Well, after experimenting with movement the past couple weeks (especially on my yoga mat), I was wholly unsurprised to learn today that my ACL is completely torn. Where I was supposed to see a dark line under my doctor’s finger on the MRI images, there was nothing. RIP. (Pun intended.)
Luckily, my orthopedic surgeon had already stuffed a ton of details and possibilities into my brain during my pre-MRI visit, so our chat about ACL surgery was rather brief and unemotional. I already knew I’d get the surgery done, probably in August (otherwise I’m setting myself up for a life of arthritis and further damage to my knee with limited mobility). I already knew I’d specifically opt for the complete ACL reconstruction surgery with a quadriceps tendon graft – for an avid yogi, my surgeon recommended this over the patellar tendon graft, which could put me at risk of never comfortably getting bent-kneed and down into child’s pose again. And I would love to get as close as possible to getting ALL of my yoga practice back. Lastly, I’ve already had a couple weeks to make peace with my limited movement – modified yoga, mindful dog walks, strength training focused on the arms and core, physical therapy exercises for the legs. So what’s a few more months when I’m in recovery?
Next up: reading through my pre-surgery packet. And moving forward while waiting to see what the Universe has in store for me. When I initially got hurt, I was so convinced the Universe was trying to teach me a lesson. Something about not being in control no matter how hard I try, something about slowing down or being more patient with my body or not being so attached to physical movement. And to be fair, I will learn these lessons because of this – I already am learning them. But what if there’s something else?
I wrote this down, wondering. I spend a lot of time enjoying movement – but what if I spent less time? What happens when I have to spend less time? What does that open up time and space for? What does that invite in?
