After my most recent ranch accident when I smashed up my knee, forgot I was old and then started the long process of trying to heal several months later as I came to realize that my healing was going the unsuccessful way of old people, things were never quite the same in my ambulatory world. The smashed-up knee, swollen this and that and tedious tendonitis diagnosis, followed by seven months of physical therapy, during which I tolerated the twice weekly manipulative visits (that the insurance doesn’t cover), imagining that I was going to be cured of this affliction without needing surgery. Yeah, that. It all seems like a very long time ago.
Move stage swiftly forward and I have arthritis of the knee cap. Tedious, again. (Who talked of The Golden Years? They are good for what, goldenly large medical bills?) My nice ortho in Salinas will let me have a steroid shot in the knee every six months, but then I realized that really wasn’t doing it anymore. Shooting pains in the leg, walking like I’m all lop-sided, problems sleeping? I stopped even recognizing myself I had become so tedious about my newfound physical condition. Poor health is a 24-hour thing, health is wealth.
The last time I saw the ortho I told him point-blank that I was so sick of myself I could hardly stand it. My whole day was dictated around this stupid leg, when could I take another Tylenol, how the heck was I going to do everything I needed to for the rest of my life, why was I so crippled? My recent trip to the East Coast was telling. My lovely friend Lizzie took me out and about in her lovely new home area of Annapolis, Md. We went to various gorgeous little towns that, ordinarily, I would have wanted to walk all over. We walked — I hobbled — through a lovely burg and down to the water, where I had to admit to her that I could not walk any further and she would have to go and fetch the car. I have never in my whole life done that. I love to walk, I’m European, it is in our culture, and I never gave it much thought before. Now I do.
When I went and visited with my friend in Vegas, she was all game for strolling everywhere, as you are in Sin City. I had to confess to her I couldn’t walk that far anymore. Yeah, boring. Just call me old, ripe and ready for the old folk’s home with my walker and drugs. Except I am not that old, just beat up. My brain is still fizzy and, because I’m shortsighted, I still think I’m kind of a babe.
It was time. I told my doc in no uncertain terms that I could not carry on like this. He looked at me in a different way from last year when he told me he would not give me a knee replacement because I was too young. My girlfriend Lizzie and I had thoughts of jetting down to Mexico for some medical tourism, because she too has bad knees. It would be cheaper that way and we’d get a holiday in addition, with, hopefully, some good food along the way and, guaranteed, lots of laughs.
“Also,” I said, ready to plead my case in front of the court of orthopedic opinion. “I’ve been getting shooting pains in my hip and down my legs, which has entirely taken away my sense of humor, my good sleeping and therefore my will to live.” He looked at me sternly. “We will get X-rays done of that hip.” Before you could say hip replacement, I was getting X-rays done of that errant side of my body, which the doc quickly read. “You are bone on bone in your hip with cysts and other garbage going on,” he tells me, a little jubilant. “No wonder you are in pain. Your brain has been telling you your knee is bad, but actually your hip is way worse. You need to get the hip done first and then the knee before the end of the year.”
Oh great. Joyous. In America, you often go to the dollar side of medical when you get news like that. I don’t have that great insurance, I have not even caught a glimpse of meeting my deductible this year and so, yes, we will all be coming intimately acquainted in the very near future.
I went in for a knee shot and came out with a hip surgery date, gotta love the efficiency of some doctor offices! “You will be in and out the same day,” he tells me. “Some people tell me they want to stay in the hospital for the benefit of the steak dinner that night, but you won’t need to do that.” No, not doing that, I tell him. “It’s a very quick recovery too!” he carries on, super energized now he’d be getting the knife into me. I felt a bit funky. Not at all babe-a-licious. At least the EKG was good, or I’d have still been in a different department getting more tests.
I stumble out into the sunlight feeling, well, super old with worn-out parts. I had received my steroid shot in the knee and I had simultaneously obtained a surgery date for my hip at the same appointment.
So that is where we are in this fast-paced life I’m leading these days! I consider myself lucky that the old man isn’t currently going in for many doc appointments, because I certainly am. Plus I’m off to the UK soon to visit dad for his 96th birthday — wish me luck in the very long corridors of London airport with my less-than mobile everythings. I felt a certain level of envy watching the mobility- challenged in the transport carts at Denver International recently. I have never given those things a second thought, but when you are dealing with basically needing a new leg, hitchhiking a ride on the crip-cart does cross your mind.
“Are you looking forward to retiring?” someone asked me recently. Well, if it’s all like this with ortho appointments filling up my calendar and coming up close and personal with my deductible, I’m not sure that I am.
In the meantime, we have a bone density test this week followed by a hip replacement seminar, a funeral and a pre-op on the horizon. Gosh, this must be the fast lane of later life — when you are barely working anymore, your kids are raised, and you are wondering why on earth your medical insurance is so shabby. Perhaps you should have gone to Mexico after all.
I’ve heard it’s very nice there this time of year. Plus, the food and the company would be excellent. Always look on the bright side, that’s what Granny used to tell me, and I shall work on doing just that. The Golden Years. Hilarious.
