#acl surgery

When I first tore my ACL, it was agony, like I took a step to pivot, there happened to be a depression in the grass there, I hear 6-7 pops in my knee all at once, and suddenly I'm on the ground realizing I'm screaming and understanding why they shoot horses when they break their legs. I manage to collect myself after a bit, am embarrassed when a firetruck comes to me with its sirens screaming, reject their help to the hospital, and go to the ER with my friend. Waiting, xrays, immobilizer, crutches, the whole shebang. Have to stay at my partner's place because of easier access and a non-lofted bed. I take a shower alone that very night, and while it was difficult and scary, it was mostly fear and I got through it pretty easily.

I spend a day laying in bed, crutch my way to class the next (and end up having to ask some friends for rides because my campus was huge and the crutches were exhausting), and I spend a lot of time laying down, but things get better. Swelling goes down, pain goes down, I have to be super careful about straightening my leg all of the way and I can't bend it fully either, but eventually my life returns to semi-normal. I wear a fabric knee brace, don't skate to class anymore, can't go to my sports clubs, but other than that my life is, essentially, normal once I make my way off the crutches. There's pain, and hurt, but I'm getting better and I know that I'll be able to have surgery treat it in the future. In my mind, the pain and suffering has an end point of surgery, and until then my life is pretty normal. Hell, I even went on a geology trip that required a decent amount of hiking, even if I took a lot of tylenol and had to not go on one of them. Life's a little different, life's a little worse, but there's something I can see as the end of it all. Even though this is an injury that requires surgery, I have the same sort of attitude as an injury that will eventually heal on its own, because, in my mind, there's a defined end point.

Then I have surgery, and it's agony, but expected agony. Lifting my braced leg into bed hurts a lot because of the lack of support, but then I'm in bed. My mouth is incredibly dry to the point I can't eat because chewing isn't doing anything, but I just have to take a mouthful of water at the same time and then I can swallow. Going to the bathroom sucks between having to get up and sitting on the very edge of the seat because the brace goes up almost to my hip and I can't bend my knee, so if I don't sit all the way to the edge the brace lifts my foot into the air which hurts a lot, but that's more of an inconvenience with a little bit of pain, and I don't have to go to the bathroom that often. Constipation the first couple of days from the opioids was awful, but I just stop taking them and have a truly painful and awful bathroom experience, and then I'm normal and I'm relatively fine without the opioids, they were a low dose and I didn't like taking them anyway. I start PT the week after surgery, and while it's mostly stretching, I see actual progress. My suture gets infected and starts horribly draining a little more than a week after surgery, causing me to have to wear surgical dressings for the absolute fountain of ooze that slowly tapers off and my open flesh wound closes after almost a month, as well as take 2 separate courses of antibiotics, but it eventually closes. As PT goes on I get flexibility and start building strength, going from locked brace to unlocked brace to no brace at all. Washing my hair in the sink once a week to using a shower chair twice a week to showering regularly without help makes me feel normal and ok again.

Progress and progress and progress and progress but it slows down and is harder to see because now the major surgery injuries are healed and I'm dealing with just the aftereffects. I don't have blinding pain to focus on, just aches and swelling and leg weakness. And there's less distraction. And there's no end point. And everything's just a slow crawl to a hopeful normalcy that I can't see when I'll have it. I felt absolutely horrible immediately after surgery, but it's like I traded that for my worsening depression that as I slowly got better physically, I got worse mentally. Doing PT at home is so much worse than doing PT at the actual facility, even if it's more structured and easier. Because this is all supposed to make me better, and it is, but the better is not being back to being my best, and there's nothing I can do besides what I've already been doing. The treatment that makes me better also makes me hurt and ache and exhausted and feel worse, with no end in sight.

I could have lived without an ACL, with less ability, having to wear a knee brace 24/7 for the rest of my life, never able to run again, which I don't think I would have enjoyed, but I could have done it. I had already healed after tearing my ACL to almost peak ability withour an ACL. I could have been at the end point and continued on like that and survived and learned to thrive.

With surgery to replace my ACL, I'm supposed to get better. I made the choice to go through more pain and exhaustion in the hopes of a better outcome. I'm getting better, but where is the finish? Where is the end of the pain and stiffness and soreness that's more than just normal joint aches? I can straighten my leg fully and hop a short distance off the ground, but other than that I'm not yet at the point of healing where I'm any better than I was before surgery, and it feels like, right now, all I got from it was pain and an infection and having to take antibiotics and not even being able to shower afterward when I was able to immediately after tearing it and having to work so hard in PT just to be exactly where I was 3 months ago, maybe even a little worse still. It's hard to think about improving more when it looks and feels like I got treatment that gave me months of pain and discomfort to arrive at the exact same place from a worse starting position.

Metaphorically, it feels like running a race (running has been on my mind recently because I miss it so much, can you tell?) where the track is rough and difficult and harder to pass in some places compared to others, though it generally gets easier when you continue forward. Tearing my ACL was like a run where I essentially reached the finish line right before surgery. Recovering from ACL surgery was like if the starting line was a mile behind where it was for tearing it, and I'm at the same place where the finishing line was for the first race, but I had to get there in the same amount of time and there's no finish line. I can't see the finish line. I look over and see the finish line for my first race and can't help but think, "Man, I could be done right here. It wouldn't be as nice, or as easy to go through life afterward, but I could have been done and not have to do that extra mile at the beginning that was worse than the rest of the race." I have to continue forward to a finish line I can't see that might be close, in which case I'll barely get anymore function than without surgery and have gone through so much, but at least I might be close to being done; or the line might be far, in which case I'll slowly improve and improve and get way better but it'll take so long and still be so difficult.

And maybe that's just part of having a condition that could be lifelong no matter which way you swing it, treatment or no, hope for something a little better or not. And there are endless amounts of longer and better written essays and papers and posts about people going through things way more difficult than me, way more complicated than me, but I just needed to put this out here a little bit. Because even if ACL surgery is common, is done a lot, happens a lot to people who are physically fit and active, it's still scary and terrifying to go through. I went through it because I love running and sports and being active and I couldn't imagine life without it, but in my worst moments I sometimes wondered if it was worth it at all. For some people, it probably isn't worth it, to purposefully put yourself through suffering, especially if you decide that what you could gain is not good enough for the trade off, even if it's "better" than how you are now.

I really didn't plan this out, I've just been writing this all the way through on my phone, but I think what I'm trying to get at is this: injuries are accidents. There is, most of the time, nothing that could have been done to prevent it, and all you can do it heal the best you can. Mentally, this is the hand that has been dealt, and all you can do is deal with it even if you wish it could have been different. You or someone else could have made the decision that led to the injury, but in the end, you had no intention to get injured.

Surgeries are purposeful. You (or someone with medical power over you) decided to go through with medical treatment. The results and potential side effects and pain afterward were deemed acceptable risks and payment to change from the state you were in before. Even if the surgery or treatment is necessary, there was a decision to make you experience the results of it. The fault of the pain and suffering and difficulties is yours, because you chose to put yourself through it. Even if it gets better, how bad it is right now could have been avoided by just... not getting the treatment. Even if the pain or difficulties were worse before than they are now, that was unchosen and unpreventable pain. This is chosen and preventable pain, and the mental is very different when dealing with each one of those.

Maybe it's a conflation between "I chose this" and "I deserve this," I don't know. What I do know is that tearing my ACL I could marshall my strength to carry on and get through it, but recovering from ACL surgery had me thinking about how I did it to myself and it's my fault that I feel this way, why should I fight so hard when this was something I chose?

Tai had barely had an hour's sleep (even though he was adamant he wasn't tired) when one of his physio colleagues appeared to pester him. He knew he was miserable and unenthusiastic, but he didn't have the energy to care. The pain had started to creep in again, but he didn't want to ask for anything until after; it would only make him spaced and dizzy, and he wasn't going to collapse on his colleague. He'd been on the wrong side of those patients too many times. 

Physio completed and homework given, Tai gave in and asked for meds. They were happy enough to give him some, just waiting for the rest of his medications to come up from pharmacy before he could go. 

The morphine quickly kicked in, Tai relaxing back into the bed with a groan. Harrison was quick to soothe him, all too aware how shitty it would be making him feel. The soft words and gentle hands were enough to allow him to relax, glad to be pain free once more.

He was worried about going home and managing his pain there, but as soon as they gave him the green light, he was up and ready. Harrison was firm as he made him use a wheelchair, partially out of selfishness and self preservation; if Tai stumbled or fell, he wasn't sure his own leg would take it. 

With a grumble, his resolve crumbled and he let Harrison push him to the car, just glad to be going home, to be in his own bed, with his own snacks and home comfort. And, of course, the kids and the dog were a bonus too, and he found himself smiling to himself on the drive home, dozing with his head resting against the window. 

It was always strange, leaving hospital. Day surgery always fucked with his head, too. It just seemed so… jarring. Like after the surgery and everything, he shouldn’t be going home yet. But he was glad to be out of hospital, away from it all, where Harrison would look after him, and it felt like he’d just closed his eyes when they pulled up on the drive. He lifted his head, blinking sleepily at his fiance. 

“Home?”

Harrison reached over to squeeze his hand. "Yeah, we're home. Let me come around and help you, yeah? Let me open the front door first."

“Mm, yeah. Need my crutches.”

"Bed or sofa when we get in?"

“Uh, what time is it?”

"Half four." He murmured, heading round to open Tai's door. "Careful, yeah? No injuring yourself, please."

“Sofa, then.” He said. “I’m fine, I can do it.”

"Okay. I'm here, yeah? I know you want to do it all yourself, but I'm here."

“Crutches?”

"Here, slowly." He passed them to Tai.

He took them, carefully getting to his feet. “Thanks.” He mumbled. 

Harrison couldn't help but hover, worried that Tai was going to hurt himself. "That's it, you're doing great."

“I’m okay. Get the door, yeah?”

"Yeah, I'll get it." Harrison didn't dare to move too far away, still within arm's reach as he unlocked the door. "You doing okay?"

“Yeah, yeah. Slow and steady an’ all that.”

"Exactly." He stretched out as Tai neared the step, unable to help himself. 

“Hars, I’m fine, really.” He said. 

"I know you are. I'm just helping." He huffed. 

“Yeah.” He said softly. “I’m the one who hovers, I’m the physio.”

I've had enough physio to know how to hover." He tried to joke. 

“True.”

"I'm sure the boys will be excited to see you."

“Looking forwards to seeing them too.”

"Hopefully Steve's not gone mad with them."

“They’ve probably gone mad with him.”

"Ah, maybe." He grabbed at the wall as he stumbled himself, too focused on Tai to remember the step. A blush spread across his cheeks, and he turned to call into the house, pretending he didn't just trip. "Boys? Dad? We're home."

Tai couldn’t help but laugh. “What was that you were saying, love?” He couldn’t help but tease. 

"What? As long as you get in safely, I've done my job. I don't matter."

“Until you fall and I trip over you.” 

"At least you'd have a soft landing." He grinned. "Ah, watch out. I hear the terrors."

"Dads!"

“Hey, boys.” Tai said. “Missed you.” 

Alfie was uncharacteristically quiet, keeping his distance. He offered his dads a smile, letting Kieran past him to try and hug Tai. 

“Careful, Kit. I’m not very good at hugs with these crutches. Why don’t we go and sit down and we can hug on the sofa? What’ve you done with Grandad Steve?”

"Sorry, dad." He pulled back, stepping out of the way. "Grandad's drawing with Levi."

“You’re okay, we’ll cuddle up on the sofa.” He reassured, offering him a smile and one to Alfie, too, who looked mildly terrified. 

The twins led the way, protesting as Harrison reached to ruffle their hair. Levi and Steve were waiting, Levi proudly holding up a clearly homemade get well soon card.

"Aw, bless you guys." Harrison found himself choked up, turning to look at Tai. He couldn't quite believe that that was their little family, waiting for them and wishing Tai better. They'd all obviously helped, with various degrees of success; even Steve had glitter and pen over his hands and top. 

"You alright, Tai? I'm glad you're home."

Tai too, felt himself choke up, though he knew it was the sheer amount of meds in his system. “Oh, thank you, Leaf. That’s so sweet.” He managed to get out, overwhelmed. He nodded when Steve spoke. “Yeah, glad to be back.”

"Cmon, on the sofa." Harrison pushed gently, stepping out of his way. "Let's get that leg back up, and we can see if you want any pain relief or snacks."

Tai settled on the sofa, sighing happily once his leg was up. He made sure his crutches were close by, where he could reach them if he needed to get up again. 

"Right, all settled?" Harrison fussed over him. "What do you need?"

“Settled.” Tai said. “Need my boys, and maybe a tea?”

"I'll go make you one. Do you want one, dad?"

“Won’t say no if you’re putting the kettle on.” Steve said, settling on the other sofa.

"Won't be long then." He hummed, heading to the kitchen. 

"Dad?" Alfie asked, standing at the edge of the sofa. "Can I come up too?"

“Of course you can, Bug.” Tai said gently.

Kieran and Levi had already snuggled beside their dad, but Alfie hesitated again. "Where can I go?"

“Come squish in, we’ll make space.”

He made a noise. "I'm scared I hurt you."

“It’s only my knee, you won’t hurt me.” 

"But you had an operation."

“I’m okay, you can come and cuddle.”

He slowly tried to get in, getting somewhat closer to his dad. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie, worried he'd hurt him or get in the way, or just do something wrong.

Tai looped his arm around his son and pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. “There. Perfect.” 

Alfie squeaked quietly, freezing in panic as Tai pulled him in. Instead of being in pain and hurting him, Tai kissed his hair, and he broke. All the emotions of the day bubbled up and over, and he buried his face against his dad's chest. Scout whined from the floor, unhappy one of his boys was crying, and he edged closer too, front paw on the sofa's edge.

“Oh Bug. It’s okay, I’m okay, yeah?” He said. “Look, you’ve got Scout worried about you now. Do I get all of you up here? Good job we’ve got big sofas. C’mon, Scout, hup.”

Scout happily jumped up, sticking his wet nose in Alfie's face. His tail was gentle as it wagged, but his tongue was relentless, trying to wipe all of Alfies tears away.

"I'm so-sorry. I didn't mean to make him sad."

“It’s been a long day, huh? It’s okay. Come on, we’ll all have a cuddle here, Scout can curl up with us, we’ll make Dad go and sit with Grandad Steve. I get you all to myself.” Tai hated seeing Alfie upset, knowing the anxiety he’d had to deal with all day would’ve been hard on the boy, especially knowing full well he tried to be strong for his brothers. 

Harrison returned with mugs of hot tea and paused in the doorway. His heart broke for his son, but he tried to be strong and joke. "I go make a cuppa for two minutes, and my kids and the dog have stolen my husband from me."

“You snooze you lose.” Tai joked, managing a small smile.

"Can you reach your tea if I put it on the side?" He asked Tai, passing his dad's to Steve.

“Yeah, that’ll be fine, thanks love.”

He settled Tai's on the coaster on the side, stretching over to give him a kiss. He was more than a little jealous of the four on top of Tai, but his husband looked content, and he sure as hell wasn't going to interrupt. He ruffled Kieran's and Levis hair, and gently gave Alfie a squeeze for a hug. The oldest twin gave him a small smile, tucking himself back into Tai's chest. Scout, not wanting to be left out, thumped his tail, so of course he got a kiss on the nose, Harrison sneaking a treat from his pocket. Eventually, or so it felt, he flopped on the sofa by Steve, kicking his feet up. 

"Ah, that's better, being home. Everyone sorted." He sighed happily, looking around the room. "My little family."

Tai had to admit it wasn’t the most comfortable, everyone on top of him, including the dog, who wasn’t always the most gentle. But they weren’t making his pain worse, the painkillers he’d had in hospital still mostly working, his boys with him, he wouldn’t change it for a second. Alfie’s tears had stopped, Kieran seemed more confident, and Levi was happy. He carefully reached forwards to scratch behind Scout’s ears, appreciating the comfort the dog brought. 

“Yeah, perfect.” He said softly, glancing at his husband, already fighting sleep. “Jus’ perfect.” 

Before he knew it, he was asleep, the meds taking over. His chin tucked into his chest, he was out, completely lost to the world. 

Harrison stood, quietly padding across to Tai. He pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa, gently tucking it around his husband and sons. Both twins looked exhausted, and Levi was already pretty much asleep. Kieran was yawning and Alfie rubbing his eyes, both pressed tight to their dad. Harrison made sure they were all tucked in, no limbs escaping from under the blanket. The boys whispered a thank you, snuggling closer to Tai.