The Curious Case of the Extra Bone

You know those days when you’re feeling on top of the world healthily energized, legs doing what they are supposed to do? Yeah, that was me. I had been walking around just fine for hours, shopping with my girls when suddenly—bam! I stood up and felt like someone had plugged 100 volts straight into my leg. A shock so sudden, it had me losing balance like a malfunctioning shopping cart. In a very elegant display of panic, I somehow managed to hail an auto and get home, assuring my besties that everything is fine although invariably am in pain.

Now my biggest fear is that I had a flight to catch the next day. And guess what? I wake up and couldn’t even stand straight. I was tilted to one side like a one-legged pirate (without the parrot and the eyepatch). Walking was less of an action and more of an experiment. Enter my friend’s mom armed with painkillers, ointment and what I can only assume was a direct hotline to every deity she’s ever prayed to. After a few hopeful mantras and generous doses of medical intervention I could finally stand on my two legs. Victory!

I somehow made it to the airport and boarded the flight and amazingly I got bumped up to premium economy. This meant more leg space to park my injured pride and extra room for my leg to sulk in style. There was severe turbulence (mirroring my life at this point), but we landed early. Because clearly the universe was still deciding if it hated me or not. Now, if you have ever walked through Bangalore International Airport, you will know it’s less “Terminal” and more of an "Unsanctioned Walkathon". I made the decision to surrender my pride and summon the airport buggy. I hopped on with zero shame and 100% gratitude. 

Fast forward to Monday, the leg still acting like its going through a midlife crisis; I decided it was time to get serious and consult an orthopedic. Everyone pointed me to Manipal Hospital; the place where your bones may heal but your bank balance might not. I mentally prepped for this like a character getting ready for a courtroom drama. But when I entered the orthopedic department I had a strange sense of déjà vu—had I just walked into Kolkata? The ortho and neuro department were bustling with Bengali patients. Am sure after few more visits I will start speaking fluent Bengali and Bangladeshi Bengali. The place looked more like a shopping mall rather than a hospital. Here nothing moved without a card transaction. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone billed me for my lame jokes. To add to the multilingual chaos, the nurses were trying their best to manage in broken Hindi. Then they discovered I spoke Malayalam, and their sigh of relief was louder than my knee crackling. We bonded instantly, me, them and my slowly crumbling joints.

Finally, I met the Junior Doctor who poked, prodded, and tilted my leg like it was a vintage sewing machine. He asked for an X-ray and sent me to the Radiology department aka The Basement Dungeon. Radiology strategically located in the basement where sunlight and mobile signals are never heard of. Naturally, I asked the receptionist a very normal and logical question:

“What happens if there’s an emergency and we’re all stuck here with no signal?”

The scandalized look on her face said - Who is this psycho? I expected a security guard to escort me out for being a threat. Finally I got my X-ray which for some reason I was referring to xerox (Aftereffects of corporate life). With X-ray in hand, I returned upstairs and sat back to wait for the doctor’s verdict. Junior doctors arrived and set up the X-ray like it was some holy relic for the senior consultant to review. And me? I was just sitting there, internally screaming. Even with my non-medical eyes I could clearly see a gap in my knee bone. That gap was laughing at me saying “Hello! I’m your problem!” 

But the junior doctor had other plans. He looked at the same X-ray and declared with casual confidence:

“You have an extra bone.”

“Excuse me, what?!”

EXTRA…BONE…. (As in… a bonus bone? A mystery limb? A surprise anatomical gift?)

I stared at him wondering where this mystery bone had been hiding all my life, because my existing bones were barely visible through all the swelling. He pointed vaguely at a cloud on the film and said, “Here.”

Before I could go full investigative journalist on him the senior doctor arrived.

He took one look and at the X-ray and said, “Ah yes. This gap is due to muscle strain, which has caused a bit of bone movement. There is early onset of arthritis too. Nothing to worry. We’ll try therapy and physio, then reassess.” And just like that he was gone. Poof!! Off to the next patient.

Meanwhile, I sat there holding my prescription and my confusion wondering if I should report the junior doctor for the hallucinating bones or thank him for giving me a great story. Either way, it became abundantly clear: if this is what the current generation doctors asses, I am going to need more painkillers and maybe a part-time doctor degree to survive.

So here I am limping, laughing, and living with a knee that’s still unsure of its job. I’ve got therapy ahead and possibly more Bengali vocabulary to learn during my follow-ups. At least I now have proof that bones like people sometimes go missing, sometimes multiply, and sometimes just want a little attention.

Next time your leg sends electric shocks through your body and a doctor tells you it’s because of a surprise extra bone… just smile and nod. Trust me, it helps.