69 posts shown.
It’s a truly fascinating dynamic: the idea that a patient should simply adjust their own body to fit the equipment, rather than the technology being designed to accommodate them. It's quite backward. There are actually soft inserts available that can be placed between the poles and the breast to prevent discomfort, but apparently, in the American healthcare system, we are more concerned with addressing why patients feel pain than actually fixing the tools causing it.
It’s quite a process, really. They take these detailed scans where the X-rays pass right through the tissue, and that compression part is intended to allow them to administer a lower dose of radiation. To be honest, though, I find it completely opaque how they actually calculate the necessary dosage or whether they are even modulating it in real-time. It feels more likely that they just compress the area as much as possible and then end up delivering more radiation than is strictly required.
I mean, who actually says you have to squeeze them like you're trying to choke them?
quietbadger said:Forgive my "criticism"!
I just wanted to point out that there are much larger issues out there than yours... issues people don't even bother mentioning because they've simply accepted them as part of life and learned to live with them.
Once you manage to get all those "pieces" sorted out in your head, you'll find yourself being a lot happier!
Best regards, quietbadger.
That is precisely what I am curious about—how exactly people manage to get those "pieces" sorted in their minds. Do you happen to know anything more about specific methods that actually yield results?
It wasn't an easy decision for me to step into this role, mostly because I knew some people on this forum might throw stones or hurl insults at me, filling the threads with the kind of nonsense and filth this place is unfortunately known for. Despite all that, I am genuinely interested in hearing about others' experiences so I can learn from them, and I am fully prepared to ignore the trash posts for that purpose.
I would ask those who have nothing constructive to contribute to please take their comments elsewhere.
Bradley Thompson9 said:just imagine if something actually went wrong, what would you even do!?
I honestly don't know. Perhaps I would just reach a breaking point and accept everything, or conversely, swing to the complete opposite extreme. I truly have no idea, and frankly, I hope I never find out.
Bradley Thompson9 said:in my opinion, you received excellent hospital care; nothing happened that wasn't perfectly fine from a medical standpoint, and you're okay now. therefore, you might feel some embarrassment for making such a scene when there are plenty of people around you who are seriously ill and don't complain nearly as much!
i had knee surgery myself, and mine was a much more difficult procedure than yours, with a far more grueling recovery process.
Regarding the hospital care, my insurance—specifically my Blue Cross Blue Shield plan—paid for it fairly. Given the premiums I pay, I am certain they came out ahead after all this, so I don't owe anyone anything.
The thing is, my issue is that I just don't feel "right." I'm not sure if you experience this, but when I sit at my desk for a long stretch and then stand up, my knee feels off. Normally, you wouldn't even notice your knee; it’s like any other joint—it does its job and sends no signals.
But in these specific instances, the knee carries a certain sense of tension, or perhaps instability, especially when rising from a chair after sitting for a while. Sometimes I get this sensation like it might buckle, causing me to instinctively shift my weight to the other leg. Walking after sitting for ten hours is similarly unsteady. It isn't painful, per se, but I feel this palpable tension and insecurity.
It's the same when I stand for extended periods; my knee just feels strange.
Looking at the arthroscopy images, I can see that the inner part of the meniscus was trimmed at a 90-degree angle. I've lost over half the surface area of that meniscus, and I know that this won't make my knee any more stable or durable in the long run.
Bradley Thompson9 said:I have a massive scar that I thought about fixing with plastic surgery, but I've changed my mind—it's a part of me now. I'm not ashamed of it, nor do I think it's ugly; I wear it with pride.
I'm not ashamed of the scar itself. It was an arthroscopy, so one scar is about a centimeter long and the other is almost invisible. Regardless, the scars depress me deeply because they serve as a reminder of my dissatisfaction with the clinical treatment. They show me how my body is unable to perfectly repair itself, even for something small, and how medicine is incapable of erasing a minor imperfection like a scar. I did look into consulting a plastic surgeon and researched various sources online, but there is simply no way to completely eliminate a scar. You can perform a zig-zag incision in hopes that it heals less visibly, but one cut means one permanent mark.
As I mentioned in my first post, I fear I may have missed something and handed myself over blindly to an unverified orthopedic surgeon. He may have done a good job, but judging by how I feel, it likely wasn't the optimal outcome. How are you handling the sensation in your knee? Do you experience anything similar to what I'm feeling?
Thank you for the post and the information, Bradley Thompson9.
quietbadger said:MAN, YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON!!!!
Stop dwelling on all this nonsense... just get a job and stop overthinking every little detail..
I am employed, though I deal with bouts of deep sadness quite often, even if I don't let it show while I'm on the clock. I have actually moved up in my career, though I suspect I would have progressed even further if it hadn't been for that unfortunate injury.
quietbadger said:How would you manage if you were living with epilepsy and having seizures every single hour for months at a time? I know someone dealing with that, and their mental fortitude is truly incredible—they've managed to survive it all with nothing but optimism and a smile on their face!
So, my advice is... find a different interest. Stop obsessing over the dots!
If she has that kind of mental strength, credit to her. I can sometimes manage to forget about the dots or the scars on my knee, but then I’ll stand up from my computer and feel my knee lock up or sense that tension, and my mind immediately drifts right back to that unfortunate subject.
Thanks for the response, quietbadger.
It’s been two years since my surgery, and I’m functioning perfectly fine without any outside assistance. To be completely honest, right after the procedure, I went through a few weeks where I felt truly suicidal. I was terrified that I’d never walk normally again, and since there wasn't any psychological support offered at the time, I felt incredibly alone. But, in the end, I chose to keep going.
I don't see why anyone thinks I need mental health counseling now, and frankly, I fail to see what a psychologist or psychiatrist could actually offer me. They might try to spin some fairy tale that I won't buy into, or they might suggest psychiatric medications that I have absolutely no interest in taking. I don't subscribe to the idea that you can change your perception of reality through alcohol or any other chemical intervention; reality remains constant, and your perception will eventually snap back to it regardless. So, why should I subject myself to the trauma of dealing with yet another doctor who clearly doesn't view me as a person worthy of care?
Please feel free to share if anyone else has gone through something similar, or if you have any advice or even just a kind word to offer.
I injured my knee to the point where I couldn't even straighten my leg. After getting an MRI, the diagnosis came back as a torn meniscus. I went to see a local orthopedic surgeon who told me straight up that I needed surgery. He was very insistent—do it sooner rather than later. He told me to check back into the hospital the next day, promising that within two weeks everything would be fine and I’d be back to 100% athletic performance. He tried to downplay it as just a minor procedure to remove the fragment of the meniscus that had torn, curled, and was essentially locking my knee up.
I showed up at the hospital the following day. It was a mountain of paperwork. Once that was cleared, they gave me my room. Everything felt clinical, sterile, and incredibly empty. When I sat down on the bed, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. A polite technician—a male nurse—came by to draw blood for my pre-op tests. To be honest, being there made me feel quite uneasy and nervous. They actually tried to push an unnecessary X-ray on me, which I politely declined. It felt like they just wanted to irradiate me because it was easier for them than requesting the images from the other clinic. I had already obtained the scans myself, so we settled it that way.
Later, I spoke with the anesthesiologist about tomorrow's plans. He was a very courteous and professional man; he explained everything clearly and answered all my questions. I even took a moment to consult via phone with someone I trust. Everyone is recommending spinal anesthesia. I’m not particularly fond of the idea of being awake during the process, but I’m willing to agree to it to minimize any risks to my life or potential injury.
The atmosphere in the hospital felt strangely heavy, almost oppressive. I found the food unappetizing, so I actually left to go home and surf the web until evening before returning to the hospital to sleep. While I was there, the head nurse appeared to offer to shave my knee. When I mentioned I could handle it myself, she remarked that their razors are extremely sharp. It felt a bit condescending, almost as if she were suggesting I’d struggle to shave my own face with a dull blade. Regardless, I handed over my wallet, keys, and phone to her to keep safe until after the surgery. As we had agreed, I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything after lunch.
In the morning, they wheeled me into the operating room. The spinal anesthesia takes a little while to kick in, but the anesthesiologist was professional again, ensuring the whole process was smooth and painless. For a brief moment, I lost all sensation in my legs.
I was given some IV medication and a sedative. A man in a mask worked silently, cleaning my leg with something—likely iodine. They began the actual work behind a screen; I had specifically requested not to watch them cutting into me on a monitor.
I didn't feel pain, but I was feeling quite agitated. After I asked, "Did you give me enough sedative? I can't feel anything, please give me more or something stronger," I have almost no memory of the rest of the procedure, which lasted somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes. The first thing I remember is being transferred to a gurney and wheeled back to my room.
Post-surgery, my blood pressure was normal. However, they kept checking it constantly because I had expressed concern that it might be running low. The anesthesia hadn't fully worn off yet. First, you feel the sensation return to your toes, and then there's a release in the pelvic area. It felt incredibly strange not to be able to feel touch in such a sensitive area. About an hour later, a nurse came in to ask if I could urinate. I couldn't; the anesthesia was still holding me under. She suggested inserting a catheter. That suggestion immediately triggered a sense of panic in me, similar to being told someone was going to assault me. The mere thought of a tube being inserted caused a cold sweat to break out; my muscles recoiled as if I had jumped into freezing water. Naturally, I refused the catheter quite firmly, using very clear, legalistic terms: "I am forbidding you from doing this. If the doctor believes this is necessary, I want someone to come here and explain why, and if I am convinced, I will still require a second opinion." I later learned they were just in a rush and preferred the catheter because it was more convenient than fetching a plastic collection bag.
I was so worked up that, despite my physical state, I felt ready to physically defend myself if necessary. Within an hour, things settled down naturally, though they did note that my blood pressure was elevated and wondered why it was spiking.
After the surgery, I was in a state of total panic about moving my knee, so I kept it in the exact same position for 24 hours. I was terrified that moving it even a millimeter would cause excruciating pain. I was also shocked to find a drainage tube protruding from my knee—something no one had mentioned beforehand—not to mention the IV line in my hand for the various fluids they were pumping into me.
To make matters worse, they left an IV catheter in my arm unnecessarily. When I asked why it was still there, the explanation was that if I woke up in pain during the night, they might not be able to find a vein easily. I was far too groggy from the sedatives to insist on having it removed; I had this nagging sensation that if I moved my hand, it would dig straight into the tissue. Exhaustion eventually won out, so I just let them politely wrap the little thing in gauze so it wouldn't snag on anything, though I didn't dare move an inch all night out of pure anxiety. They finally pulled it out, along with the drainage tubes, in the morning. As for the drainage, you just give a little cough and it pops right out—it doesn't actually hurt.
Had I known that the IV catheter would leave a permanent scar, I would have yanked it out myself immediately after the infusion. I later learned that for my specific type of surgery, leaving it in was pointless, but they often do it just in case, under the assumption that it won't bother the patient. For me, it was a major issue. A significant one.
In the morning, they showed me how to use crutches. I convinced myself that my knee wasn't hurting as long as I didn't put weight on it. Once they handed me my surgical paperwork, I just caught a taxi home.
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The sensation in my knee following the surgery was absolutely terrible. I had to go through physical therapy to essentially relearn how to walk normally, because I was moving like Frankenstein, terrified that my knee might buckle. It has never felt the same as it did before the injury. After two weeks of feeling no improvement, I went back to see the smart-aleck surgeon who performed the procedure to ask what was wrong. According to him, everything is perfect; he simply insisted I needed more time. In his view, everything is fine. To put it bluntly: his perception bears very little resemblance to reality. Goodbye.
I frequently feel depressed due to this lingering discomfort in my knee, as well as because of the scar (which, objectively speaking, is small and barely visible, but I cannot stand looking at it).
Dissatisfied with the outcome and frustrated that my doctors didn't offer me the CMI implant, I sought opinions from several other orthopedic surgeons. They all told me the situation was fine and that my suboptimal sensations were "normal." No one recommended the CMI to me because it's relatively new and lacks long-term clinical data, and since I still have about 40% of my meniscus intact, they felt I should be okay without it. Since then, I’ve lost faith in doctors in general. I realized they don't truly care about how a patient actually feels. Before the surgery, I believed doctors were a team dedicated to helping people. Now, I see they are mostly just technicians trained to cut and stitch, and they couldn't care less about the aftermath—they aren't even rushing to develop better technology.
Two years post-op, the puncture mark on my foot is finally starting to fade somewhat. Every time I looked at it, I felt as though I had been violated, or perhaps cheated.
Since the knee surgery, I've dealt with bouts of depression quite often. I find myself wondering what will happen to my knee in ten years, or twenty, or thirty. Will it continue to ache? Will I develop arthritis? I've done my research on the CMI, as well as various treatments for arthritis, ranging from bioprostheses (which I believe are the best option) to partial and total knee replacements (which seem quite suboptimal currently and are mostly intended for older patients, though prosthetic technology is improving). I engage moderately in sports that help strengthen my quadriceps, while strictly avoiding anything high-impact or dangerous. Doctors tell me to just live my life normally, but to me, that sounds like, "Don't worry about it for now, just come see us again when it gets worse."
I think about my knee constantly. Every time I catch sight of the surgical scars on my knee or the puncture mark on my foot, my stomach knots up. Every time my knee clicks or I feel tension in it—which happens frequently—I get anxious. I worry whether the specialist who operated on me actually did a good job.
I am terrified of the possibility of things getting worse. I fear physical frailty. I regret being so frugal and not spending the extra money to go to a top-tier private hospital instead of sticking with the facility covered by my insurance. I feel like life has cheated me.
I often wonder if it would be better if I didn't see the next day, because when I think about the state of my knee, I truly find life distasteful.