Turns out a girl with a dislocated kneecap has a lot to be thankful for.

Blood-filled syringes, for one. The sports med doc used an enormous syringe to drain 60cc of blood out of my swollen knee today. (Apparently this is equivalent to 2 oz, though I swear it looked more like a pint from where I was sitting.)

Pretty gross, but I can’t tell you how much difference that made! Instead of a grapefruit, my knee now looks more like a large Fuji apple. Plus I can actually bear weight on it, and lift it without using my hands to help. I’m now getting up and down the stairs with one crutch, meaning I feel much less like I’m liable to topple over and add a broken neck to the dislocated knee.

This is a huge improvement.

I’m also grateful for cadaver parts.

The last time my kneecap decided to take a powder on the side of my leg for a few hours, the technology available for repairing such mishaps was pretty Dark Ages compared to now. Looks like this time around I’ll get a brand new (to me) tendon from a cadaver, giving me (after a grueling 6-month recovery period) a knee far superior than the previous model.

At least that’s what they say, and I’m choosing to believe it.

Meanwhile, the outflowing of support from friends, family and acquaintances has been nothing short of amazing. Some people in particular (you know who you are) have gone well above and beyond the call of duty to make me feel safe, comfortable, taken care of and loved.

I’m seeing the true nature of people in my circle, and I’m speechless with gratitude and appreciation.

I’m really not looking forward to the surgery and its painful aftermath or grueling recovery, but I feel fortunate indeed. Yes, in an instant everything changed, and not in a good way, but it could have been a lot worse.

I could have been struck by lightning and killed. I could have been downed by a stroke or an aneurysm. I could have had my foot and shoulder mangled by a scooter accident, like a client of my life coach’s, who was in a wheelchair with metal rods sticking out of her feet for 3 months. I could be one of the cadavers donating my good knee’s tendon to someone else.

I’m choosing to focus on what I can be grateful for, and what’s going well. I’m choosing happiness.

And you?