Bushels

Somehow, I blinked and missed August.

It's solidly a summer month, and yet, yet, all of my summer fun ended before August even began.

California, Italy, and Chicago, came and went. Swimming and dogs and ice cream were all jammed into June and July, and by the time August rolled around, I was securing x-rays and buying crutches and making sure our stairs had the requisite railings. And with a mere few hours in the hospital I was fully committed to a season (or two) of braces and rehabilitation. There's no Ctrl+Z in real life.

And so, here we are, not even September and already my tan is fading. It was a good summer, if abbreviated. (Let's not forget that there are technically still three whole weeks left, even if Labour Day is always and forever the seasonal demarcation in my mind.)

Late summer is lovely in these parts for its abundance of harvest. This year, being in the know, we easily secured a half-bushel of crab apples (the good ones, in case you were wondering). Whilst at the market we couldn't pass up the peaches, green beans, and red peppers, all of which are currently available at ridiculously low prices. We brought all of these things home and then marveled: What to do with them?

Sunday Supper this week involved a tomato and red pepper tart, curried green beans, and a peach-blueberry cobbler. And that barely made a dent. With an overstuffed fridge, alternate preservation was obviously in order, so we fired up the grill to roast some peppers, Abel-style.

Abel is a porteño, and one of our first and best friends from Buenos Aires. When we had asados, or bbqs, with him, he made red peppers this way - grilled until charred, seeded, then layered, while still warm, with garlic, salt, and olive oil in a sealable jar. We added red pepper flakes, too, which might make up for our use of the gas grill instead of charcoal. The real secret of these peppers is to seal the jars, then turn them a few times a day for a couple of days. The peppers will be delicious wherever you'd use roasted red peppers (sandwiches, salads, pasta), and the oil will be some of the most flavorful you've had.

Best of all, they'll extend summer for a little while.

And The Livin' Is Easy

I recently went on a yoga retreat in California. Yes, that is as wonderful and outrageous as it sounds. In the morning after the fog burned off, there was a view of Santa Barbara and the Pacific Ocean. There were dogs and kids and a hot tub on a cliff. There was fresh goat cheese, and there were spectacular sunsets. There were upwards of five hours of yoga each day, taught energetically and lovingly by one Miss Kerri Kelly. There was a class with a dance party (featuring Lady Gaga, natch), and a class in a field around a nectarine tree. There was a class with a soundtrack of classic love songs, and 25+ spry yogis decked out in their Lulus enthusiastically singing along.

Unfortunately, there was also a trampoline. Scratch that: Unfortunately I decided to jump on the trampoline, and even more unfortunately, I landed on the off-bounce and tore the ACL graft I had repaired just last year. Wah wah.

But before we start wallowing about that, let's talk about the food. The yoga retreat was about detoxing, but that didn't stop us from enjoying homemade pear ravioli. Or wine-tasting in Los Olivos. No retox is complete without a stop at In-N-Out Burger for a cheeseburger, animal-style, and a superthick chocolate shake. Similarly, no California trip is complete without fresh salads (liberally sprinkled with bacon, of course) and sushi and a cocktail made with sake and watermelon and cucumbers and sweetly named the "Hello Kitty."

As for my knee, well, it looks like it'll be another summer of rehab fun. Thank god for wine and percocet.

Is That An Exclamation Point In Your Pocket?

Preface: Upon our departure from Waterloo last Fall, I left my trusty MacBook in the capable hands of my best friend's husband, Gregoire. Since the recent series of unfortunate events dictated that we would no longer be roaming the wilds of South America for the next three months and would instead be safely ensconced in some apartment or other in Buenos Aires, I decided I would be able to use my computer after all, and asked my mom to bring it with her to Argentina. I emailed Gregoire to tell him the news, and the following is his response.

To: Gillian
From: Gregoire
Subject: Confession

Gillian, how are you? How are things? Good. Good. Say, I've got something for you to consider. Take a moment and ask yourself, honestly, how attached are you to the numbers 1 and 2 (and while considering this, throw in the ! and @ signs also for consideration)?

When you take the time to really think about it, aren't these some of the most overrated numerals and symbols at our disposal. Wouldn't you agree that we'd be better off without them. That difficult choices would be made easy, that life would be simpler if you no longer had to rely on these alpha-numeric crutches? Why start way back at 1 or 2 when there's the option of starting at 3. 1 and 2 are static and slow. With 3 you're warmed up and already on your way. Is there ever a need for the exclamation point? Must we raise our voices, be it in anger or joy? Are we not adults? Can we not discuss things calmly and rationally? Can we not celebrate with a certain amount of restraint? (And let's be honest, doesn't the @ symbol remind you of an asshole?)

Great. Then you'll be happy to hear that I spilt beer on your laptop and the bastardly 1 and 2 keys no longer work! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. :-(, :-(, :-(. (I've resorted to emoticons--I'm seriously sorry.)

I had planned on replacing the keyboard before your return (the rest of it is working fine) but now that your Mom is taking the computer with her there won't be time. (I called the shop here, but they don't stock replacement parts and have to order them in.) If you want to order a new keyboard from Apple, I'll send you my card #. If your macbook is like my ibook, they're easy to replace. Again, I'm sorry.

In other unrelated news, I saw the doc on Friday and everything is going to plan. I can walk (although with minimal flexion in my knee -- imagine Frankenstein had a baby with a zombie) and I've already started physiotherapy. I swear on my mother's birthday (which is Tuesday) that my next post will not be related to my orthopaedic challenges.

Like Riding A Bike

Everyone's fine. My family and friends are all, to the best of my knowledge, safe and healthy. I wake up every morning beside the most gentle and kind human being I've ever met. My mom flew all the way to Buenos Aires (Richie!) to help me wash my hair and get dressed and ultimately help me preserve a tiny bit of dignity in front of the aforementioned gentle and kind human being (to whom I would still like to appear even remotely attractive). We're staying in a beautiful apartment that belongs to another kind and generous human being, and for the most part, I'm comfortable and pain-free and grateful that this is a known, temporary setback and in six months, give or take, everything will be back to normal.

And still, over the past two weeks, I have felt an overwhelming sense of loss.

At first it was just the loss of the rest of our planned travels. We were on our way to Brazil, to sit on the beach and work on a farm and travel down the Amazon River and, of course, taste myriad new and exotic fruits. But let's face it: After the experiences we've had in the past 10 months, it's hard to feel deprived of these things for very long.

There is, however, a more personal loss. Six years ago I went into surgery with a partially-torn ACL and a bucket-handle tear in the meniscus. I came out of surgery with a reconstructed ACL and a repaired meniscus, which meant that eventually, after a lot of blood, sweat, and yes, tears, in rehab, my knee was even better than it had been before the operation. Apparently so was my ambition, as within a year of surgery I completed an Olympic-distance triathlon and have since run three marathons.

Last week I went into the OR with a ruptured ACL and a bucket-handle tear in the meniscus. I was wheeled out with a reconstructed ACL, but this time the meniscus couldn't be repaired, and part of it was removed. I'm not sure how much, exactly - a third? A half? And really, people walk around all the time with no meniscus at all, so why the fuss?

I'll never run another marathon. In fact, I probably won't do much running at all. There are all sorts of medical reasons why it isn't a great idea to run, especially on pavement, after a partial meniscectomy, and I'm kind of hoping these knees will be around for a while. So there's short-term loss, like right now I can't walk or even get out of bed by myself, which sucks. But then there's the running thing, an activity with which I fell in love just a few years ago, after hating on sports for 30 years. For me, that's the real loss. As I look at the pictures taken during the 2007 NYC Marathon, one of my most favourite days of all time, I am filled with gratitude to have had that amazing experience, and at the same time, so very sad to have lost that potential.

I start physiotherapy on Friday, the exciting and sometimes gruelling rehabilitation period during which I will relearn to walk, run (slowly, and on a treadmill), balance, and climb stairs. Before I know it I'll be riding a bike (as a friend of mine says, cycling is like running with even tighter clothes and cooler gear), and of course I'm already planning my first century ride in 2011, because you know, that's how I roll.

In the meantime I'm reminding myself, as one of my best friends reminded me just the other day, that just as she had to after her ACL reconstruction, I need to "let myself grieve for the things I lost (including the potential things I lost in the future)." And OK, I'm also daydreaming about the shapeliness of my future cycling legs.

Surgery Recap

Final Score

New ACL: 1
Meniscus: -1/3*

Highlights

Dr. Metallica Bourdain has great beside manner. He also smells good, which is probably more than can be said for either James Hetfield or Mr. Bourdain.

There was no dulce de leche to be had! What a travesty.

All that kissing that goes on here in Argentina? Even happens in the OR! Like, all the assistants and the anaesthesiologist greeted me with a kiss before they knocked me out.

Epidurals are where it's at.

I had surgery in a hospital run by monks! Yesterday before the operation a very adorable (and small) priest came into my room and said a little prayer. Today we saw many small and adorable nuns roaming the halls, wearing all-white habits with a big red cross on the front. Of course I was not-so-secretly hoping that they would break into song (I've only seen "The Sound of Music" about 200 times). It didn't happen, so I thought I'd get them started with a few lyrics.

Knee Surgery Songs for the Sisters of Clínica San Camila in Buenos Aires

How Do Fix a Tear in the Meniscus?
(to the tune of "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?")

How do you fix a tear in the meniscus?
How do you reconstruct an ACL?
How do you get a girl who's very active
to relax for a while
so that she can heal
and walk?

ACL
(to the tune of "Edelweiss")

ACL
ACL
You were torn so we fixed you

Made anew
With a screw
And a graft from patella

New ligament won't you stabilize
Stabilize
Forever

ACL
ACL
You were torn so we fixed you

* I am actually in possession of the removed meniscus. I know, gross! But the good doctor seemed excited to give it to us, in its little vial of fluid (grosser!). Do you think I could sell it on etsy? I mean, technically I made it, right?

Oh, Hello, Doctor

I admit it: On the weekend I was having a hard time seeing anything resembling a bright side. I sort of intellectually knew one was there, but after a week and a half of not walking, not to mention the dignity one loses every time she utters the words, "Can you please help me put on my underwear?" - well, you get the idea. Anyway, on Saturday night I pulled myself together enough to go to one of the two bars in Buenos Aires showing NFL football, hoisted my leg up on an extra chair, and drank a few half-pints of beer (pacing!). At some point I started talking to an American guy sitting at the table next to us. I learned that his Argentine friend, also at the table, had had ACL reconstruction six months before, and had a surgeon he really liked. Score!

The next day I Googled said surgeon and found an email address for him. I wrote him a note explaining my situation and asking how I could best schedule an appointment with him. Amazingly, he replied that evening to tell me he could meet me at 5 p.m. on Monday. I wrote back to ask him if he speaks English, because while our mad Spanish skillz enable us to telephone-order pizza, we're not quite at the level of discussing soft tissue repair. Happily, he does.

We went to meet the good doctor this afternoon. He looks like Anthony Bourdain, and on Friday night he's going to see Metallica! I think I have a crush. He showed us some informative-yet-slightly-nauseating diagrams of how the surgery will go, and on Thursday he's going to fix my knee. I'll spend the night in the hospital (fingers crossed for dulce de leche-flavoured Jell-O), and on Friday my mom's coming! Hooray!

I don't think we'll make it to the Metallica show, though. Next time.

I'm Not Fluent in Spanish, But...

According to Google Translate, ruptura en asa de balde means "bucket-handle tear," which also means "bad news knee surgery times." Of course that's just from the letter that was helpfully included with the MRI images; maybe the doctor will have a different interpretation?

A girl can hope. Futilely, maybe, but still.

P.S. I just told a new Irish friend the news over chat, and she says she's going to get me "locked" tonight. I don't know what that means in regular English, but I suspect I'll be even less able to walk tomorrow.

Tengo dos tornillos de titanio en la rodilla derecha.

Trip updates are much more boring when they're about busted knees.

When we arrived at the hospital for the MRI on Saturday morning, we were informed that the machine was broken, and that it had been for 10 days. Clever readers will note that this means the machine was also broken two days previously, when I made the appointment in the first place.

Anyway. We went to another hospital and made another appointment and I successfully had the test on Monday morning. The results will be available Thursday evening and I hope to see a doctor or three on Friday to figure out my options. In the meantime my diet consists of things I can carry in a bag while using crutches (yogurt, apples, granola bars), and hobbies include checking Facebook status updates, learning Spanish words for knee anatomy (menisco! ligamento cruzado anterior!), and thanking Ken for bringing me the ice pack.

* "I have two titanium screws in my right knee," a potentially important Spanish phrase when you're about to be put into a giant magnetic tube.