What Am I Going to Do About My F@cking Left Knee

This blog is young enough for readers to head back to those early posts in which I attempted to qualify my fourth (or was it my fifth?) tentative venture back into fight sports training. I urge you to read those early posts in which I described the events in 1983 which ruined the anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee (and again in my right knee in 1997). In 1983, I was a sophomore in college playing rugby in Ohio.  In 1997, I was a serviceable and aggressive (if undersized) old-boy helping the Seattle Rugby Club qualify for the national club championships in Hartford, Connecticut.

Both times I left my heart, guts, and ACL out on the field. The injuries were physically painful, but the deeper hurt was emotional devastation from the expectation that each injury would profoundly change my life.

In 1983, an ACL tear was the end of the line for most athletes as the graft-repair surgeries that are now commonplace, were far from perfected. Furthermore, the conventional wisdom on recovery and rehabilitation was in the dark ages. So although I went (arthoscopically) under the knife to get the joint cleaned a bit, I resisted a complete reconstruction, accepted conservative treatment, and thereafter proceeded to do extensive damage in the joint while just trying to remain an active 20-something.

Eventually, in 1991, I sought ACL autograft reconstruction in San Diego, and got back into the business of smashing into people for fun. After a year or so of rehabilitation, newfound stability enabled me to surf, swim, run, and play rugby again (finally). Unfortunately, restored stability couldn't make up for the loss of the articular cartilage (so important to joint health) accrued during those eight "unstable" years. 20 years later, I consulted the orthopedic surgeon who fixed my right knee in 1997, and he called me a young but ready candidate for knee replacement.

That injury suffered in 1983 is one of the prominent watershed moments in my life. The injury and issues that resulted have done as much to influence my personality as any other external thing in my life. The results are mixed having given me both a faith in my physical self; that injuries are obstacles that can be overcome through personal intensity, hard work, and in some cases, a surgeon's knife. Unfortunately, I also believe that prolonged periods of limited ability (or disability when I'm really feeling sorry for myself), have contributed to a moodiness that is the bane of my existence. Frankly, I'd be really surprised if researchers haven't studied the connection between injury, disability, and mood.

To be continued.