- Robert Bruce Adams
I HAVE BEEN RESTING MY KNEE since I “popped” something in it on the third tee during my golf league play last month. As I fell to the ground in agony, my mates began boasting about my apparent long drive totally oblivious to my condition. Golfers are unique individuals. “Great ball,” floated in the air as I lay on the turf clutching my knee. The pain had spiked to a solid 9.
Later that day, as I hobbled about my loft, I was reminded of previous muscle and tendon issues after I found an Ace bandage and an oddly sewn Velcro-apparatus in a dresser drawer next to my electric heating pad. I smiled thinking them as souvenirs of an aging athlete.
Like most things in my life things have changed. The new recommendation is cold compresses for such an acute injury. Ice, something I have an abundance of thanks to my evening ritual, is now my treatment of choice. I began filling plastic bags with ice cubes to serve as a cold compress for my knee. I couldn’t decide if it was the front or back of my knee that gave me the most trouble, so I tackled both spots with my ice pack. The bag dripped a lot.
During the ensuing week, I had several of my friends offer recommendations to alleviate my discomfort, each offering their own sure-fire approach. I even thought it was time for me to get back on tart cherry concentrate a local remedy that arthritic-sufferers swear by; it is backed by university research for its anti-inflammatory chemistry. When pain is in the forefront of one’s attention there isn’t much more one focuses on. Hell, I’d even forgotten about my right shoulder which has such minor pain in comparison.
I will keep you posted on my progress. I’m committed to solving this without Medicare’s help or my supplemental Plan G by my insurance carrier who keeps rejecting claims and suggests I tackle reading their benefits guide that comes in just under a hundred pages. Not in my lifetime will this happen.
Do you remember when a little kiss on a boo-boo would make the pain go away? I liked those days.