Kevin's Peterborough Patio Journal

I was halfway through peeling the sticker off a fresh Tim Hortons cup when I felt it, a dull pressure behind my knee that made me stop. It was weird timing, the little moment in the morning where you realize something is off. I had been walking funny for weeks, the limp subtle enough to hide from myself but obvious to my wife when I shuffled past the kitchen. The day before, the Costco parking lot had been the place where the limp finally felt like a thing you could not ign

I remember standing in the Costco parking lot, cart full of weekend supplies, and realising I could not put my full weight on my right leg without this deep, grinding pain. The sunlight off the pavement felt almost too bright. My son was in the cart, pointing at a toy truck, and I was trying to act casual while shifting my weight like a drunk man at a wedding. It had been six days since my arthroscopic knee surgery and the swelling was worse than the surgeon had warned me a

I remember standing in the Costco Vaughan parking lot, coffee gone cold, watching my dad try to take one step and then stop because his face said it was more than just sore. It was a week after his surgery, the incision still pink, and I had the uneasy feeling that I knew less than I should. I had sat in operating-room waiting rooms, read the pamphlet they handed him, done the awkward small talk with nurses, but none of that prepared me for the real, messy early weeks once

I was halfway through the Costco parking lot, juggling a diaper box and a coffee, when I noticed my left knee puffed up like I’d put a tennis ball under the skin. It was a Sunday afternoon, the kid asleep in the back, and I remember thinking, not for the first time, that I had ignored the little twinges for too long. The drive home on the 410 was a blur of orange highway lights and the sort of mental bookkeeping you do when you are trying to decide if something is worth a d

I was halfway through unbuckling the kid's car seat in the Costco parking lot when I noticed it, that weird half-step I was taking to avoid putting my full weight on my right leg. My father had had his knee replaced three days earlier in Mississauga, and I had been carrying groceries and wrangling him into the house more than I thought. I remember the sun reflecting off the minivan, the chicken parm container warming up on the seat, and thinking, why am I limping? The da

I was halfway through ordering a double-double at the Tim Hortons on Main while my knee throbbed like it had a tiny drummer inside. There was a line, the guy in front wore a Leafs toque, the barista called out a name I did not have, and every time I shifted my weight from one foot to the other the front of my knee pinged with a sharp little protest. I remember thinking, not for the first time, that this is stupid. I work from a kitchen table and carry a kid on my hip. I pla

I woke up and my first thought was that I had slept wrong. Then I tried to sit up and the room tilted and my knee felt like someone had crammed a bowling ball under my pajama leg. It was the middle of the night, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and my kid’s night-light through the hallway. My wife nudged me and said, "Told you to ask for the stronger pain meds," and I mumbled something about being tough. That was the fourth night after my knee replacem

I was halfway through ordering a double-double at the Tim Hortons on Main while my knee throbbed like it had a tiny drummer inside. There was a line, the guy in front wore a Leafs toque, the barista called out a name I did not have, and every time I shifted my weight from one foot to the other the front of my knee pinged with a sharp little protest. I remember thinking, not for the first time, that this is stupid. I work from a kitchen table and carry a kid on my hip. I pla