Kensie Kate

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I have a really long story today. It started in 9th grade on April 28th. I was leaving Seminary and some boys in my class were having a tug-of-war with a rope they had made of toilet paper. When it inevitably broke, 3 very large boys landed on my leg. My teacher saw it happen and asked me if he should call my mom. I said I was fine and stood up to walk to Spanish. Upon taking a step, I learned I couldn't walk, and fell over. I reluctantly told my teacher he better call my mom. She came and we went to the ER. A very painful x-ray was taken and it was confirmed that my leg wasn't broken, that I had probably dislocated my knee. I went home on crutches, told I would be fine in a couple of weeks. We scheduled an appointment with an orthopedic. Another painful x-ray was taken and I was given a brace to wear to prevent my knee from dislocating again while the muscles healed. From the x-ray, they could tell that my knee cap had moved all the way to the back of my leg before snapping back into place, tearing every muscle and ligament surrounding my knee. They said if I wore the brace and didn't dislocate my knee again, I wouldn't have to have surgery. I was determined not to dislocate my knee again, but the doctor was skeptical. I made it 4 months without incident. The weekend before starting high school, I was hanging out with some friends. We had run to the gas station to get a slurpee, so my muscles were loose. I stood up and my knee randomly dislocated. I instantly went into panic mode. I knew that I would have to have surgery. I was terrified of getting an IV because of the bad experiences I had earlier that year with IVs when I had appendicitis. I had another appointment with the orthopedic and surgery was scheduled. It was a very simple procedure that would fix the problem. Surgery was set for September 16, a Wednesday, and I was supposed to be back at school that Monday. Getting an IV was horrible, but no where near the worst part. I did not go back to school that Monday. I remember I had to sign my knee so the right one would be operated on. Once I was in the OR, the surgeon found several problems not revealed by the x-ray and MRI. A very simple procedure quickly became an intense set of procedures. I don't take medicine. Especially pain medicine. Even when I had my appendix out, I only had Ibuprofen in the hospital. I was shocked to wake up from surgery and need pain medicine routinely, as I never had before. It was weeks before I could go to school again. When I did go back, I had extremely limited energy. I went to school part-time, working my way up to a full day. My school has 6 floors and 4 buildings. Not exactly a conducive environment for someone on crutches. While I was recovering, I got Swine Flu, further inhibiting my recovery. We found out some of my lack of energy was due to hypoglycemia. The test to determine this was horrible. You drink a large amount of this substance that resembles orange soda without the carbonated water. So it's basically like syrup or orange cold medicine. After drinking it, you have 4 containers of blood drawn every hour. This test is Hell for anyone as afraid of needles as I am. When the results came in, everyone was shocked. Most people start passing out when their blood sugar reaches 60. Mine had dropped to 40, and I hadn't passed out. After taking medication for my blood sugar, I started to get more energy. I got well enough to start physical therapy. The first visit, I had a charlie horse in my leg. I told the physical therapist and he walked down the hall to talk to my doctor. He came back and said, "the chances of this occurring in a teenager are very low, but if it were my doctor, I would head to the ER to rule out the possibility of a blood clot." After several hours in the ER and an unbelievably painful ultrasound, we finally heard from the doctor. He confirmed that I had a DVT the size of an orange in my right calf. I wasn't too upset until he told me what it meant. He told me I had to give myself shots in the stomach for 2 weeks. No. Freaking. Way. Terrified of needles, remember? He told me about a girl my same age who died of a DVT in his arms the week before. I wanted to punch him, but I didn't have the energy. Apparently he was unfamiliar with the term "bedside service." He then told me I would take Coumadin (basically rat poison) for 6 months and I would have to have a blood draw every week. Then Dr. Compassionate told me to suck it up, go home, take some Ibuprofen, and go to school the next day. 1) do not take Ibuprofen if you have a blood clot. Tylenol only. 2) I did not go to school the next day. I looked like a corpse, so my mom took me to see my regular doctor. He said, "There probably isn't anything wrong, but I would feel better if you had a CT taken of your lungs." So back to the ER I went. The scan revealed that the blood clot in my leg had broken off and filled my lungs. I was given 2 weeks of bed rest. My doctor told me "You are one lucky girl. Had you gone to school, you likely wouldn't be here right now." We saw Dr. Compassionate when we were leaving the hospital. He didn't seem the least bit concerned that his negligence nearly cost me my life. After I was off bed rest, I finally got to start physical therapy and move towards getting better.

The reason I told this extremely long story is because of what happened tonight. From those 4 months, I remember the big things, but nothing else. When I turned in the first assignment of the second term of financial lit, I got a message saying I had already submitted it. I investigated further, and found that I had completed the entire course while I was on bed rest. I had no idea. Like I said, I don't remember hardly anything from those months. Finding that the class was completed already was quite the welcome surprise.