January 1st, 2009
Just before leaving the New Year's party
last night this morning I did something to my knee and now my leg hates me. I blame dancing and I am now treating with greater respect whichever Higher Power keeps me from dancing. See, I don't dance. I don't in the sense that I am both typically unwilling to, and I am physically incapable of doing so. I am of the firm belief that this Higher Power decided long ago that I wasn't supposed to rhythmically move to music, so it does whatever is necessary to keep me from doing so. Usually their job is easy: a heaping dose of self-conscious "my god, I look like a fool" embarrassment keeps me from the dance floor. I am a large white boy so unless there's intentional physical comedy involved with my goofy movements, it's not worth it. Galloping around a stage going RUMBA RUMBA SNORT RIP to make people laugh is okay. Trying to dance in a situation where you're supposed to be all cool and groovy and mingle with all the sexy people (and ending up making roughly the same movements you did when you were galloping about going RUMBA RUMBA SNORT RIP) is often not.
But this was a New Year's party, and alcohol removes a great deal of self-conscious feelings, doesn't it? Of course it does. You get there in a room full of folks and there's a lot of dance music in your ear and everybody's bouncing around and someone was successful in introducing you to their favorite liqueur which you'd probably have only tried before on a bet, and it was fun so you had a bit more of it, and then someone else mixed you a mean White Russian so it was on, my friends, it was on, and a cute blonde girl whose name you never got insists you try a sip of her concoction which she calls Wonderful and y'know there may be some truth in that, and suddenly you find yourself graduating from "cool, disaffected, new wave head-bobbing" to "moving about in time to the music and amazingly not bumping into anyone or at least you can't tell anymore" and then there's a girl in the room, whose name you know quite well, who is absolutely thrilled that you've decided to do that dance thing and wants you to dance with her so you can't quite say no to that because you're extremely fond of her and you're orbiting each other and your hands are doing god-knows-what and you probably are dancing Chunky Whiteboy Style still but somehow it doesn't matter anymore, and that's when the Higher Power goes "Humph! Dare to flount my rules and attempt to move your mass in that silly fashion?" and does that nose twinkle thing and
my left knee buckled and
suddenly I was keenly aware of this pain in my left leg and
down I went and
I wasn't even doing anything remotely sophisticated, you know? I wasn't trying to be all Gene Kelly, much less MC Hammer, or try something that involved any level of skill. I just stepped wrong while stepping back and forth and the fact that I incurred injury attempting to step to the side, something one does on a daily basis music or no, was the first problem. I mean, not only is it a completely stupid way to injure oneself, it's also devoid of any thrilling drama. You want to start these kinds of injury stories with "So I rushed into the burning orphanage a third time for the kittens..." and not "So I was all liquored up and trying to dance..."
But nevertheless, there I was, half-kneeling on the floor, trying to assess the sitchyashun. It hurt, but it wasn't keeping me down. I could stand up. I could walk. I hadn't heard a snap. I felt no swelling and the pain wasn't constant. I was also quite anesthetized at that point.
Luckily I got a ride home instead of walking ten blocks in the single-digit temperatures back to the T, as we'd done to get to the party (at one point I'd hollered up the line "Hey Shackleton, how much farther is it?") and that was a Very Good Thing. Several hours later I awoke and, stepping out of bed, promptly collapsed. The pain was much more intense and honestly quite surprising.
"Bunch of cuss words loudly delivered," I said.
"Mumbled inquiry?" a very sleepy yet very concerned voice on the other side of the bed asked. The voice belonged to the very lovely girl who was happy that I had danced with her that evening. Please note that I do not hold her responsible for any of this.
"Statement of uncertainty," I replied. "Indication of possible leg injury."
"Soothing murmurs of sympathy and concern!" she said. If I was half asleep, she was the other half asleep. "Request for assessment of general well-being?"
"Admission that right about now we really don't know what the fuck," I said, and proceeded to lie back down after accomplishing what it was I wanted to do in the first place, which involved a roll of antacid. There were more sleepy murmurs and she put her arm around me and was very comforting not to mention wonderful in an exothermic kind of way.
Later on today, with a clearer head, a bit more awakeness and a heaping helping of painful trial-and-error, I determined the following: That there are no broken bones and no swelling, that the problem involves the back and left side of my knee, that while I can stand upright without incurring pain I cannot put any real weight on my left leg, but I can hobble on the ball of my left foot and be okay. At other times, when I move a bit, the leg feels like I've just slept on it for far too long. You know, all sore-like, and you wish you could just stretch it away. But much like when you twist your ankle, the fact that the pain goes away means you often trap yourself into moving like you normally do and down you go again.
I do not recommend this.
However, all this does not take away from the fact that the party was kickass, the Orpheum show was amazing, I am very proud of my cast and everybody who worked on the show, and I shall tell you the rest of it tomorrow.
Awwww yeah, there it is, the Ed Lover Dance in all its glory. But is it still the Ed Lover Dance if you're not doing it to the 45 King?
(And ok, here you go, this comment gets the icon. IT GETS THE ICON!)
Edited at 2009-01-02 05:36 am (UTC)
You might want to go buy a cheesy neoprene knee brace for your knee because you probably, at the very least, sprained your knee. It will probably hurt for a few weeks. This very precise internet diagnosis brought to you by a person who has sprain her knee twice while drunk-dancing.
Sounds like possible ligament damage. You might want to get it checked out.
Of course, you'll have to forgive my first response, which wasn't, "Oh, I hope you're alright," but more along the lines of, "Yeah, way to go, Spatch, you ladykiller you!"
but more along the lines of, "Yeah, way to go, Spatch, you ladykiller you!"
Awwwwww. (But is it still considered a pull when you've been dating for over a year and a half?)
How did some of us miss that news brief!?
What Tasha said! I must admit I had the ladykiller reaction too, though. :D
PS, CVS will probably also have some fairly cheap crutches available if you still can't really walk with the cheesy neoprene knee brace.
No, I suppose not. I don't think you'd mentioned her in a post before, so I had no idea.
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 03:34 pm (UTC)|| |
Get the knee checked out, it's quite possibly acl damage or the likes. It won't "hurt" to find out. :)
Many hugs and happy new year!
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 03:57 pm (UTC)|| |
Oh geez. I had no idea you had even injured yourself. How did I miss all that? Please don't sue.
Sorry 'bout your knee.
Glad you found someone to kiss it better. :)
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 05:10 pm (UTC)|| |
"Hey Shackleton, how much farther is it?"
I repeat: "Hah!" Best line so far this year.
(Suldog, by the way, even though it says "Anonymous")
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 09:19 pm (UTC)|| |
You've got yourself a soft tissue knee injury, possibly a strain or a twist to a ligament or tendon. Don't get it checked out because there's nothing they can do except make it worse, and all the fuss and expense will be for naught. Keep it elevated, seriously keep off it for 3 days, use an ice-pack for pain relief ... DO NOT USE HEAT. You can use a compression bandage if you need to get around, but it's really seriously VERY much better to keep off it.
Keep it elevated! I mean it!
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 09:22 pm (UTC)|| |
I will not try to diagnose you on the basis of my own history of knee injuries. I will second the suggestion that you get a cheesy neoprene knee brace. I will further suggest that you see a doctor. I am assuming that you've (at the least) got that Massachusetts mandatory
pay-off to the insurance companies universal coverage.
Cheesy Neoprene sounds like a new wave one-hit wonder. I'll check both CVS and the local Sam Goody.
As far as doctors go I've got health insurance through work, so I get to see my PCP first and get a specialist referral.
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 09:29 pm (UTC)|| |
Cheesy Neoprene [Something] will probably be the name of my next guitar hero band. :)
Speaking of bands in plastic guitar games, meet Ëxtränëöüs Ümläüt
. That is, if the website today is handling umlauts, which it often doesn't particularly care for.
|Date:||January 2nd, 2009 11:37 pm (UTC)|| |
Did the mumbly sleepy conversation involve a naive expression of love or a request to turn back time and rectify your wrongs (in abusing the knee)? I would not at all be surprised if it involved modulation and holding a high note.
Also, I am sorry you are experiencing owieness.