Guest blog post by Phil Beresford of Sydney, Australia.
It was just like any other Sunday; I was out cycling with friends on one of our morning rides. We'd just finished having coffee and were on our way home when it started to rain, only very lightly and not enough to make everything wet, when, from out of nowhere, disaster struck. We'd just set off from a set of traffic lights and then made a slow left-hand turn. One second I was upright, the next second the rear wheel slipped out from under me and I was on the deck. Because the speed was so slow I went down like a sack of spuds. My left knee took the full force of the fall.
On closer inspection it was immediately clear I was not getting back up.
The patella (commonly referred to as the kneecap) had cracked into two pieces. The quad took one half, and the patella tendon took the other — leaving a big hole where my kneecap used to be.
Since the age of about six I have experienced multiple fractures from head to toe; my knee was just the latest in a list that goes back as far as I can remember. Whilst I was on the gurney in ER I asked the surgeon to take a look at my bones whilst he was in there. He calmly told me we’ll fix the knee first, that it won’t be the same again and that I wouldn’t get my full range of motion back. He said we can worry about the bones later, and if I was that concerned then he would refer me for a bone density scan. I told him I wanted one, I just want to know what’s going on.
Fast forward six months, a mental breakdown, months of painful physiotherapy, and finally getting my life back on track a letter from the NSW Health Department arrived. It was an appointment to see an Endocrinologist. I had forgotten all about that chat with the surgeon. Finally here was my opportunity to find out what was going on. I went to my appointment holding on to the hope that there would be nothing to worry about.
After an hour and half of being scanned, questioned, prodded and poked, the doctor told me I was presenting the symptoms of an 80 year-old and that he couldn’t understand why. He said that he needed to speak to his boss, the head of the Department. I was left alone in that room, shocked and shaking with the bombshell he had just dropped on me.
10 or 15 minutes passed. I wondered what was taking him so long? Eventually he returned with a colleague. I spent another hour or so being questioned and prodded some more. Eventually, both men turned and looked at each, shrugging their shoulders and sucking in air through their teeth. The doctor calmly told me that he couldn’t understand why a fit, healthy, physically active male had such a severe case of osteoporosis. I was 42.
It certainly explained why my knee had collapsed so spectacularly, and that why every time I fall or stub a toe I end up with a fracture. He told me that I would have to start taking a medicine called Forteo, a daily injection that costs about $1,000 AUD per month ($687 in US dollars.) “It’s the best chance you’ve got” he told me; “you can have a think about it, but you’re starting tomorrow” he said.
My osteoporosis journey has still only just begun. It’s been almost two years now and I am attacking it from every angle: lifestyle, diet, medicine. I’m now coming to the end of the Forteo and getting all my dental work done whilst I am still on it, as the next course of treatment will make extractions more problematic. My T scores have improved from -2.9 to -1.7, and my capacity to assess risk is now somewhat heightened. It hasn’t stopped me from doing what I love. This year I set myself a target of riding 12,000km (7,500miles). I’m currently smashing that goal and now going after 13,000km (8,000miles).
I got my full range of motion back.
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