At the end of November, I sustained a knee injury, and I’m very embarrassed by it. I don’t even have a dramatic story to explain how I ended up in this situation. I quite literally fell down. That’s all. The context was more interesting than the actual fall, but I guess I can give it a go and try to make it sound interesting.
I was leaving the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis after seeing “Phantom of the Opera” — an incredible performance — with my friend and her mom. We were trying to find the exit and decided to brave this grand marble staircase. Upon descending, I knew my time was up as soon as my obnoxiously big shoes hit the first step. The first few steps I took went well; however, about midway down the stairs I overestimated my confidence. My friend was in front of me, like a lamb to the slaughter of my clumsiness. I miscalculated my ability to do a normal function — walking — and in a split second, it was over. Like a fall from grace, except nothing remotely like it, I fell, and both knees crashed down on the edge of the marble step. Pain erupted up my legs, but I had to keep it cool because I was with my friend and her mom, on whom I was trying to make a good impression. The nonchalance epidemic is not for the weak. I quickly got back up and brushed off all the “are you okay?”s.
Except I wasn’t okay. I fell down and got back up like it was nothing, but on the inside, I was screaming. I felt like a 75-year-old woman who hadn’t drunk enough milk throughout her lifetime while I hobbled back to their car. The hour-long ride back to campus was enough time for the pain to wear off in one of my knees, but the other one wasn’t holding up so well. Like someone who just returned from war, I begrudgingly trudged to my humble abode — my odd trapezoid-shaped dorm room.
What I didn’t know was that this embarrassing moment would drag on and on. That knee that stubbornly wouldn’t heal throughout the night ended up being a torn meniscus. I guess in medical terms, it sounds a little serious, but to me, it just sounds like a skill issue. I quite literally fell down, and that’s the only way I could explain it to doctors. People get this type of injury while playing a cool sport or something really extreme. And I fell down.
I guess to combat this, I could just become a liar. I could say I was fighting off a bear, or if I wanted to be unique, I could say I was fighting off an alligator, because everyone knows alligators are overrunning the streets of Minnesota. Being honest is also an option, but it just feels a little bland. And now I have to wear a really bulky brace.
