So, I Broke My Kneecap Pt. I

by Mike Hanus:

"A patella looks like a cookie. Yours is cracked in two." - Dr. Quackenbush.

On Monday, February 4th, around 6pm, I broke my kneecap. I decided to write this to record this major life event, organize my thoughts, and be able to say "you mean you haven't read my blog?!" when people see me walking around on crutches. It contains some gross details, lots of drug references, and a lot of exaggeration concerning my toughness. Let's begin.

On Monday I went to the gym with my grad school buddy Carlos to play basketball. In the locker room, as we were changing, I ran into a current student I had. It's always terrible to run into students at the gym, because any chance of authority I may have built up is instantly ruined as they see me flailing around on the court, my entire shirt covered in sweat about 20 minutes in, and in this case, my pale and soft stomach (which, of course, I sucked in).


Anyway, we found two other players on a court to play 2v2 with. The guy I was matched up with was about 6'4, and one of those people you're pretty sure played in highschool and comes to the gym to shake the rust off. Because he was taller, he was making jump shots if I gave him any kind of space at all. In the short 5 minutes we ended up playing, I would like to let it be known I put up three points on this guy, who was probably preparing for his NBA tryouts.

Anyway, tall guy gets the ball and starts to drive against Carlos. I decided to leave my man to cut off the drive, which means I was running towards someone running at me. Our knees collided hard, and, well, his knee won. There was a pretty loud crack and I said "Ow!" and hopped on my (good) left leg, holding my knee. Then I looked down.

In a few seconds, I had the following thoughts: This is what it looks like when on TV you see an athlete's leg or arm in places it should not be, and you can't hold in the "Oh!" noise. Where my knee was supposed to be, there was a big, pronounced crater, with bones I was not familiar with circling it. I dislocated my knee. I broke my knee. I may never be able to play sports again. I may never walk again. This hurts.

Then I realized I was screaming obscenities very loudly, then I realized I should probably sit down.I should say that the initial pain of the hit wasn't that bad-just like a very painful version of banging your knee on something. It was seeing what it looked like that made me lose it. This looked so nasty that the other guys around me kind of just stood, because seriously, what are you supposed to even do when a knee looks like that. Then they ran to the front desk.

The front desk guy also made an Oh! and asked what I needed him to do. I suggested an ambulance. I also asked for some ice. I had calmed down at this point, and sort of laid there trying not to look at it but looking at it over and over again. I was pretty sure it was dislocated, and thought about trying to pop it in, and then thought about how if I did this incorrectly I would 1) pass out and 2) really really screw my knee up.The ice helped, they calmed an ambulance, and we waited for it to arrive. The staff took my information and did an injury report.

After a few minutes, what do you know, my student walks up. He's very nice, and I like him from class, and he's very concerned. I gave him a peek. "This doesn't mean we're cancelling class on Wednesday! You be there." I think I am very funny. He mentioned that he wanted to see me in my officer hours to talk about his paper. Still thinking I am very funny, I said "Hey, I've got time, let's talk about it now. Ha. Ha." So, holding my ruin of a knee, grimacing in pain, he kneels down and starts asking about it.

Undergrads.

So I gave him some advice (remember to use a clear thesis statement!), and he left.Let it be known that Carlos has been very concerned and helpful throughout this time, getting me things and keeping company. What a stand up guy.

Eventually, the paramedics showed up. These guys were comedians. Some samples:

"Playing basketball huh? That's why I always play above the rim."

"I think I just drove over a curb. Twice."
"Don't worry man, he's only got a dislocated knee up here. Maybe two, now."

"Alright, I'm out of here before all the screaming starts."

Really, they were awesome, and made the (really bumpy) ride enjoyable.

I was wheeled in and placed in a trauma ward--more because they thought it would be fast (pop it in, go home) rather than that I was bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. Being wheeled around itself was also pretty cool. You know how in movies/TV shows they always use that camera angle from the patient's view, where you see the two feet sticking out, maybe a face above you pulling the cart, and all the stuff in front? That was me. How very exciting.

The trauma ward was notable for how simple it seemed to be. There weren't tons of fancy electronics and equipment, it was mostly a wall of different plastic tubes, bandages and breathing stuff. It just struck me how when you really come down to it, even the biggest emergencies involve keeping someone breathing and stopping the bleeding. In fact, I thought "Keep em' breathin, stop 'em bleedin, start relievin'" was a very good slogan for the room and suggested as much. I had a lot of free time to think about these things, as  I was still not considered an emergency (and shouldn't have been).

Anyway, this was a university hospital, and whenever a doctor would come in s/he would be followed by a little gaggle of medical students. They took turns poking my crater and talking about which muscle was where, and how it all worked. I was all like 'it's cool I teach too, I get it" because look at meeeee.

One of the students was helping a doc wrap my leg in a new binding, and let it go too early. This, of course, was incredibly painful, and I let him know with a good wince and death glare. Med students.

The prevailing theory was still that I had a dislocated knee. I was told that I'd be given some medicine that would numb me but still keep me awake, and they'd have a surgeon come in and yank and twist and fix things. But as more folks came in and looked, the more they talked about how it was a very odd way to dislocate a knee-those usually happen where bone A pops out to the side of bone B, but mine looked like they were popped vertically apart on my leg. X-rays followed. I was refusing pain meds at this point, because I try to minimize medicine whenever I can, and though it definitely hurt, I thought I'd just take the numbing meds when they went to pop it back.

"Yep, I think your kneecap is actually broken" is a phrase I was not happy to hear. I'm not sure where I heard it, but I remember some gangster movie talking about how if you really want to cause someone pain, you shoot them in the kneecap. They showed the X-ray, and so it was: my kneecap was plural; in two pieces, one above the other. I decided to take some medicine.

The new plan was to have surgery to piece this all back together. Luckily, there were openings the next day, so I was told that I'd stay overnight. This all really piled up for me-I've never had surgery, never been put under, never stayed at a hospital before. I was kind of left in the trauma ward for a bit while they worked out where I would go and all that stuff. I had no cell phone service, and I hadn't talked to anyone in a few hours, and my phone was near dying, so I had a lot of time to myself to think and start worrying about future things like walking and playing sports.

So I decided to play a game. One of my shoes was on the ground, next to the bed I was in. My goal was to try and grab the shoe and pick it up (because I couldn't lean out of the bed or get up). I ended up McGuyvering together some old gauze bandages and a pencil, and had the pencil through the shoe loop and hooked it. This was all very exciting, until a janitor came in and said "trying to get this? here you go" and ruined everything. He left before I could explain that he had just picked up my last grip on reality.

Then I was wheeled up stairs and stay tuned for Part II, where I get surgery, take lots of drugs, have the most ironically named doctor of all time, and my girlfriend spends 4 hours unsupervised time with my mother (by far the scariest thing).