Anatomy of a Knee

This tale will be told in several parts. Almost as many as my knee feels like it is in right now.

Those of you up on your Len trivia know that I have a Mickey Mantle knee. No cartilege in the right one. Bone on bone, ladies and gentlemen. Been like that since I had some asshole for a gym teacher in senior year of high school. The guy who thought seventeen year-olds should exercise harder than the Green Bay Packers. The only difference between me and Mickey is that I haven't used bourbon as a pain reliever.

Usually I experience a lot of stiffness after sitting. I'm a candidate for knee replacement surgery, but I am not supposed to deal with that prospect until I am much older. For now, I deal and cope. Generally, there is no pain, just a lack of mobility. And the bone-on-bone grinding makes for a great party trick.

About a year ago, it flared up badly. It was so swollen that it was almost the size of Rosie O'Donnell's head. My amazing internist fixed it quickly with a handy cortisone shot. The pain of the injection alone made me pass out in his office. It was a miracle cure, once I came to a week later.

Then, a month ago, I heard a news report about the miraculous healing powers of cherries. They interviewed some folks with arthritis who admitted to sudden absences of pain due to the daily ingesting of some form of cherry, except for maybe Diet Dr. Pepper. I gave it a whirl. Not wanting to choke on pits, I opted for an extract in pill form from the vitamin store.

Within two days, I was a believer. My knee was suddenly flexible. The dexterity was increased. I'd still need a pinch runner in a softball game, but my knee hadn't felt this good in years. I walked around LA actually looking for stairs to climb.

Until last Monday. When my knee finally said, "Yeah, you think you're so smart with those freakin' cherries." Back to the swelling. Back to the pain. And, for the first time, a cane.

Not wanting to subject myself to more steroids in the event I am signed to a minor league contract with the Dodgers, I tried to grit it out. And then a work colleague made a suggestion.

"What about acupuncture?"

Huh?

Now, frankly, I've always been skeptical about this. Everytime I see some doctor doing it, I'm convinced he also has some white shirts under an iron in another room. It always reminds me of a bad episode of "Kung Fu." My friend offered the name of her doctor, conveniently located down the street from our office. Even more noteworthy is that there is a Chinese restaurant next door. I wondered if they were sharing staff, because I'd hate for my tendons to be confused with some spring rolls. The doctor's name is Dr. Gu, pronounced Goo. I first thought she said "Dr. Magoo" and I envisioned the guy sticking needles into my backpack. Or, more likely, my wallet. But faced with a decided hobble, the Dodger Christmas party on Sunday, and a cross country plane trip next week, I took the deep dive into Chinese medicine.

He's an interesting little man who had little to say as he listened to my tale of orthpaedic woe. I lied down and in went needles all around my knee. I glanced for a moment and my leg looked like Angelina Jolie's dress ready to be altered for the next Academy Awards. What I didn't know is that these needles are hooked up to little electrodes that start sending some currents into your body. I waited for Dr. Gu to exclaim, "it is alive!" If this is an ancient Chinese medicine that has been around for centuries, how did they do it back then? Did they simply lay a patient out into a field and wait for lightning?

I napped for the next 45 minutes as these jumper cables did their magic. When Dr. Gu came back, he massaged my leg up and down. That was worth the price of the appointment. Surprisingly, the knee felt 75 percent better. It wasn't exactly Lourdes or any other child named by Madonna. But it was a helluva lot better than getting steroids injected into a muscle. I go back for Part 2 on Saturday and hope the cure is complete by then. If not, I have to figure out how to get Dr. Gu onto my flight to NY next Tuesday.

Dinner last night: Sausage and peppers at San Gennaro in Brentwood.