I woke early for a run. The wind was still fierce, and it was raining. Why not wait till the evening, said a voice in my head, it might be drier and calmer. I know not to listen to the voices; look where it got Joan of Arc, after all. I got up and ran and, after a damp first mile, for the rest it was dry, with stupendous cloud formations out to sea. If I had waiting until evening, it would have been dark and wet again.
I have been running, mostly short three or four mile efforts. Sometimes I think my knee is improving, sometimes I realise it isn't. In two weeks time I go to see an orthopaedic surgeon. Orthopods, as they are nicknamed, are strange creatures. The stereotypical arthropod can be the bluff, boozy, rugby playing doctor, or the one who sees the patient as a malfunctioning piece of machinery. When he was a medical student, I knew a young man who is now a very senior member of this speciality, He was never happier than when taking his motor-bike apart, a monstrous Norton Dominator twin. The rest of the medical profession see their orthopaedic colleagues in much the same way as the rest of the army view the cavalry†. Subtlety and delicacy are not supposed to be their strong suits. i fear he may want to operate.
† See, for example, this piece from last year's Christmas BMJ. The title says it all:
Subramanian P, Kantharuban S, Subramanian V, Willis-Owen SA, Willis-Owen CA.
Orthopaedic surgeons: as strong as an ox and almost twice as clever? Multicentre
prospective comparative study. BMJ. 2011 Dec 15;343:d7506. doi: 10.1136/bmj.d7506
