I spoke with my doctor, recounting my symptoms fully, and next day had an X-ray at the local hospital. The outcome: I have mild osteoarthritis in my right knee. My current treatment - Ibuprofen gel rubbed in three times a day, combined with alternate rest and gentle exercise - can continue. The expectation is that my knee will gradually feel better, and I can be more active. However, osteoarthritis tends to be progressive, and my knee may start hurting again at intervals, certainly if I subject it to any unusual or sudden loads. So parkour, backpacking and long staircases must all be avoided.
Actually, any part of my skeleton, particularly load-bearing joints, can develop osteoarthritis, and it could flare up in my fingers, elbows, neck, spine, and wherever the body bends and flexes. Let's hope it does not! Mum didn't suffer, but from his late sixties Dad had an aggressive form of arthritis. I hope that's not my fate. There's time yet to change my diet and lifestyle so that I slow down any deterioration of my joints and keep reasonably comfortable. So I'm now reading up about osteoarthritis and how best to live with it, and what changes I need to make.
At least I now know. That in itself is a relief, as having a firm diagnosis often is. My doctor wasn't in the least surprised. I'm simply joining the legion of older people who have sufficient wear and tear in their joints to feel at least occasional pain.
I suppose my stick - the one featured in my last post - will have to be kept handy, even if the present knee pain recedes. I'll need something I can use to take the weight off my right knee - or the left come to that, as both were casualties of too much badminton thirty years ago. (Moral: never abuse or over-stretch your body. It's the only one you have)
What can I do to get away from the unfashionable 'little old lady with a stick' look?
Well, perhaps I could tap into the RAF thing. You know, the standard Elstree Studios image of keen young RAF pilots limping around with walking sticks, making light of their discomfort, and speaking a strange jargon that refers to 'pranging the old bus', and exclaiming 'wizard show!' if some chap brings down a Hun or two. Indeed, I rather fancy - or have I simply watched too many dodgy war films? - that everyone in the RAF, the girls in the WRAF included, went around with a walking stick. And, on the other side, all the Germans were doing exactly the same. Ach so.
Well, if I could rig up a flying helmet, a pair of goggles, and a silk scarf extended by a slipstream, then, along with my trusty walking stick, passers by would identify me as a Spitfire hero and not as a sad old biddy with a knee problem.
Just like Biggles! In fact here he is, on the front of a boys' adventure book, spotted by me in Lyme Regis in 2009:
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