So for the past ten days my knee has been bugging me, which is fairly concerning because my knees are two of the few body parts I haven't yet broken. Or otherwise injured.
On the Army (and ballet) theory that everything is just a strain, I gritted my teeth for a week, because if it's not bleeding, it must be a sprain, right? And the whole time, I'm limping up and down the stairs, cleaning litter boxes, getting in the middle of projects. Saturday, though, it got bad enough that I tried to talk the VA into permitting an ER visit to a hospital that was closer than the VA. Nope, none of that.
Yesterday, I coukdn't walk. The leg wouldn't support me at all, so I wound up crawling downstairs to feed the cats. Then I called 911.
I was at the ER eight hours. They did X-rays, a sonogram, but apparently MRIs are only for visiting royalty. They gave me an ace bandage, some tylenol, and some crutches.
Within two hours of arriving home, as I came back downstairs, something went SNAP in my knee very loudly, and I woild up screaming in pain for ten minutes. It took me twenty minutes to cross thirty feet because the whole leg was sickeningly painful----you know, the kind of pain where you can tell something is wrong.
Back to the ER.
The nurses looked startled when I came back with the paramedics.
This time they gave me an injection, still no MRI, and still no diagnosis. One $50 cab ride later (including a tip for the sweet Somali driver, who was BEYOND lovely----and liveral) I staggered home in a thigh-high knee brace.
If they fight the ambulance bill, it's time for tactical nukes.