Bryan Hailey and the Pop of Doom

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday-always make the three-year-old pick up her own toys.  This is not a noble lesson borne of the need to instill discipline, recognize consequences or teach responsibility.  No, this was a lesson in self-preservation.  Had I forced the girl to pick up her own mess, the living room would have been clean and I would not be injured.

I wish I could report that I was wounded carrying out some sort of Herculean feat of strength like lifting every single one of her toys with one hand.  Or a daredevil move like parking her tricycle in the shed by riding it like a skateboard.  Even the cliched stepping on a Lego would have been acceptable.  Instead, I was felled by crayons and markers.  And felled isn't even accurate because I was actually already on the ground when my old-man body betrayed me. 

I was running late for work and the girl was so entranced by Pocoyo that she was ignoring my pleas to clean up.  Damn that mischievious little flappy-hat-wearing CGI munchkin.  Instead of turning off the tv  and playing the enforcer I decided to take the shortcut and pick up the stuff myself.  I was on all fours scooping up the mountain of crayons (because, of course, even though she only uses two colors at a time Grace has to dump out the entire box) when I reached to my left and heard what I will, from this day forward, call the "Pop of Doom".  A blinding pain shot through my left knee; the kind like when you fall on your butt bone and it hurts so bad you think for a moment that you are going to hurl.  I must have let out some kind of whimper as well, because Grace immediately asked me what happened and if I was okay.  For a few moments, I can assure you, I was not okay.  I had legitimate trouble getting off the floor.  Payback, I suppose, for years of ridiculing those silly "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up." commercials.  But being that I had neither a Life Alert necklace or anyone to cover my shift I pulled myself up and walked it off.  Seriously though, is the start my gradual age-related decay?  I have played ice hockey, worked on ladders, played high school football (Nevermind, you usually don't get hurt on the bench.) and handled huge sheets of plate glass daily.  And this is how I get injured? By rotating my torso fifteen degrees while kneeling?  Welcome to 37, I guess.

I felt okay for the first half of my shift, but halfway through I took a mis-step that brought a fresh stab of pain that almost dropped me to the floor.  (Ironically, this occurred while I was monitoring the well-being of a woman in the store who was either so drunk or so narcoleptic that she was basically passed out on her feet and constantly looked like she was about to crash into something.)  I spent the rest of my shift hoping for a Marty McFly hoverboard to appear from 2015 because putting any weight on the leg made the knee buckle and bark with pain.  Prior to my knee surgery five years ago,  I walked around for months with a torn meniscus (Thanks Misdiagnosing Orthopedists and Insurers Who Forced Me To Have Unnecessary Physical Therapy Before Approving An MRI!) and never had the type of pain I experienced last night.  Ice and rest helped a little overnight, but the pain, fortunately a little weaker, has returned today.  Funny enough, after a morning of running errands, what I really should do is elevate the leg, throw on the ice pack, turn on some Pocoyo and spend some quality time snuggling with the girl.  Just no coloring.