The Newest Addition to the Family

Tim Walz's Award-Winning Tater Tot Casserole, now in my freezer

If I had told you a few decades ago that I have a new haircut, my toes are freshly pedicured, and my freezer is full of casseroles, you would have been beside yourself with excitement: The baby must be due!

Believe me when I say that I am looking forward to tomorrow with practically the same mixture of excitement, apprehension, and HOLY COW THIS IS FINALLY HAPPENING adrenaline that marked those four pre-Boy days. Throw in a similar amount of pain and reluctance to bestir myself from the recliner and you've probably guessed what's going on in the House on the Corner:

We're expecting a new hip!

This is not actually something I dreamed of when I was a little girl. Not once when we were dating did I say to my soon-to-be husband "I really, really want joint replacement some day." But here we are. And getting to this point has been a journey, as we motivational speakers say.

It began two years ago when I was seated in a low chair watching a movie with friends and stood up to discover that my right hip had handed in its resignation during the closing credits. An initial diagnosis of a groin pull (seriously?) was followed by physical therapy (ouch!) which was followed by an MRI report that began "Severe osteoarthrosis of the right hip joint is noted with diffuse cartilage

loss, marginal osteophytes, and associated severe reactive marrow changes in
the acetabulum and right femoral head." 

My medical license is expired but that did not sound good, so it was off to an orthopedist who translated: "Your hip is shot," he informed me. 

That put me on the road to hip replacement, which in this case turned out to be not a smooth superhighway but more of a Missouri state road. It was exceedingly bumpy. During the 18 months since we discovered the old hip needed to be put out of its misery, the surgery was delayed for several months while I dithered about whether things were dire enough the replacement was needed, followed by an actual date for surgery which was crossed off the calendar when my pre-surgery check-up found a glitch in my EKG which required a cardiologist work-up (everything's fine, nothing to see here, but non-emergency specialist appointments take a lot of time), then again when I decided things were going too smoothly so I tested positive for Covid between the two June weddings. Then my orthopedist had the nerve to prioritize a vacation with his family over my surgery (how DARE he?) and...well, you get the idea. 

Now the big day is almost here, and I have prepared obsessively. I have two walkers (one for upstairs, one for downstairs), a shower chair, and meditation podcasts for relaxation. Knitting projects, books, and television to binge during recuperation. Throw rugs have been removed to lessen tripping danger, the risers under the bed are gone for easier ingress and egress, and Husband has a lovely variety of frozen casseroles to heat up for dinners.

We even have taken a joint replacement class together, which reminded me that the last time a class leader referred to him as "Coach" we were in a Lamaze class. 

Most of all, I have my encouragers in place. So many loved ones who have watched me limp around with my blingy metallic blue cane are praying and cheering me on. And because I have some weird complications that most patients don't have (think idiopathic clotting issues) I'm aware that this surgery is not the run-of-the-mill standardized parts operation. During the single-digit hours of the night when I do all of my worrying, I have wondered if I should write "In Case I Don't Make It" letters to my family and friends, letting everyone know that I've lived the most wonderful life and each and every one of them has played a cherished role...and then the sun comes up and life goes on. 

I'll be fine, and if what I have been told is true, that hips boast the easiest recoveries of any joint replacements, I'll be out taking walks just in time for cool fall temperatures and changing leaves. I can't wait. 

I think I'll name it Winifred.