My grandkids call it that, an “owie”. Actually I have two owies, one on each knee.
I was on the way down the steepest part of Queen Anne hill, walking briskly at my exercise pace going to meet Louise for supper and a documentary about the remarkable Fred Rogers when I tripped on a piece of broken sidewalk and went flying. Left knee was badly scraped, and right knee took most of the brunt of the fall. My palms are a bit scraped, but not as badly as I might have expected. I think if I’d been on level ground, I’d have stumbled but perhaps not fallen. But with the steep incline and my momentum from walking fast, I really did crash hard.
I stopped at CVS to get Neosporin and big band-aids, and cleaned up the bleeding in the restaurant ladies room. I was able to walk to the movie, and walk to the bus stop to come home. But the right knee got progressively worse overnight. I went to Urgent Care on Wednesday morning to have it checked out.
Good news — the right kneecap is badly bruised, but not fractured. The left knee has a nasty case of road rash, which the doctor cleaned out again and re-dressed with ointment and a sterile gauze. As the swelling goes down, so will the pain. Ice helps, as does resting the joint and elevating my leg.
I have new empathy for Tour de France riders, who fall on knees and elbows and hips at 45 m.p.h. and then get back on their bikes and ride. They have a far higher pain tolerance than I.
As friend Sally said, anything that gets better on its own and in not too long a time is a small problem at our age, not a big one. She’s right. I was lucky, and in a few days I expect to be back in good form.