Word: kneeing
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...carried around a battery-powered pump on his belt that fed the nauseous chemicals into his veins around the clock. It was during this period that he came to my office, told me his story and asked if I could do anything about his limp. He had a painful knee. "You have all this going on and you want me to take out a torn cartilage in your knee?" I asked him. I was a little incredulous - torn cartilages don't hurt that much, especially if you're not active...
...situation to the anesthesiologist, the nurses, the family - and once again to myself - we had Charlie asleep on the table, his leg a nice iodine brown from the skin prep, antibiotics floating around in his blood along with the Three-Mile-Island cocktail from the oncologists. Boy was his knee full of fluid. You start an arthroscopy by putting a metal tube about the size of a Cross pen into the joint. You then expect to drain out an ounce or so of tannish, slippery fluid when you take the plug out of the tube...
...took out the plug, and fluid just gushed. I don't yell in the operating room and I don't like surgeons who do, but I sure yelled then."Give me a basin, now". The fluid coming out of the tube going into Charlie's knee was fluorescent green, a neon, lime-firefly color that I had never seen associated with anything having to do with the human body. We had to get that stuff...
...much-needed jobs for youths. Others want it reburied, with a replica for visitors. While a management plan is devised, Webb worries about erosion: harsh winds are already starting to damage the trackways. For now, simpler measures are being used. A group of Aboriginal women sit filling dozens of knee-high stockings with hot sand. Barefoot, they then move carefully over the dazzlingly white claypan, its surface cracked like china and scattered with cinnamon-colored sand, placing a stocking on each print to shield it from the weather. "How our people survived," says Mary Pappin Sr., "is all written here...
It’s a little past eight in the morning, and Katharine T. Waterman ’09 is doing the high knee crawl across the floor of the gym, a fake M-16 cradled in her arms. It’s a drill she does over and over. Wait for the signal, race forward, drop to the ground. She drags herself ahead with her elbows, knees scraping against the floor. The hard rubber M-16 is heavier than it looks. Waterman woke up two hours ago to catch the 6:20 a.m. shuttle to MIT. She didn?...