Knee Replacement is "Like Buying a New Car"

According to the anesthesiologist I saw for a pre-op consult today, the up-side of knee replacement is that it's "like buying a new car." I'll have a new knee. Yes, and I'll have hours of painful rehab and a week in a rehab center, hopefully the one of my choice--though that's not guaranteed--depending on space. So, while I appreciate his short-circuiting my self-pity, I'm not certain about his metaphor.

For example, when I purchased a "new" used this car this past spring, I didn't go out to the shop to watch the mechanic as he stuffed my front doors to eliminate the annoying "canaries" that chirped as I drove the winter-rutted streets. Instead, I sat comfortably in the dealership's waiting room, drinking coffee and reading a novel. My participation in repairs wasn't necessary. The only discomfort I experienced was wishing they'd hurry up since it was an early spring day, and I wanted to be outside enjoying it.

I did ask if I could have both a spinal block and general anesthesia. Silence. I said, "Knock me out." We determined that, since I once was totally awake during one of my colonoscopies watching the video of the exam as it went on, I might remain aware. Therefore, we decided I need a general. They also provide a knee block, which should keep me painfree until the painkiller "catches up." I don't care to hear the saw or listen to the commentary or what the team may be planning post-surgery.

A nervous twitch has appeared in my right eye, probably thanks to the upcoming surgery. Never had it with a new car purchase. It has appeared seemingly in conjunction with a viral medication I recently started, so I asked about it. But, I have had it before--when aggressive students gathered around my desk at grading periods. My right eye would start its little dance. Just how deeply the prospects of this surgery are affecting me became clear when I started to tear up while talking to this Russian immigrant anesthesiologist--had trouble placing his accent, but it's probably Russian. Not sure why the unshed tears and voice quaver surprised me.


No guarantee that he'll be my anesthesiologist either. Whoever it is will have this guy's notes about what we've talked about. Hope that s/he chooses the correct type of anesthesia since he listed both choices with an arrow up to "General." Recently I bought a bed. When I made the final downpayment, I told a furniture saleslady to put the second page on top so that I'd get the normal rather than the reduced box spring. My original saleslady had rewritten the order because I had changed my mind, wanting to put a bedskirt on the new box spring without having to make alterations. Of course, the second lady argued about putting the second page on top. When the delivery men carried in the box spring, I stood there pointing at it saying, "No, no, no. I told her to switch the pages." The men redelivered the right size the next week. But, buying a bed isn't quite like having knee surgery--there isn't a redo the next week, at least I hope not.


When I first saw the hospital and its adjunct buildings, I thought, "That looks like the Titanic." It dominates the mountains behind it because of the size of the facility. I hope that the analogy stops with the name. I have already had an argument with the woman who called to ask me to return tomorrow. I didn't provide enough of a sample for the required tests. I told her it was because I suffered anxiety, not being sure the bathroom door was locked (apparently it wasn't). She argued with me. As she argued, I repeated my observation: "I suggest you put an arrow showing which direction is locked." After I repeated that a couple of times, she finally quit saying, "Yes." Sure hope those who will be caring for me have better hearing than this lady did. After all, I taught school for 32 years, and I'm great at repeating myself until the "student" gets it.

As one of my meditation teachers used to say after he'd taken us so far in a visualization, "The journey is yours." Sometimes the "journeys" we took were a bust, and sometimes they connected us to the Divine. I suspect that "journey" is the better metaphor for a surgery. Today I took the second leg. I trust and will be happy if my upcoming journey is merely fine because Divine might mean I had a near death experience.