“MY MISTAKES COST ME BOTH KNEES”
“I’M SORRY, HONEY. I FUCKED UP.”
I was crying and still in shock.
My wife tried to console me. It was an accident, she said. A crazy, unpredictable accident. No one was at fault.
I knew she was right about the first part. In my last moment with two intact knees, I was walking downstairs. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with horizontal creases an inch above my knees, where my quad tendons used to be.
My best guess is that my left tendon spontaneously ruptured. I went airborne—I’m sure I never touched the last three or four steps—and landed on my right knee, tearing that one.
Nobody could’ve predicted that both knees would blow apart within seconds of each other. But she was wrong about assigning blame. This was on me.
in few things. For example, I
