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Left patella shattered into 6 pieces, and fixed with 18 stitches, 8 pins, 4 screws and a wrapped wire mesh. So that happened, I think, towards the beginning of last month. I had made the mistake of being born with two blood disorders (AIP and PCT), along with CCI, resulting from underproduction of amylase, resulting in chronic abdominal pain issues, as it has been as long as I can remember. I don't get gluttony pains, but more interesting, I don't get hunger pains. I can go for days without eating, and it doesn't bother me. That's just how it is.



The night the "good" knee got cracked in half like a Tosh.0 video, I had eaten half a cup of fried rice with chicken, and for whatever reason, it just didn't agree with me. I walked in the bathroom to puke, which went without incident until the 6th, and final puke. On a good day, without proper pain management, my intestines feel like they're being used as a skating rink. When it gets really bad, it's like having a hand of red-hot pokers being jabbed into your abdomen, then run through a manual meatgrinder.



During this, I momentarily blacked out for a second or two. When I regained consciousness, I was laying on my back, one of the knuckles on my right hand having hit something with enough force that it shaved off the top two layers of skin, almost to the bone. But when I looked down, I knew it was over. My left (good) knee was at least two pieces, and there was no getting out of this mess. My wife freaked out and called the squad. The two EMTs, whom not wanting to just grab a fucking board and easily slide me down the stairs, had me crawl myself down, while trying to not make things worse than they already were.



Predictably, nobody questioned me about why I pissed positive for THC. I already had 2 fractures, a hyperextension, and a blowout, having happened on Christmas when I set down a 20lb TV onto the floor, with the other knee. A few weeks ago, with the right (formerly bad) knee, I had an accident trying to get out of the bathtub, which blew the knee back into socket. You read that correctly, the right knee, the one that had been blown OUT of socket on Christmas, got blown back INTO socket. So it's still a little sore at this time of writing, nearly 2 weeks later.



I do several hundred quad reps per day, which may not seem like a lot, but the muscle is atrophied due to blood loss: I cannot afford to lapse into a state of being sedentary. When they cut my knee open, the anesthesiologist described it like a geyser that was "kinda like watching old faithful (his words, not mine)". But if it comes down to me being confined to a wheelchair, I'll be checking out. That part isn't suicidal ideation, but coming to terms with a reality I refuse to sign up for.



That's just how it is sometimes.