I’m sitting in the treatment room at the orthopedic department of Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. It’s early 2012.
For years, my left hip has been in throbbing pain. It’s bothered me on and off since I was stationed as an oral surgery technician in Long Beach in 1989. It got worse when I was stationed on the island of Guam. After eight years of patient care, I volunteered to work in Supply and loved it. It involved moving boxes all day and occasionally furniture and equipment, but I enjoyed getting out and getting sweaty and my hands dirty. It took its toll on my back and hips though.
But recently it’s gotten worse. I had an X-ray taken at Walter Reed and the radiologist diagnosed me with severe osteoarthritis in both hips.
I hear a knock on the door and the doctor enters. He’s in his late 40s and recently retired from the Navy.
He looks at me as if he knows me.
“Have we ever served together?” he asks.
I told him I didn’t think so since I’d only been to four different duty stations in my 15-year career.
Then, it comes to him.
“You taught my TAP class right before I retired!” he proclaims. “I knew you looked familiar.”
TAP class is the military’s Transition Assistance Program workshop that prepares service members for civilian life. The course benefitted me when I got out and I later contracted myself out to teach it. It’s rewarding work. I don’t remember him but having taught at Walter Reed a number of times to some pretty large audiences, I didn’t doubt his story.
We spend some time chatting about our careers and then he puts my X-ray on the screen. He points out the spacing in my joints where cartilage used to be. I’m only 48 so he is surprised at the damage. But there is only one solution: joint replacement.
Now I’m worried. My whole life I’ve joked about falling and breaking a hip when I get older. Hip replacements seem like surrender to Father Time. My son’s karate instructor had a hip replacement, and I remember thinking this might be the only time I could kick his ass. How can you fight with a metal hip?
The plan is to schedule me for the left hip first, then do the right the following year. I travel nearly 35 weeks a year for business, so I schedule it near the holidays, to not miss that much work. It’s a six-week recovery.
Since it’s only June, I’ll be in pain for at least six more months.
A week or so later, Barb and I decide to take a Friday night spin class at our gym. My oldest daughter from my first marriage, Krystal, who is living with us while attending college comes as well as our younger daughter Allison.
Dave, the instructor is a man in his 60s. An old guy with a headband. He plays classic rock and growls like a pirate during the hour-long session. The girls hate it, but Barb and I are hooked. The Friday group is a community in and of itself, mostly soon-to-be empty-nesters like us. We often go out for drinks afterwards. Dave is our leader. He’s known as “The Hipman” since he has two hip replacements.
I’m intrigued. His story is similar to mine. He got them around the same age I am.
I share my concerns with him about mobility and not being able to do things.
He laughs. Then he walks into the weight room and loads up six, 45lb plates on the incline leg press. The Hip Man moves easily into the seat and presses his feet against the platform. Then, he unhooks the safety handles and lets the weight down.
I hold my breath, fully expecting his hips to bust out on either side, much like what happened when my pain-in-the-ass little brother pulled out the legs of my GI-Joe when I was a kid.
But nothing happens. He assures me I would be better than new.
I don’t believe him.
My first surgery goes well. The rehab is painful, but before I know it, I’m walking without a cane but with a noticeable limp. One leg is longer than the other. My dad tells me to go to one of those faith healing churches. He said he went once and the only people that got healed were the ones with one leg longer than the other.
Even though dad’s now deeply religious, he doesn’t believe in faith healing. I’m just tired of walking around like a penguin.
The following year I get the right hip replaced. The recovery is even faster. I’m aware that I have hip replacements. I see the matching scars every time I get in the shower. But I don’t feel any different. I see now that The Hip Man was right.
Which brings us to today.
Well, last Wednesday anyway.
Barb left for a trip to Las Vegas to help our son move and my plan was to spend the time in the studio, enjoying the peace and quiet.
There was little of that. A series of severe storms went through on Wednesday night and I woke up to one of my big White Oak trees snapped off at the trunk and lying across my yard, nearly into the pond.
Looking at it, I knew my plans had changed. I didn’t want to tell Barb. It would stress her out and helping Dustin move was stressful enough. I wanted to get it cut up and cleaned up before she returned on Monday.
So, using this as an excuse to upgrade my chainsaw to a Stihl Farm Boss, I spent the next three days cutting up that big White Oak, dodging thunderstorms and tornado warning as well as a constant soaking rain. It was dirty, muddy work. The ground was a quagmire of mud, sawdust, and tree bark. I fell numerous time after getting tangled in tree branches and vines. Thankfully it was still early spring so there were no leaves. Or ticks. Or chiggers. Or snakes. I did find a baby snapping turtle, about the size of a bar of soap. I returned him to the pond.
By 11:00 AM on Sunday, I was nearly done cutting and stacking the limbs for smoking wood (oak is my go-to for brisket), but that trunk was too big and heavy for me to cut. I could not get my arms around it at its base, so I figured I’d have to pay someone to remove it.
About that time, my neighbor Chris and his father-in-law Keith, a farmer, drove up. They wanted to see if I needed any help. I told them I was good, but I needed a way to remove the rest.
Keith said he would buy it from me to use for fence posts. He’d grab it with his tractor and cut it and drag it off. I told him he could have it since I’d have to pay someone to do it. He was happy. So was I. The project would be done before Barb returned. I finished cleaning up, put everything away, made an Irish coffee, and sat in the hot tub.
I was sore all over. I’m not used to manual labor this time of year. My back, and legs, and shoulders ached.
But, my hips were fine. I thought to myself that it’s because they are made of titanium. The rest of my body will fail me, but these hips will last forever.
And then it dawned on me. I would have NEVER imagined lifting and dragging tree limbs around when I first had my hips done. I saw and felt them as a weakness.
But over the years, I’ve often forgotten that I have them. And when I do, I’m thinking of them now as the best, most fit part of my body. They are strong. They are ageless. When I am nothing but dust, they will have been recycled into part of a spaceship no doubt. The thing I thought was a weakness is now my greatest physical strength.
What mindset did you once have that has changed over time? It may not be titanium hips, but something else. How has that impacted you now?