Health has always been a priority for me, but sometimes stark realities remind us that more needs to be done. A few weeks ago, I slipped and fell during my morning walk. I got up quickly, brushed myself off, and continued on my way. I forgot the incident as quickly as my morning walk. The pain was manageable for a couple of days, but it worsened with my walks, and I noticed swelling behind my knee. I ignored it for a few days, but the pain wasn’t reducing. I felt an X-ray could reveal the cause. We searched for the nearest orthopaedic hospital. The hospital was well-maintained, and we were soon attended to. After a checkup, the doctor gently shared that the signs were of early osteoarthritis. It was hard to believe, as I was up every day at dawn to exercise before leaving for work. Although the X-ray results were typical for my age, the orthopedician recommended an MRI. I had to choose an expensive location to get the quickest appointment.
I stood watching people at the MRI centre where I had been advised to undergo imaging using strong magnetic fields and radio waves. I noticed an old lady with a nasal intravenous and another in her hand resting in the lounge. Thankfully, there were only a few patients, as this was a centre where one had to visit by appointment. I sat near the reception, facing the MRI room as it neared 6 PM.
An attendant approached and asked me, “Who is the patient?” I nodded sadly, as I wasn’t very happy about being the one. She smiled reassuringly and said, “Then we need to prepare you.” I looked at her in confusion, wondering what preparations were involved.
She glanced at my earrings and asked if I had anything magnetic on my body. I replied, “Nothing like that.” She then confirmed with my husband if he wanted to stay in the MRI room to watch me. I said, “He will wait outside.” I knew it was more traumatic to watch someone who is sick than to be the sick person themselves.
Fortunately, there weren’t any gowns that needed to be worn. We saw the MRI room open, and a lady rushed in with a wheelchair. I looked at my husband and asked, “Do we faint during this procedure?” He chose to remain silent and watched as the patient was rolled out.
When it was my turn, I felt an overwhelming urge to clean the entire place before lying down. A nurse rearranged everything and instructed me to lie down in front of a circular machine. She secured my knee in one of the grooves and placed a cover over it. She mentioned that there would be loud noises, so I could use headphones if I wanted. I declined the headphones, and they offered me some cotton balls to put in my ears instead. Then, she handed me a small balloon-like device attached to a long tube and said, “Press this hard if you feel uncomfortable. Do not move, and the MRI scan will be completed in no time.”
I could hear the radiologist speaking to me from the next room, but his voice seemed distant. The attendant said, “He is asking for your name.”
I replied, “I’ve already told my name several times.”
“Just say it one more time,” she insisted.
I slowly closed my eyes and began to pray. I felt myself being pushed closer to the machine, and the noise surrounding me grew louder. Despite the chaos, I kept praying — not for the results, but for the strength to endure and accept the changes in my life.
After a long time, I felt myself being pushed out, and the attenders rushed in to help me. I got up and walked out of the room. I walked out of the place as I wanted to breathe fresh air.
The reports were sent promptly, and we went for the follow-up appointment. The doctor had a large screen where he explained that there was a tear in my meniscus. He then referred me to the physiotherapist on the fifth floor.
However, when we took the lift, it halted on the fourth floor. I wondered how I was supposed to rest my leg if I had to climb stairs. Fortunately, I noticed another elevator marked “Doctors Only,” which took us directly to the fifth floor.
The entire floor was dedicated to physiotherapy, and numerous therapies were listed on the board. The physiotherapy section featured many cubicles, and the waiting time was quite long.
As I peeked inside, I saw a lady walking sideways and another trying to move her legs up and down; these activities were happening in the common open area. The physiotherapist was a tall, slim lady who guided me through a few stretching and strengthening exercises. She instructed as if she were instructing a little child, ‘Move your leg up, hold it straight, now count ten, and now lay it down. Start again’
Her voice was soothing, and I enjoyed the experience right away, as the exercises provided significant relief. I began to appreciate the physiotherapist for her unique way of handling so many of us. The adults participating were of all age groups: some were young individuals recovering from accidents, while others were older folks grappling with the concerns of ageing.
An elderly man suffered from a shoulder disorder. The physiotherapist gave him a few exercises and brought him to the open area. She held a towel in her left hand and faced the wall. She extended her hand, holding the spread towel and wiped the wall sideways until she reached the top, before bringing it back to its original position. Another person was walking with weights in both hands. I stood observing them and realised that it was like the good old days. We would walk to the market, carrying groceries, fruits, and vegetables in both hands, just as we now carry dumbbells. We would wipe the walls, reach for items in the loft, and stretch ourselves. During my recent session, the physiotherapist attached a one-kilogram weight to my ankle and guided me through several strengthening exercises. I was eager to see the effects by the end of the session. She also introduced some standing exercises. The weights seemed to have opened up my knees, allowing a smooth flow of blood in my legs. I began attending physiotherapy sessions with genuine dedication. Both the physiotherapist and the doctor praised my commitment to the treatment, explaining that most healing occurs during these sessions, even though many people fail to recognise its importance. I am recovering and have many more follow-ups to go, but I can say that when the winds change, remember, “The darkest nights produce the brightest stars.” — John Green.
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