Under The Knife

I'm going under the knife tomorrow.

A little nervous, but looking forward to a pain free knee. They tell me titanium steel and plastic feel no pain. I like the sound of that. Wish my heart and soul were made of the same materials.

Got myself a good deal. Bought a knee at Walmart for $29.99, and lined up a surgeon on the black market who has six months of medical school under his belt. He will do the job for $250 and a carton of Marlboro Red 100's.

It's been a long and painful ride with some wrong turns. Let's try exercise, let's try cortisone shots, let's perform surgery on your torn meniscus, let's just replace the whole damn thing.

Big problem was that my original orthopaedic genius didn't know his ass from his elbow. I lost years because of him. 

The new guy, the one doing the knee replacement, is directly descended from God. And he loves sports. And rock n' roll. He has lots of autographed pictures in his examination room of Celtics, Bruins, Red Sox and Patriots. The last time I saw him I was wearing a Stones t-shirt and we had a very satisfying discussion 'bout the Stones, their age, their chops, Keith versus Mick etc.

I cannot go wrong with Dr. D.

I have a walker and crutches in the house. I even have a fucking shower seat. A FUCKING SHOWER SEAT! 

Feels like when I get home on Wednesday I will have aged 40 years. But I am not taking that lying down. I will rehab the hell out of that knee to the point where in one month's time I will actually shave ten years off my age.

I am looking forward to being 60 again.

That's it. I am signing off. Have a good thought.

You will hear from me as I rehab.

You can't avoid it.

Ciao, baby.