By Sherri Gragg One minute, six days before Easter morning, I was making my way down the narrow staircase of a 200-year-old log cabin on a friend’s farm; the next minute, I was sprawled across the hardwood floors, clutching my knee in agony. Everything in me raged: against gravity, against socks on stairs, against my aging body, against all the things I wouldn’t be able to do with an injured knee, against looming doctors’ appointments and hours spent in physical therapy. While I was at it, I raged against menopause too! For the next 24 hours, I hobbled around the…