Next Tuesday I'm having my other hip replaced. Whether it's the result of genetics or too much basketball or a combination, I need it. Walking is all right, albeit a little slow, but getting up out of a chair is excrutiating and sleeping is at best painful. I hate to resort to pharmaceuticals, but for sleep I've had to use some a time or two. Come Tuesday a different sort of pain will be there, but one that I know will be going away in time. This one only promises to worsen if left untreated.
The lack of mobility has been enervating. Just simply shifting in my seat can send sharp pains through my pelvis and down my leg. Walking is slow; the limp is more protective than necessary, because I can walk just fine until...a sharp pain intercedes. When I lie in bed, turning over is a multi-step function that usually takes far longer than most people would expect.
All these limitations got me thinking about other things I used to be able to do that I'm really no longer able to do or that I simply haven't done in awhile. I was startled at some of them.
I used to be able to skip down stairs. Sideways, sometimes two stairs at a time, now I'm fearful I may stumble and fall. Similarly, I used to ascend staircases two stairs at a time. I'd be in the hospital if I tried that foolishness now.
Skipping. I was never a big skipper, but just for fun once in awhile I'd skip, whether to be silly or simply because I felt like it. I wonder if I even know how to skip anymore.
When I was in graduate school in Iowa, I'd take fifty mile rides during the summers. I didn't do them a la a Tour de France pace, but I did get around expeditiously. Then when I was in Chicago, I'd zip down the lakefront ride by Monroe Harbor. I once hit thirty-eight miles an hour on a slight down slope right by the marina. The days of me speeding around on a bicycle, or even taking long tours in the country, are probably over. I can still ride a bicycle, and I do go faster than Karen would prefer sometimes, but my bicycle cowboy days are over.
Being able to do hard manual labor was never a concern. While I was in college, I worked on street crews during the summer, helping to put in streets, sidewalks and sewers. Those were long, physical days out in the hot sun. I wonder if I could stand in the sun for an hour without doing that much strenuous labor now. Sure, I do yardwork, but how hard is it to sit on a riding lawnmower? Getting on the mower is the hard part, to be honest.
The thought of not being able to do these things saddens me, not because it means I'm getting old -- which I am -- but because I can't do these things anymore. I accept aging; I welcomed it for so many years it would be hypocritical of me to be angry about it now. But that I can't do these things even passably depresses me.
The one thing that I don't do -- which I could probably still do -- is play catch. I loved playing catch. There's just something liberating about putting on a glove and throwing a ball back and forth with someone. Perhaps the biggest challenge to doing that, besides finding someone with whom I could do that, is being able to reach for the errant throws or avoid making them myself. Bending down to catch low throws is an issue right now, but with my surgically repaired hips, I should be able to do that. I don't know that I'd be able to throw with any velocity, but if I could just play catch -- or have a catch, as it's said in some parts -- would be a thrill.
If I could do that, I'd be prepared when the Cubs called to have me throw out the first pitch at a World Series game when I'm one of the oldest surviving Cubs' fans.
Hey, they finally won the World Series, didn't they?
(c) 2017 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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