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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 halfway through balancing a tray of Timbits at the Tim Hortons counter, coffee in my left hand, kid in tow, when I realized my dad had stopped walking the same way. It was small at first, a little hitch in his step as he came out of the Costco parking lot, but my brain, which is apparently programmed to notice every limp in a 10 kilometre radius, locked on. The left knee looked swollen, the face looked tired. He had shrugged and said, "It's getting old, what can you d

I was halfway through the drive to work on the 401, stuck behind a tractor-trailer and thinking about my grocery list, when I felt the knee pop. Not a dramatic pop like in the movies, more like a tiny misaligned click that made me shift in the seat and wince. By the time I pulled into the Costco Vaughan lot that Saturday it looked a little worse than last week, and the walk through the parking lot felt like walking through a small field of glass. My kid wanted to ride in th

I remember standing in the Costco parking lot, cart full of weekend supplies, and realising I could not put my full weight on my right leg without this deep, grinding pain. The sunlight off the pavement felt almost too bright. My son was in the cart, pointing at a toy truck, and I was trying to act casual while shifting my weight like a drunk man at a wedding. It had been six days since my arthroscopic knee surgery and the swelling was worse than the surgeon had warned me a

I was halfway through the Tim Hortons lineup, coffee in hand, when I noticed my knee puffed up inside my pant leg. It felt oddly heavy, like someone had stuffed a small balloon behind the patella. The warmth hit me before I even sat down, and I remember thinking, out loud, to nobody in particular, "that is not normal." There were people clapping me on the back because I’d scored the tying goal in rec hockey the night before, and I smiled and nodded, but every step from the

I was standing in line at the Tim Hortons in Bramalea, coffee cup sweating in my hand, when I realised my knee had ballooned. Not the polite puff you get after a hard skate, but the kind that made the seam of my jeans sit funny over the kneecap and made me shift my weight from one foot to the other like a three-legged man. I tried to pretend I could still walk it off. My kid was clamouring for Timbits, my wife had already texted an "are you okay" emoji, and I told myself th

I was halfway through balancing a tray of Timbits at the Tim Hortons counter, coffee in my left hand, kid in tow, when I realized my dad had stopped walking the same way. It was small at first, a little hitch in his step as he came out of the Costco parking lot, but my brain, which is apparently programmed to notice every limp in a 10 kilometre radius, locked on. The left knee looked swollen, the face looked tired. He had shrugged and said, "It's getting old, what can you d

I was hunched over the steering wheel, sitting in the slow crawl on the 401, and my knee felt like it was full of gravel. It was the kind of pain that made you hold your breath when the lane opened and you could finally move, because movement meant a sudden, jagged reminder that something inside wasn't happy. My phone was buzzing with a text from my wife asking where I was, and I typed back "stuck, will be late," which is the honest truth most of the time. This time it was