I’d like to thank all my readers who wished me well in the aftermath of my full knee replacement surgery. I call it that to make the experience sound more dramatic than it actually was, but I’d like you to know that I didn’t mention my surgery as a way to garner sympathy. I mentioned it hoping someone would start a Go Fund Me account.
Of course, I’m only kidding.
Well wishes weren’t necessary, my friends, but they were very much appreciated. It’s always nice to know that someone is out there reading these words I write, although recent correspondences have been more along the lines of “Where’s the end of your story?”
Just so you know, I have nothing to do with that, but the situation is similar to the old National Lampoon Radio Hour shows from back in the 70s. It was a very funny hour-long show that eventually became a half-hour show. The Lampoon was upset at what it considered a demotion, so it didn’t bother updating the name to reflect the change and, in fact, began to end every half-hour episode with an enthusiastic reminder to “stay tuned for the second half of our show!”
This led to a lot of angry calls from angry listeners to the radio stations which broadcast the show, and believe me, you don’t want a gaggle of angry hippies after you. To get even they might just fall asleep on your lawn.
I don't like to think of myself as old. I like to think of myself more as 25 plus shipping and handling, but all these aches and pains, I don't know where they come from. That's the trouble with becoming a senior. You never know if a particular ache or pain is a normal part of the aging process or something to go see a doctor about.
That reminds me of a joke:
A man goes to the doctor.
"Doctor, it hurts when I do this," he tells him, lifting his arm.
"Then don't do that," the doctor says.
I’m not much for seeing doctors and neither is my father. The last time he was there his doctor, a friendly chap, told him, “You’re healthy for your age. In fact, you’ll live well into your 90s.”
“I’m ALREADY well into my 90s,” my father groused
“See?” the doctor said. “I’m never wrong.”
I have an uncle who has long suffered from tinnitus. The first time he complained his ears were ringing, his doctor jokingly told him not to answer it.
My new knee has been healing for about six months now, but my leg still aches. I don’t like taking pain killers, so I asked my doctor what else I could do for the pain
“You could limp,” he suggested.
I’ve discovered it’s the little things you miss after having your knee replaced. Like crossing your legs. It feels like I haven’t crossed my legs since disco was a thing. And don’t get me started on the delicate ins and outs of getting on and off the toilet.
The first time I went to physical therapy, my therapist asked what my main goal was in recovery.
“To put on my socks,” I told her.
She gave me a funny look, like she was expecting something more challenging, like climbing Mount Everest, but no. I sincerely wanted to put on my own socks without having to ask my wife for help. I don’t want her to see me as weak.
It’s like the man who had delicate surgery on his hands. After the operation he asked the surgeon, “Will I be able to play the piano?”
“Of course,” the surgeon assured him.
“Good,” the man replied, “because I couldn’t before.”
My wife recently had a bloody nose. Then she had another one. She had one for FOUR days in a row. It was only when she woke up with a bloody pillow that she finally decided to get treatment. I told her she would be fine, but you never know. I was worried but pretended not to be.
We went to an urgent care facility and sat in the waiting area. The man behind us sneezed. I would have said "Bless you,' but I didn't want to encourage him.
“Hmm..." the doctor told her. "Your nostrils look angry."
We'd laugh about that later because, well, what do angry nostrils look like? Turns out, her nostrils were irritated—from what, we didn’t know— so she was given various medicines and ointments to administer to herself. Fortunately, she hasn’t had a nosebleed since.
To celebrate, we went to a fancy restaurant. A little FYI: restaurants can be a bit persnickety when it comes to substitutions. Although the waiter recognized my name and said he liked my column, he STILL wouldn’t let me substitute my broccoli for a glass of wine. But I’m not talking about waiters, I’m talking about doctors, so let me continue.
In true Henny Youngman fashion, my much older and less attractive brother went in for a checkup. Seems he recently began feeling lightheaded, so he tells the doctor, "Doc, I get dizzy when I get up. It’s worse when I get up fast."
With a concerned look, the doctor told him, "Then don’t get up so fast,” and left.
I played hide & seek in the hospital. They found me in the ICU. theduchenebrothers@gmail.com @Alacazowie
