At the advice of my mother, I called the nurse line. At the advice of the nurse line, I had Sarah take me to urgent care, where the ibuprofen wore off just in time for the doctor to torture me. I was flat on my back on the exam table with a white cloth draped over my special purpose.
“Does this hurt?” she asked while picking my leg up at the ankle.
“Yes! That hurts!”
This went on for some time.
“How about this?” she asked while folding my leg behind my head.
“Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”
“It’s just tendonitis. You’re fine,” she said.
I sat up and shook on the table.
I’m finally home with naproxen and acetaminophen. For those people who worry about such things, I asked both the doctor and the pharmacist about their interactions and amounts. For those of you who would take joy in it, I’m still in a largish amount of pain.
I no longer feel like someone is prying my knee apart with a Buick.