Well shit. About an hour ago my friend Matt and I performed the dance routine we’ve been practicing the last two weeks. And whereas it WAS going REALLY WELL, when I jumped over his head I twisted my left knee when I landed and ended up hobbling like a freshly born foal through the rest of the number. Yowza. Now I’m leaning against a wall in the back of the room, my knee encased in compression bandages and ice packs. Friends have been coming by to check on me. As this is my first time injuring my knee in all my years of dancing, several of them have pointed out, “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

I mean, they didn’t have to go and bring my age into this.

It’s funny, and by that I mean it’s not funny, that Matt and I have been working on jumps and tricks for the last two weeks without any MAJOR problems. Then this happened during a jump that I’ve done a hundred times before. I don’t know–I must have favored my left side as I landed. It all happened so fast. Thankfully, I’m not sitting here writhing in agony. Mostly I’m emotional, frustrated. This last year has been SUCH A BITCH, one sickness or disappointment after another, so this is just ONE MORE THING. And for the record, I’m done. Whoever’s listening up there, I’ve had enough.

This is me crying uncle. (You win.)

(Note: About this point in the blog, I left the dance studio and drove home, where I am now. Don’t worry–I used my right leg to drive.)

To be clear, I’m not in pain currently. I wasn’t even in pain when I injured myself and during the last part of the routine, which I had to hop my way through. Granted, if I rotate my leg a certain way, something feels “off,” but it’s not this shooting, awful thing. The worse part is that I can’t stand on it.

Immediately following The Great Knee Screwup of 2018, I sat on the floor and scooted my way to the wall. Then Matt got a compression bandage out of my car, and a nurse who was at the event wrapped my leg with it, and my friend the studio owner gave me ice packs to put around it. (Apparently I’m not the first dancer this has happened to, as her freezer was FILLED with ice packs.) Then another dancer, who was wearing a brace on their knee, came over to talk to me about care and “what possibly happened.” Later I called a friend who’s an orthopedic surgeon, and he said, “Come by my office on Monday.” When I thank his wife for taking my call so late, she said, “You’re like family.” Later another dancer friend came over and sat on the floor with me for nearly an hour so I wouldn’t be alone. Then a guy I barely knew came over to give me a hug, and another guy I just met tonight let me lean on him while I hobbled to my car.

My point being, in the midst of a less-than-ideal situation, I was well cared for. Fawned over, really. Plus, I’ve already had multiple offers from friends for me to borrow their crutches starting tomorrow. One friend said, “I have TWO PAIRS you can choose from.” Then they added, “I’m a total klutz.” So that’s huge, knowing that I’m not alone in this incident, either specifically or generally. You know, because sometimes it can feel like the universe is picking on you personally. But the truth is, I’m not the only one whose body or soul is or has been overwhelmed. One dancer tonight said, “This is a contact sport,” and I think it would be just as true to say that LIFE is a contact sport. In other words, it really doesn’t matter how old you are or whatever you want to blame it on–and it’s certainly tempting for me to blame myself, blame my shoes, or blame the floor–but no one gets through this thing without their fair share of challenges.

And yes, I hate that, but I didn’t make the rules down here.

Matt said someone sent him a video of our routine, and that–with one notable exception he described as “like a sports injury you’d see on television”–it really looks great, even the part after the injury. He said, “I don’t know how you kept going.” (My answer: “Adrenaline.”) Honestly, I’m afraid to watch the video. Despite the fact that I was there and lived through it, I’m not sure I can bring myself to SEE my leg contort and bend in ways God never intended it to. Feeling it was bad enough. But alas, I probably will watch the video before I see the doctor on Monday, since it might give us a clue as to what exactly happened.

Ugh. There’s a lot that I don’t like about this situation. I hate that I’m propped up in my mom’s recliner and that my knee is throbbing. I hate that the routine we worked so hard on wasn’t “perfect,” I hate that it’s going to take me five minutes to get to the bathroom when I wake up in the middle of the night to pee, and I hate that my list of trials and tribulations from this last year keeps getting longer and longer. Honestly, I’m trying not to bitch, I’m just tired of “being strong” and saying, “It’ll be all right.” I’m worn out. On the inside. Also, I’m scared that my injured knee will become “a thing,” like that I’ll be afraid to use it for the rest of my life and that I’ll end up walking around like Quasimodo in order to avoid hurting it again. I realize that’s a dramatic image, but this is a big deal for me. First, I use my legs to make a living. Second, I want so badly for my body and me to trust each other. Because fundamentally I think we’re on the same side, and I really have been trying to listen to it lately. And then this.

Phew.

It’s been a long day. Now it’s two in the morning, and I should get some rest. In this moment, that’s all I can do–rest, ice, compression, and elevate (RICE). Sure, I’m worried about what will happen next, but that doesn’t make THIS MOMENT better. So in this moment, I’m choosing to be grateful for the goodness that’s manifested itself all around me this evening, take a deep breath, and take all of this one day–one moment–at a time.