My Agincourt Reno Pages

I was halfway through folding the kid's pajamas in the Costco parking lot when it hit me, that odd mix of stiffness and swelling that made me stand on one leg like a goof while I tried to tug my shoe back on. The cart behind me squeaked, someone called out to their kid, and I realised I had been limping for a week and had not actually processed that the limp was getting worse. That moment was stupidly ordinary, which made it worse. I had a knee that felt like it belonged to

I was halfway through paying for a medium double-double at the Tim Hortons on Rutherford when I noticed my knee. It was puffier than usual, the scar under the compression sleeve still pink and a little angry, and I walked like I was trying not to wake a sleeping dog. I remember thinking, out loud to no one, "This is ridiculous," and then turning the cup over in my hands because my fingers were cold from the drive down the 410. Surgery had been six days earlier. Not one o

I was hunched over the kitchen counter, forehead nearly touching the laminate, trying to peel a bagel without my right leg giving me a protest lecture. It was three days after surgery, 6:30 a.m., and the kitchen light felt like it was too bright for my groggy, swollen knee. I had slept in the recliner because the hospital bed at home felt wrong. My wife had gone back to bed after standing me up and making sure I could limp to the coffee maker. Our four-year-old wandered in,

I was half way through ordering my usual double-double at the Tim Hortons on Bramalea when I noticed my knee doing something weird. It was the left one, the one that had been twinging since that stupid play in Sunday night hockey. The sock felt tight where it never did. I tried to shift my weight and a small, unfamiliar pain jabbed behind the kneecap. The guy at the counter asked if I wanted a donut. I said sure, and then walked like a guy who was trying not to notice the l