Downscaling.net

I’m about to shake (off) what my mama gave me.

At the ripe young age of 48 (or as I like to call it 40-late) I am having my right knee replaced in a little more than a month. Add that to my tonsils, uterus and the meniscus of this right knee to the pile of my discarded body parts.

Before and after

The meniscus tore into shreds when I fell off a ladder in 2003. Within months I had it all scoped out. Basically that means there is no cartilage cushion in my knee, which means the femur and the tibia rest pretty much on each others nerves. AND OUCH OMG PAIN YIKES FUCKITY FUCK!

Cortisone shots have helped, but now that relief only last a few weeks. So my knee cap? It’s time to go.

I am a little nervous but mostly excited. The idea of being able to walk with minimal difficulty is exciting. The idea of major surgery is always a little nerve-wracking. I lost a friend a few years back to complications of a much more routine surgery.

But I prefer to dwell on the bright side. That is, of course, after I had an anxiety attack at the orthopedist’s office when he seemed reluctant to help me. Before we look at your x-rays, he asked, have you thought of gastric bypass surgery to drop some weight and thus pressure off that knee? It’s just physics, he explained.

Um yeah, I’ve thought about “dropping some weight” for about 40 DAMN YEARS NOW, THANKS! Hard to do when you can barely walk, I am just saying. But could you be a peach and warn me ahead of time if putting the bionic knee in will hurt or help my weekly Weight Watcher scale step? Thanks again.

And then I had an emotional meltdown. So then he looks at my x-rays and concluded, yeah, that knee’s gotta go.

Later that evening, over a healthy dinner of sushi, I was telling my husband about my teary plea to get rid of this knee. I swear the knee decided to fight back. Even after the cortisone, which usually makes it happy, it got damned angry.

“Get rid of me? After 48 years of your klutzy abuse and bad dancing? After 48 years of toting your thunder thighs and shelf ass around? Just tossed in a medical waste bag and replaced with metal and screws? BITCH PLEASE!,” said my knee, and it proceeded SHUT DOWN, making movement very painful for hours.

True story. That’s why I am writing this blog entry at 5 a.m. waiting for my next dose of Advil.

Morale of the story: Never let your body parts know they are on their way out. They take it very personally. And always remember that you were born to dance. And never take “maybe you want to drop some weight” for an answer if you know that’s not what keeps you from busting a really smooth move.