Survival of the Fittest

A funny thing happened during the year after my grandmother died- I started to have knee pain.  I've always been in good health, so it seemed a little odd.  I couldn't recall any traumatic event, but I figured I could have done something to it in the process of moving all of my furniture and belongings into the condo where I lived with R before we bought the house.  I did it all myself over the course of a week or two- I just kept filling up my trusty Saturn Vue, which is surprisingly spacious, and making the 45 minute drive from Whittier to Torrance. 

At one point I had a huge, heavy pine armoire to move.  R undoubtedly would have helped me with it, but he worked during the week, and I was determined to do it myself.  I guess I can be stubborn that way.  I remember tipping it on it's side and literally pulling it down the hills that comprised my grandmother's yard.  I pulled it on a sheet.   It suffered some wear, but I did it.  I remember feeling so lost and angry at the time, and pushing and pulling heavy furniture (that would have been a challenge for a man) was therapeutic.  Over the course of moving everything (that piece included) I often balanced things on my knee or used my body for leverage.  So when I developed the knee problem some months later, that seemed like the most likely explanation.

In hindsight, I think it was depression-related.  I think that somehow, when we are severely depressed and/or stressed, our bodies begin to self-destruct.  I can't prove that what I experienced was some sort of autoimmune condition, but that's what my gut tells me. 

My symptoms at first consisted of knee pain that worsened in certain positions and a restricted range of motion. The first provider that I saw was an Orthopedic PA.  He diagnosed "Chondromalacia Patella"- a condition that seems to have all the legitimacy of Fibromyalgia (sorry Fibromyalgia sufferers, but I've only known one person with the condition, and she was a hypochondriac at best).  I read up on the condition, and his diagnosis seemed rather far off the mark.  Then my condition worsened to the point where I could not walk without limping, and along with that I began to feel a hard foreign body in the joint.  By "feel" I mean that I could physically manipulate a marble-like object that came to the surface of the joint when my leg was moved into certain positions.  It was freakish.  An MRI was ordered and I was referred to an Orthopedic Surgeon.  He performed arthroscopy on the joint and removed many foreign bodies- pieces of cartilage in various states of calcification.  The largest (the one I could feel and move around) is now my souvenir from the surgery- he saved it for me in a specimen container.  It's huge!  It's no wonder I was having trouble.  He described what he saw inside the joint as being like "a plantation"- the cartilage was growing in a way that it shouldn't have been.  He removed what he could, but it ended up coming back, so a year or so later I had another arthroscopy, and this time it included a synovectomy (removal of the joint lining from which the wayward cartilage was growing).  Things are great now, but I'll never forget what it was like to have severe joint pain and to walk with a limp.  I have a collection of knee braces in the closet that further remind me of the experience.

Between the depression and the knee problems, I'm often reminded that I would be lost without modern medicine.  It's frustrating to feel "weak"- to feel as though I would be a liability if I lived in a different era.  Come to think of it, I sometimes feel like a liability anyway.  What do we value in our society?  One of the traits that is praised and held up as an American ideal is a fighting spirit; "stick-to-it-iveness".  I don't fight very well.  In fact I guess I give up pretty easily.  In this society, few things are as bad as being a "quitter".  But that's who I seem to be.  I quit on relationships, academic plans, careers...  I don't quit completely, but I allow myself to be deterred.  It's easy to redirect my energies elsewhere- a new relationship, a new academic plan, a new career.

I suspect I gave up on a career in planning too quickly.  The experience with the County of Los Angeles left a bad taste in my mouth.  There is a lot that I didn't do right, and of course my employer was fully justified in terminating my employment.  I didn't complete the writing assignment and therefore I didn't pass probation...  Simple, right?  No.  My supervisor had discretion, and opted not to work with me.  For whatever reason, she didn't like me enough to want to keep me in her department.  So here is the age-old question...  What's wrong with me??  What is so horrible about me that people don't want to give me a chance??

Everyone on earth has undoubtedly wondered this at one point or another, and I sure don't lose sleep over it...  but when I consider parenthood, I sometimes feel that it would be cruel to pass along my genes.  It's a dog-eat-dog world out there.  It truly is survival of the fittest, and I'm not very fit.  It has been a struggle to get this far in life, and I fully expect it to continue to be.