One Woman's Story of Knee Replacement
by Kitty Cornett
When Kitty's active life slowly ground to a halt she decided to get "new knees" -- that was the easy part.
Many adults blame their parents for actions, proclivities and behaviors they exhibit far into adulthood. However, I can honestly say that having bilateral knee replacement at the age of 44 is definitely my mother's fault! As a teenager growing up in a small East Tennessee town, I came home one afternoon boasting to my mother that I had beaten my then boyfriend in a set of tennis. Horrified, my mother said, "Kitty Pat, you must never beat the boys, or you won't keep a boyfriend for long." Unfortunately, my mother didn't realize that by saying "never" to me, I would do just the opposite. Thus was born my fierce, competitive spirit.
During the late 1970s, I participated in just about every sport available to me. By the time I was 26 and playing soccer in a women's league, I had never suffered more than the occasional sprained ankle. However, on a fall day in 1987, I was defending a runaway forward and, as the last line of defense, placed myself between the ball and the goal. Suddenly, the forward stopped the ball and changed its direction. I planted my foot, pivoted and turned to match her adroit move. A "pop" came out of my left knee that was so loud teammates heard it from the sidelines. Although I went down with what was later diagnosed as a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) and some torn cartilage, I am happy to say that the forward blew a clear shot on goal at the sound of my ligament tearing. I was carried from the field yelling, "Did she score? Did she score?" Crazy how a competitive nature overrides common sense. Little did I realize on that day, that my health would be radically changed.
Decision: Yes to Surgery
After my initial ACL surgery, I eventually resumed running, skiing, tennis and cycling, but I never played soccer again. And 10 years later my left knee was no longer moving smoothly. It sounded like popping bubble wrap, and I had difficulty bending it. Arthroscopy, rehabilitation and a year later, my right knee gave up - a slip in my wet carport was the final blow. By 1998, my running days were over. During the last six years, I've slowly surrendered various aspects of my life because of osteoarthritis (OA). The increases in pain, depression and weight gain were incremental but significant. I never remember thinking, "I can no longer do that," as much as thinking, "Now how will I accomplish this task and work around my knees?"
In October 2003, I scheduled an appointment with the orthopaedist who performed my arthroscopies to beg for more cortisone shots. He had become very liberal in administering cortisone shots since total joint replacement was inevitable. He continued to encourage me to postpone replacement surgery as long as possible because, at the age of 44, I might be facing worn-out knees again in my 60's.
When I saw my doctor that October day, I did something I had no idea I was going to do: I broke down in tears and exclaimed, "I can't take this anymore!" I cried, "My knees have ruined my life! I often have to take a pain pill to get through my workday, I can't even walk to the bottom of my driveway to get my mail without excruciating pain, and I can't exercise to get this fat off. I'll never get a date again!" I think it was the "date" part that got to him. He put both hands on my shoulders and said "All right, calm down. We're going to fix you up." And with that, the decision had been made to replace both of my knees. He gave me a referral to a surgeon.
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