There’s a unique kind of frustration that comes with setting a goal, seeing the finish line, and then having your own body trip you up just as you start to gain momentum. It’s a feeling I’ve become intimately familiar with. It’s the constant companion to my current reality, a story that seems to be written in chapters of one step forward, two steps back.
Surgery and the Promise of Recovery
It all began with a sense of hope. In October 2024, I underwent MISHA surgery on my knee. The promise was a return to normal, a quick recovery. “Three months,” they said, “and you’ll be good to run and do your normal activities.” I clung to those words. I pictured myself strong, capable, and free from the limitations that had plagued me.
Setbacks on the Slopes
But my body had other plans. Three months came and went, and I just wasn’t there. I wasn’t strong enough. The disconnect between where I was told I should be and where I actually was became a heavyweight. Still, I pushed forward, perhaps too eagerly. A ski trip to the Pyrenees with my husband felt like a chance to reclaim a piece of my old life. Instead, a couple of falls on the slopes sent a sharp, familiar message through my knee. Something was wrong.
When Answers Are Hard to Find
The initial diagnosis was a suspected meniscus tear, a confirmation that seemed to align with the pain I felt. My orthopedist, however, wasn’t convinced. This began a period of medical limbo. We tried cortisone shots, hoping to calm the inflammation and give me some relief. For a while, it seemed to work. But in the last couple of weeks, the pain returned with a vengeance.
Pain That Won’t Let Go
It’s not just a dull ache; it’s a debilitating, sharp pain that has woven itself into every part of my day. Walking has become a challenge again. Stairs are my nemesis, each step a calculated, painful effort. Sleep offers little escape, as finding a comfortable position is nearly impossible.
Dreams on Hold
Worst of all, it has stolen one of my greatest joys: cycling and, of course, running.
The simple act of pedaling, of feeling the rhythm of the road, is now agonizing. This hurts more than just physically. In July, I’m scheduled to ride in a bike tour from Staten Island to Niagara Falls to raise money for cancer research. It’s a cause deeply important to me, a goal that extends far beyond myself. Now, a cloud of anxiety hangs over it. How can I ride hundreds of miles when I can barely make it up my own staircase?
The Agony of Waiting
Today, I found myself back in the sterile, humming confines of an MRI machine. Now, all I can do is wait. I am in the waiting game, suspended between the hope of a clear answer and the fear of what that answer might be. It’s a quiet, lonely place to be, filled with uncertainty. This journey is a testament to how fragile our plans can be and how profoundly a physical setback can impact our emotional world. For now, I wait for the results, holding onto the faint hope that the road ahead might finally start to clear.
Update
Since writing this blog post, I have had another cortisone shot in the knee. The surgeon feels like the MISHA is working, but I’m still not getting the benefit from it. I started taking Turmeric and Meloxicam. I’m hoping this will help with the swelling and inflammation. The surgeon said I should start getting gel shots in my knee again. I hope it works this time around.