Two weeks ago I was sparing at a black belt camp in Louisiana and was kicked by a very handsome 6th degree. When I tried to get up my right knee laughed at me and said, “put your butt back down, woman.” I couldn’t walk.
Getting hurt at this kind of cam is rotten because I had to miss the following 48 hours of training and I had to lie around in a fairly primitive room, no tv, no Internet connection, no telephone for the next day and a half. just me, my goofy brain and a bag of ice.
When I got home two things became apparent.
1.My knee wasnt’ getting any better.
2. It’s impossible to look hot wearing a big ugly knee brace doing the zombie walk. (I’m waiting for the What Not To Wear people to jump out of my closet)
My orthopedic made an ugly face and sent me for an MRI.
Yuck! For twenty minutes I had to lie in a big shaking, quivering, humming and banging machine. I’m sure an MRI costs millions and millions of dollars, so why is it so noisey and aggressive? They gave me head phones with music but the MRI was so loud I couldn’t hear.
As I left, the MRI lady took my $300 dollars (and I have big insurance) and told me to help myself to a bowl of pens and emory boards. I looked at her with “an emory board, seriously?” kind of expression. But she didn’t get it. Why does an MRI place give away emory boards.
The next day I hobbled into the doctor’s. office. I smiled. “Ok, give me some good news, it’s stretched, strained, twisted?”
He smiled right back, “ACL and Mencius are both torn.”
I was crushed and kind of wanted to cry, but I didn’t. (I waited till I got to the parking lot) I handed him a list I’d made earlier. “Diana’s summer Fun List”
Chasing and annoying kids, taekwondo, tennis, running, rock climbing, swimming, skiing, hiking, water parks. “Can I do any of this stuff?”
He read the list then shook his head. “Well, you can still annoy your kids just not chase them.”
“Surgery?” I asked.
“Well, at your age you need to really think about that.”
Did he say “‘at your age?” Oh my lord talk about adding insult to injury, like I’m Granny Maw Maw. Didn’t he read my list? Those are the worst three words any man can say to a woman…every. What a dummy. I feel sorry for his wife.
I really- really wanted to cry, or kick his ass, which would be tough with one leg. “I want to fix it. Soon, today.”
He shrugged, “Ok, I understand. It’s an outpatient surgery but the recovery will be a few months, 4-6.”
“Let’s go, the sooner the better.”
“We’ll have to do a graft.”
“Excellent, from somebody else? Can I have a 24 year old Asian girl graft?”
He just stared at me so I tried to explain. “If I get a young Asian graft maybe I’ll kick better and who knows my math might improve.”
Fine, I’m a reverse racist. I want the qualities middle age white women just don’t posses. He wouldn’t laugh, but I thought I was pretty funny.
“It will be a cadaver graft,” he state flatly.
“A dead guy? I get dead guy parts? That’s not gonna help my kicking.”
He shrugged and smiled, obviously thinking I was marginally insane. Then his nurse came in to schedule the surgery.
So, I’m out of the game for 4-6 months. It sucks. Sometimes I whine but the Martial Arts world is filled with guys who have had the same surgery or accident and injuries far more hideous. Maybe tearing my ACL it’s like my innationa into a super duper special fraternity of steler kickers. Who knows, maybe my cadaver could kick through the roof…maybe I’ll get a little piece of Bruce Lee.
Then…in six month…it’s on, baby!