Bad Knee = Good Writing

The old knee injury* is acting up again. This happens once a year or so, mostly because I refuse to have any sort of surgery or therapy requiring needles or an intensive or even moderate workout routine. It’s usually triggered by humidity or seasonal changes and lasts a few weeks. Sometimes I can walk on it, sometimes not.
This morning, it decided to give me its best giant grapefruit impersonation. I have to say it’s pretty close. I won’t go into the gory medical details on why that happens (think, communication breakdown between the bones, ligaments and muscles), but it’s got me pretty laid up. I had to cancel a writing date and a shower. Poor Alex (no, it wasn’t a shower date, just poor Alex because he has to live with an unshowered, gimpy, demanding wife).
Don’t let me stop you from the outpouring of sympathy gifts you are undoubtedly planning, but you should know that it’s really not so bad. Turns out this bad-knee-laid-up-on-the-couch thing is actually a boon for my writing. I’m on fire today (well no, not literally on fire – that’s the one thing that would get me to make an unplanned doctor visit) with the new book. Hours and hours of tap-tap-typing, ideas, scenes, yeah!  I could get used to this. I have everything I need, right here on the couch:
  • Laptop: check
  • Pillows to elevate aforementioned grapefruit-knee: check
  • Unlimited supply of coffee: check
  • (Plus Bailey’s, if we’re being honest): *hiccup* check
  • Brick of chocolate, perforated for easy breaking: check
  • (Plus giant spoonful of natural peanut butter, if we’re being honest): check
  • 2 new Brandi Carlile CDs, downloaded into iTunes: check
Really the only thing missing is a foot rub (hint hint, favorite husband, I’m looking at you).
The moral of the story is, yeah, I’m laid up for a little while, but my 100 hours goal doesn’t seem so far-fetched now!

*The old knee injury: In 1992, after an all-night road trip from Chicago to Buffalo with my BFF and her family, I went to school a complete zombie, still in road-trippy boxer shorts and sweatshirt. I was late, of course, running up the cement stairs (whose bright idea? anyway…) to my locker. In my state of exhaustion, I somehow missed the top step and, like in the cartoons, hung for what felt like a full minute, suspended in mid-air, before crashing down on my knee (I was more concerned about not spilling my precious coffee, which is why my hands didn’t fly out to save me). I kind of went into shock. Next thing I know, I’m standing at my locker and my locker neighbor is pointing to my mangled, sideways kneecap. “Uhm, you should maybe go to the nurse.” Ultimately, I was home on crutches with a contusion, a torn meniscus, and a 10-a-day Advil regimen which rendered me 100% immune to those little brown pills after about a month.   

Bye Bye Brains

In about 5 hours, I’ll be taking a trip to the oral surgeon to have my wisdom teeth removed. I’ve had them for like 20 years, and I’m still not exactly sure about the connection between my wicked smarts and these old molars, but I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. Only don’t use my next few postings as a baseline – I plan on being severely medicated throughout the entire ordeal (we already covered my issues with needles and medical professionals, remember?) and can’t be held responsible for my own writing.

Speaking of medicated… in a rare and unprecidented alignment of the stars, our favorite liquor store is moving and decided to hold a moving sale yesterday, just 2 days before my surgery. The universe must be trying to tell me something! And who am I to ignore the universe?

I stopped in after work last night and went to town (for the sake of the universe, of course)!

At least I’ll be well-supplied when the pharmacopia of high-potency post-extraction pain killers runs low (after about the first day, if all goes as planned). Alex, who endured the same procedure with the same oral surgeon a year or two ago, tried to convince me that “Motrin works really well, Sarah. You should try that instead of all those prescription drugs.”

Alex. Dear, sweet, well-intentioned but sadly misinformed Alex. Motrin? I don’t think so. I’m taking Mischief Management’s advice: take the drugs and take them as often as the bottle says, because if you wait until you’re in pain, the drugs take too long to kick in. Now there’s a girl who knows how to party!

Drugs and parties aside, since I am tripping along the meandering and oft-hidden path to a healthy lifestyle, I’ve come up with a recipe for the occasion. It’s the perfect remedy for those soon-to-be bleeding orifices formerly known as gums.

Sarah’s Super-Healing, You-Won’t-Feel-A-Thing-Sweetheart Smoothie


  • 1 cup crushed ice
  • 3 cups Bailey’s Irish Cream
  • 5-6 Percocet tabs, crushed to fine powder
  • 1 blueberry


  1. Write your name on a piece of paper, in case you don’t remember it later.
  2. Lick Percocet dust from fingers, chasing with 3-4 swigs of Bailey’s to assure quality and freshness.
  3. Pour all ingredients into blender and cover tightly.
  4. If gums begin to throb, swirl finger in Bailey’s and apply generous amount directly to affected area. There, isn’t that much better?
  5. Okay, next, press the “blend” button on the blender. If the mix of anesthesia and alcohol is making you woozy or otherwise impairing your ability to differentiate “blend” from other button actions, press any number of buttons repeatedly in any order until contents become liquified.
  6. I know, this is getting strenuous for someone who’s just had surgery. Relax! Take 3-4 additional bails of Swigley’s to reconfirm original QA results. Better? Okay.
  7. Get up from the floor and blend off the turner, your smoothie is ready!
  8. For best results, garnish with half a Vicodin and drink ice cold, straight from blender. Who says healthy eating has to be a chore?

Hmm, a girl could get used to this. While I focus on perfecting my Perco-smoothie, Alex can go to our Friendly Neighborhood Evil Corporate Video Store and pick me up a few chick flicks, and maybe a box of tampons to complete the ensemble (my cruelty knows no bounds). As long as I don’t run out of ways to self-medicate through the wonders of chemistry and Hollywood, everything is going to be just fine.