When my son was four years old, he hurt his knee while playing. The injury seemed at first to be a mere bruise, but in a week or two the knee became stiff and swollen. Long and painful treatment by physicians gave no relief, and finally we were told that the knee joint was tubercular. We then sent the boy to a hospital in New York City, where he remained five years. During this time part of the bone was removed, and several other operations were performed in the attempt to make the limb straight and strong. When the boy was able to be out of bed he wore a steel brace or used crutches. Every time these were discarded the knee would "give" and another operation would be performed. At the age of ten he was discharged from the hospital with the report that there was no evidence of tuberculosis in the joint; that the knee would probably bend again, but that further operations would be inadvisable, as he was a very delicate child.
The boy's health improved very much after his return home, but in a year or two the knee became badly bent and twisted. The condition became unbearable when he was about eighteen years of age. Though I had become a student of Christian Science, my son, who was not interested in it, wanted to resort to surgery again, in the hope that the knee could be straightened. I consented, and the operation was performed. All went well for a year, when tuberculosis was again manifested, a condition which had been predicted by one of the physicians consulted before the operation.
The boy wanted to go to a sanitarium, so I placed him in one. The examining physician told me that the lungs were slightly affected, and that there was no hope of saving the limb. I was told my son would be kept there only long enough to build up his strength so that he could withstand the operation. Six weeks later he returned home with the knee in a deplorable condition. We called the surgeon who had operated the year before, but he could offer no hope of saving the limb.
