular pilgrimages to my amazing PT to have her push on my knee. It doesn’t feel good. It feels like my leg is being torn off as she works through the inflammation, scar tissue, and the nervous spasming of my poor quads that have been unable to lengthen since November. But we got there! Today I clocked in at a relatively smooth 125 degrees. I could have cried.

I’ve also been strengthening like mad. In the first five weeks of complete immobility my right leg muscles turned to pudding. My leg felt like a cake that someone took out of the oven too early. No integrity.

I started with knee extension aided by electrical muscle stimulation since, after a long period of inactivity, the brain’s ability to activate a muscle starts to decline. I could stare at my quad and order it to fire and get only a gelatinous quiver. But after a few zappy reminders, it started to work again. And thanks to my hyperextended knees, terminal knee extension came back relatively quickly compared to flexion.

Then I graduated to Blood Flow Restriction (BFR) training. This medieval torture involves a tight, carefully monitored blood pressure cuff around the top of my thigh that restricts about 90% of the venous return, trapping the blood in my leg. I then do exercises, strengthening my quads, hamstrings, and lower leg muscles. The restricted blood flow places increased metabolic stress on the muscles, allowing for the sensation and benefits of heavy training without placing a heavy load on compromised joints.

It’s a rather intense sensation but it was the turning point for my knee. After just a few sessions I was walking without a limp, standing up using my right leg, and even walking up and down stairs. This week I’ve been on the exercise bike, doing weighted squats and deadlifts (light weight, but still), clamshells with a 15 lb weight, and calf raises to failure.

I’m fucking ready. Scalpels out.

I’m also very nervous. With all these improvements I’m dreading going back to braces and crutches and pain. I’m not sure how long I will be non-weight-bearing, it depends what they find when they open me up, but it will definitely be longer than I want. Then I have to go through the whole business all over again.

But if I’ve learned anything from this process, it’s that I can do it. And if I can do it once, I can do it twice. The last three and a half months have been an opportunity for me to practice grit, resilience, patience, and discipline.

It has also been an opportunity for me to learn a new appreciation for interdependence. I am not accustomed to needing help, but I needed a lot. While it made part of me all squirmy with discomfort, I have been practicing grace with both asking and receiving support. It is the greatest gift of this experience.

So I’m ending this newsletter with a string of thank yous.

Thank you to the folks who were with me when the accident happened. You held my hand and supported my leg through over an hour of bumpy bus panic trying to get to the ER. I’ve been through physical trauma before but I’ve never felt so loved and cared for through it.

Thank you to my friends who came into the ER with me and witnessed me blasted out of my mind on ketamine while having my knee popped into place. Apparently I was talking my head off through the whole thing. No idea what I said but I hope I was funny.

Thank you to the people who helped me find the best care possible, made sure I had the resources I need, and gave me a shot at full recovery. Without you I’d still be wallowing at Kaiser waiting to see a doctor.

Thank you to everyone who has visited me, taken me out for little excursions, brought me treats, texted to check on me, made me feel like I wasn’t forgotten even though I wasn’t able to show up like I used to.

Thank you to the departed soul, and all those who loved them, for the ligaments that will make my knee whole again. I will never know you but I will never forget you.

And above all thank you to my husband, my partner, my person. You have literally carried me through the darkest moments, ferried me around, forced me to eat properly, taken care of our dog pack, and let me sleep on your side of the bed. You have done all of it with humor, strength, and grace. You have never once made me feel like a burden even with all you’ve had to give up in order to be there for me. You have showed me what love looks like in action and I could not be more grateful.

I wasn’t very good at human connection when I was younger. I was scared of vulnerability, iced off from the messiness of intimacy. I equated safety with solitude and walled fortresses of emotional avoidance. I was a bit prickly.

I wish I could reach back through time to that girl and show her what I know now: that when we show up in all our fallible, sloppy humanity we will get hurt, we will hurt others, we will flail and other people will see us flail, but we get to really love each other. And as the great poet Leonard Cohen said: “Love’s the only engine of survival.”

Healing doesn’t happen alone. If you are hurting, physically or emotionally, don’t let your fear, pride, or some rigid self-image get in the way of reaching out for help. Supporting each other through tough times is one of the greatest things we can do as humans.

And when someone lets you down, or vice versa, that’s part of love too. To quote another great poet, the inimitable Maude: “Go out and love some more… “

That’s all I’ve got. See you on the other side!

Happy Bendings,

Kristina