Everyone knows that the knee is a badly-made structure. Yesterday I finally went to the orthopedist to find out why mine isn't getting better. The diagnosis was some arthritis, some tendonitis, and maybe a tiny tear or two, and the recommendation was PT, which seems to be the 21st century replacement for drugs and cortisone shots. Meanwhile, Alex had surgery at the vet for a badly torn ligament in her knee. We're supposed to keep her quiet in her cage (not working), take her out in a sling (not working), and give her an assortment of painkillers (not working). She spent last night howling to get out of the cage until Paul went down to keep her company in the TV room for the rest of the night. And she wanted to go out every two or three hours. Right now she's supposed to be lying quietly in my office, but instead she's panting and pacing around.
And Burt just got titanium knees, which are proving hard to get used to. Soon all three of us will be in PT. Alex will go to a place where she can swim around in a harness. I wish there were a place like that for me.
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