The surgery.

The morning of checkout from our fancy 5-star hotel (a total luxury I won’t forget anytime soon), we packed everything up and went around the city for some last minute purchases and sightseeing. The time after surgery is so unknown that we don’t want to bank on what shape I’ll be in. We went to the largest Krishna shrine in Chennai, the Arthasarathy Temple, which is the oldest structure in the city.

There was a tour guide (who I’ll admit totally hustled me for his tip) that explained Hinduism so comprehensively that I felt for the first time I finally understood a glimpse of it. Rotating around the temple we were greeted by a few of the locals, one of whom asked where we were from and proceeded to proudly proclaim her son-in-law was finishing his pHd in Indiana and called him over. Poor guy, he looked so abashed. Before leaving, there was a “wish tree” that people would tie strings to, cradles for prayed-for children, or just touched and asked for positive outcomes. Sam and I held hands and laid our other on the tree, both wishing for a good outcome the following morning. The anxiety followed me around like a cloud. We left, went back to the hotel, grabbed our bags and headed to the hospital. It’s a nice, private suite, with my hospital bed, a bed for Sam, a couch, and a desk, with a closet and fridge and solo bathroom. As soon as I arrive I’m greeted by the angel Devi, who speaks the best English and is a fantastic nurse besides.

The next morning I wake up at 5am to start prepping for surgery; they want me in OR by 5:30 for that holding pattern that everyone who’s had surgery is familiar with. They go to put in an epidural, and he doesn’t get it. I repeat, HE DOESN’T GET IT. I let him try again and again, because what’s my alternative? Everyone is starting to panic. The Tamil and Hindu being spoken around me starts to become frenzied. He’s talking to me through it though, and finally, after the 7th or so attempt, he gets it, and my relief is the color of saffron. He tells me that I had scar tissue on my back at the normal insertion points, and had I had epidurals many times before? Never, I said. Turns out all those car accidents proper fucked me, and I was suddenly giddy that I couldn’t ever have kids because LORD.

I wake up around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I wasn’t brought back until noon, and it was because the doctor had never seen what I have before and was taking his time investigating it. The knee pain I’ve had for half my life, which he termed patellar femural dysplagia, is a congenital defect in my tibial bones. If you look at any goofy skeleton cartoon, you’ll know the piece I’m talking about; the valley between the two bulbs at the distal end of the femur and proximal end of the tibia. Basically, the “crack” part that makes bones look like butts. In real anatomy, you’d see that it’s a deep groove, and our kneecaps track within that groove. It’s a hinge, basically. Well, My bone doesn’t look like a butt. It’s flat...shallow...and consequently didn’t provide my kneecap anywhere to glide within. So my kneecap has been sliding around in my joint since puberty, which is why this pain began when I was 15 (growth spurt) and didn’t fade. Gradually, my body built up a massive mound of fibrous tissue to keep the kneecap attached to the lateral/outside part of my knee, but when my ortho Dr. Donaldson did a lateral release, he undid that lifetime of work and made the issue that much worse.

My surgeon, Dr. Venkat, looked me in the eye and told me that I was right. That he was wrong. It wasn’t an overexaggerated rendition of pain, it wasn’t the chemicals in my brain being wonky, it was that my knee was in a permanent state of dislocation because it never had an actual track. As my buddy Tony put, like a golf ball on a flat tee - easy on, easy off. Afterwards, Dr. Venkat reevaluated my xrays and saw the minor indications of my condition, and was shocked. I gave him an education, he kept repeating. The only corrective surgeries for this kind of condition are in Europe, where they essentially saw at the bone to make a track for the patella, but I’ll likely come back here to do the lesser surgery he initially suggested for my left knee on my right. He’ll cut the head of the tibia at an angle, slide it over a centimeter or two, and add another tubercle attachment for my kneecap with some stem cell injections to help repair any damaged cartilage.

The pain was extreme, dearhearts, and the next day was even worse. But now I’m technically on day 2 (48 hours out of surgery) and already I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m sure I’m in for plennnnnty of discomfort in the upcoming weeks, but I’m not yelling out in pain or weeping yet, and that’s a great way to start the day!