First of all, I’ve posted that photo before. Secondly, I’ve posted about my knee before. You can read that here. I’ll give you a moment.
I wrote that post over a year ago, and my knee is still talking to me daily. All day long and night-time, too. So is the other one, the right one. Today I’ll post about my knees, plural.
This afternoon I went for a walk at lunchtime, right near the school where I teach. Every step hurt, but I know that stiffness is part of the problem, and that while the pain is at times acute, the stiffness eases and therefore the pain. I remembered an article I’d read some time ago — one of those nonsense no-shit Sherlock! sociological articles that report on the testing of the obvious (caregivers are at higher risk for early death according to how many years they deal with not only their charges but the fucked-up systems of care they rely upon, lack of sleep, etc.) in language that implies something groundbreaking which is, in reality — well — just duh, as we Boomers used to say in our halcyon days. This article I read stated that studies show that swearing helps to ease chronic pain. Reader, today I started swearing under my breath as I walked Wilshire Blvd. in the middle of the shitty as the baleful sun beat down mercilessly. I muttered every curse word I knew in endless iterations — words, phrases, sentences and paragraphs of cursing. When I told Carl, he asked, “What did people think?” Bless him. I imagine I looked like my southern Italian grandmother who always wore black and muttered pray that I die, over and over as she fingered her rosary beads, except that I wore a blue linen dress and some Birkenstocks and carried a phone. It kind of worked, Reader. Before I knew it, the torturous walk was over, and I’d played with words in so many combinations that my pain for those moments disappeared.
Now let’s talk about presumption.
I’ve tried all the things — The Cabbage Treatment, the CBD Rich in THC Balm, the Voltaren, the Blue Something or Other, the Physical Therapy, the Steroid Shot, the Hylauronic Acid Shots, The Exercise, The Acupuncture, the Chinese Herbs and yes, I know that a knee replacement is probably in my future. That’s what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about the presumption that people make, always well-meaning, when they suggest knee replacement.
How, exactly, will I manage knee replacement recovery? Thinking about the logistics of care for Sophie, for myself even, just boggles my poor tiny little mother mind.™ It’s similar to the old admonition to put on your oxygen mask before helping your baby with hers. That always cracked me up because, well, it just rings absurd for a person like me. You’re no good to Sophie if you can’t walk, you know, I hear, and I try, I do, to imagine what caregiving would cost for 24 hours a day for however long it’d take me to heal. Would I get a night nurse to manage those 3:00 in the morning seizure runs? How would this work? Who would I train? Would I manage from the bed? Would I quit my job? Would I take a leave of absence? Would I ask a neighbor? Would I start a GoFund Me? I’ve thought these constructive thoughts in various iterations over the decades (what if I die? who will turn Sophie on her favored side? who will wash out the spouts of the sippee cups and order new ones when the old get worn, who will make sure that her socks are not too tight and cutting off her circulation, who will toss the pills in her mouth just so, so she can swallow them easily, who will watch for her small small bones as she jerks and bangs into the metal of her wheelchair, etc.), and I’m very much aware of the deeper meaning here. I know, in my heart, that if I should, let’s say, die tomorrow, everyone would be colossally fucked for a bit and then get the hang of it all because, really, I’m not a martyr. I’m a caregiver.
Where was I? Somewhere on presumption and the peculiar notion of caregiving and disability and medical care in our country and my own need (maybe) for a knee replacement.
Or should I just curse as I walk?
Duh.
Ok, the first thing is cursing will only work for so long. So, enjoy the long. Second thing, which my recent, as in the last 5 days, visit to my 95 year old aunt has made me understand--don't put off knee replacement shit because at 95 the thing that stops her moving around more (and has stopped her for years--though clearly, at 95 it's a moot point) are her knees. OK, OK, she's not caretaking anyone but herself and her two (now fat) cats. So yes, the plan for knee replacement is VERY complicated and expensive for you, and I've heard, not pain free for awhile. You've clearly thought it all through. I don't have advice, just being a witness to myself and others in our aging and caregiving capacities. Lady Justice is not balanced on her scales.
My mother-in-law had both her hips replaced in her 30s (she was born with a form of infantile arthritis), but didn't have her ankles and knees replaced until her 60s/70s. She should get her shoulders done but the recovery would probably do her in too much. Anyway, the ankles in particular were full of these struggles. She wasn't caregiving for anyone; it was simply "where do you find the 6 months' minimum needed to recover from one surgery and how much help do you need during that time and is it realistic to expect that kind of time for two ankles in the same year?" kinds of questions. And that is in the UK where she has the National Health Service at least paying for it and the rehabilitation time. A knee replacement feels like such a commonplace thing almost these days, but like so much else it's dependent on having the time and space and support for the recovery, as well as the finances or insurance to pay for it, and that's before even considering what your body is needed for with regards to caring for someone else. (Something I've been thinking a lot about these days, all that women's bodies are in service of.)
My knees will happily sit down for a whimper session with your knees.