I should have done this ages ago, but please, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, roll out the barrel, deck the halls, and pray essay with me the Ancient Semaphore Of Greeting (discovered etched into the glass of the Great West Window at York Minster) for kaz_mahoney
are among us.
Welcome, Karen and Derek.
The knee is still not well. My GP says it should be pretty much healed by now, but it's still weak and sore and I still can't put a lot of weight on it, so he referred me to the orthopaedic clinic up at Barnet General. Who x-rayed the damn thing again, then poked and prodded and twisted it some, and then gave me a leg-brace that's a sort of aluminium/neoprene/velcro version of the calipers you used to see on those child-shaped collecting boxes for the Polio Society and referred me for an MRI.
The appointment for the MRI came through today and it's at Chase Farm Hospital in Enfield, which means that not only have I taken the knee to three different hospitals since I fell over, I've taken it to three different counties. Well, two counties and a borough, but who's counting.
The MRI's on Saturday, but I'll have to go back to see the consultant at Barnet General a fortnight after that to discuss the results. The doctor I saw at Barnet thinks it may be a ligament tear - which is what every other doctor who's seen it thought - or a cartilage problem. Like everyone else he did the thing where he said, "And we'll see whether it needs physio, or..." and let his voice trail off before he said `surgery.' I don't want surgery. Not keyhole surgery or porthole surgery or patio door surgery or any kind of surgery.
As for the other stuff, not so bad, but not there yet. *hugs*