A Hip Bionic Woman Gets A Tire Change
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Holy Smokies! I never know which way
the ball will bounce when I get up in the morning. Hey, keeps me on my toes.
When I saw my x-ray, I knew I’d soon
have to go under the knife, become more bionic than I already am. My hip joint
was shot. Hip shot, get it? Whoops! Is it even legal to use “hip” and “joint”
in the same sentence?
Despite instant knowledge I decided
to live with the painful hip as long as I could stand it. Stupid, yes? Why
would any normal person make that decision? I know. Follow that thought to its
logical conclusion. But I’m a Montana Woman. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. We
can handle Pain. That was two months ago.
A couple weeks ago, said Pain
changed my mind. I began research into surgery, surgeons, hospitals. Choices
became overwhelming. My best bets in terms of cost seemed to be Tijuana or
Mexico City. Travel complicated that bottom line. I would go back to Bangalore
where I met Ruth, my titanium knee, in a heartbeat. If it were not for the 25
hour commute.
I want to stay in Mazatlan. So I
consulted my local search engines, Rudolfo and Carlos. Between them they know
nearly everyone in a city of over 800,000. All they had to do was ask who, where
and what were the results. Throw the information into a hopper, turn the handle
and out pops a certain doctor and a certain hospital.
So mid-morning Rudolfo knocks on my
door. Get ready. At 6:00 this evening we go meet the doctor. I checked with the
clinic and got his hours. Today? Yes, today, why not? Gulp.
After an exam, questions, answers, a
ton of information, I made my decision. I liked the surgeon. It’s a go. The
next day I went for blood work. Until my new doctor saw the results of tests,
he would make no further commitment.
Blood letting terrifies me. Needles
give me nightmares. I bravely bared my arm, turned my head, squinched my eyes,
breathed like a woman in final stages of labor and gave my life-blood to the
cause. The vampire man told me I picked the best surgeon in Mazatlan—words more
soothing than any band-aid.
When one has tests done in Mazatlan,
one returns, picks up the results and hand carts them across town to the
doctor. The doctor said, you are healthy as a horse. He flipped a calendar in
front of me. When do you want to do it?
I don’t know what you are like. You
are probably healthier than I am. Patient. Calm. Serene. Once I made the
decision to go under the knife, I pointed to yesterday. My doctor has a sense
of humor. He laughed and shook his head. This was on a Friday. I pointed to
Monday. He indicated Tuesday would be a better day for him. Tuesday it is.
Just enough time for the night
terrors to set in. Mostly I’m excited. But I’m also scared. It’s okay to be
scared. When I got my new knee, it gave me a whole new life, sort of like I
renewed my lease. Now my hip’s worn out. So I expect the new hip to give me
another lease on life.
Sleeplessness isn’t much fun. Silly
questions without answers keep me awake. I did get to put one urban legend to
rest. I had heard, you know, the “someone said” thing, that when a person is
hospitalized in Mexico, a family member had to bring in meals. So I asked
Rudolfo what about food? What do you mean? In the hospital, what about food.
Who will bring me meals? He looked at me like I had nine heads. They feed you
meals in the hospital. He gave me a really strange look again and sort of made
the mental finger roll around his head that said, this woman is moon-struck.
I can’t wait to meet my new hip. I wonder what to name her.
Anything I’m that intimate with must have a name. I’m thinking along the lines
of “Rose”, as in “rose hip”. Or maybe “Rosie the Riveter”. Or maybe Jaime Sommers. If you remember this
character from late 70’s television, you are officially, bionic-ly hip.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
January 29,
2015
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