Peggy filled a 25 cc syringe with fluid from my knee last night, and still didn’t get it all. I couldn’t sleep for the pain, and called the orthopedist today to ask what the swelling means and what I should do about it. His aide put me on hold as she relayed my question to the surgeon, who was standing right beside her. She returned to tell me to cancel my physical therapy appointments and stop exercising for ten days, words that hit me like a brick.
I asked to speak to the doctor directly to get more information and to avoid the pitfalls of relayed messaging. She said he was busy doing other things even while she spoke to him on my behalf. I persisted and the great man himself came on the phone and, after a few ill-tempered remarks, told me that exercising would not delay my healing, but would only serve to reduce the pain caused by the over production of synovial fluid. Since he had assured me prior to surgery that the fluid would not return, I asked what I could expect now that it had. He said he would give up doctoring and move to Las Vegas if he could predict the future—a remark that showed where his values lay.
It rained so hard today that I only took one bike ride with the dogs. I have run errands on my bike for years, but rarely taken it out for pleasure, and my present leisurely routine has served to remind me that biking can be an enjoyable activity. As I rode tonight, I noticed that the front tire was catching the streetlights at an angle that made it look to be spinning backwards even as it threw off jewel-like beads of water toward the front.