Active Duty

I'd tried everything for my knee - physical therapy, gel injections, a cumbersome brace. Everything except prayer

- CRISTINA MOORE

I sat on an examining table in the stark white glare of a doctor’s office. I was waiting for some X-ray results.

I knew in my heart the results would not be good.

For three months, my left knee had been the source of unbearable pain. I’d tried all the usual remedies—rest, ice, elevation, physical therapy exercises. Nothing made a difference.

I needed a solution.

I was 45 years old, the mother of two very active twin girls. I rarely stopped moving at home.

I also was a dedicated runner. I ran five marathons the year I turned 40. A wall at my home was covered with the medals, race numbers and photos of me competing. I love running. It’s my stress release, my quiet time—God time.

Most of all, being diagnosed with a disabling injury would jeopardize my military career. I was a colonel in the North Carolina National Guard, commanding four battalions and coming up on 20 years of service. I was a graduate of West Point, on active duty in the Army for five years before transitioning to the Guard.

My full-time civilian job was providing mobile support for line workers at a utility company. Though my service in the Guard required just one weekend a month plus two full weeks each year, being in the military remained central to my identity.

Up to now, I’d managed my symptoms while on duty. I could still meet the minimum physical requirements, but an actual diagnosis would go in my file. At some point, I’d have to appear before a medical review board, which would evaluate whether I could keep serving as an engineer. I couldn’t lie about my condition. The board would probably force me to retire.

The doctor came in. I realized my palms were sticking to the paper covering the exam table. I prayed silently, but I was so nervous, my prayers were barely coherent.

The doctor didn’t make eye contact as he put the X-ray of my knee on the exam room screen. Not a good sign.