Alone in the ER cubicle with my fractured knee sticking up in the air, I settled in to that "place where there's no space or time." I detached as one might reasonably do to avoid traumatic pain. And by "settling in," I mean settling in for the long haul, the inevitable. There was no quick fix for this.
As reality would have it, a couple of doctors came in and introduced themselves as part of my surgical team. They were there to bring my knee back down. Shudder.
A doctor is going to want to bring a knee down fast. They know the pain will be excruciating, but they want to minimize the time. Understandable. They began, and I have to tell you it was the worst pain I ever felt. Halfway down, I made them stop.
I looked at one of the doctors and said, "I'm so sorry, but I just don't think I can do this." Hahaha. I really meant it, too.
She wandered off to get even stronger drugs. The other doctor and Tom were on either side of me. I thought, "Forget this, I'm doing it myself." And I did. I didn't ask permission, and I didn't listen to what anyone around me was saying. I used my good foot to push the foot on my bad leg forward slowly, slowly. I followed the path of no pain. If it hurt, I'd push it in a slightly different direction. After a minute or two my whole leg collapsed into a normal extension. I'm not saying there was no pain, but it was minimal compared to what I experienced when they were trying to shove it down in place.
The doctor was amazed. He said "I've never seen anything like this." I was SO overly proud of myself that I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, the games I play.