Under The Knife... Again

I found out last week that I need to have a complete knee replacement. I have no cartilage left in my right knee, so my bones are rubbing together. Ick! I’m pretty bummed, as I had decided two years ago that my colon surgery would be my last. I’m not a fan of medical procedures or hospitals, but I guess nobody is. I have no idea where my cartilage went. Did it evaporate? Migrate south for the winter? It’s not like I’ve been extremely active and wore my knees out. Lately, I’ve only been in danger of my eyes bugging out as I try to get off the couch. Since my Big Giant Birthday two months ago, I’ve been pretty sensitive to the anything connected to old age. When I was consulting with the surgeon, he said “You are young and in relatively good health”. I looked around, trying to see who he was talking to. I assume this doctor sees elderly people all day long, so maybe I looked pretty damn good. It now seems that everybody I talk to about my upcoming surgery has either had a knee replacement, or knows someone who has had one. If “60 is the new 40”, then maybe knee replacements are the new tonsillectomies. Let me explain... When I was eight, it seemed that all my friends were getting their tonsils out. It was all the rage. Kids were promised ice cream after the procedure. This added to the allure, even though my family always had at least two different flavors of ice cream in our fridge. I asked my mom if I could get my tonsils out, because two of my friends were. She said “No”. Thinking back on it, I’m amazed I wasn’t the first one on the tonsillectomy train. I was ALWAYS getting sick and constantly had a sore throat. Somehow, though, I was the only one in the family to make it to adulthood with my tonsils intact. Talking to my friends after their procedure, it turned out to be painful and not-so-fun. When I was about ten, my younger sister had to get her tonsils removed. We always had to do stuff together, so my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I abandoned Mickey, and hid behind the couch until she was carted off to the hospital. Whew... that was a close call! I think I might call Mick as I head to the hospital for my knee replacement, so she can hide behind her couch. It might even things out.