I feel your pain , chin up, wait till it really gets badI shouldn't have looked at this thread. Today is my 67th birthday. I'm home alone, bedded down and looking at a right lower leg that looks as though the brigade of Foot Guards has been marking time on it. Having, over the past seven years hyper tension, diabetes, a couple of arthroscopies, a radical prostatectomy swiftly followed by the fitting of an artificial urinary sphincter and circumcision (stop laughing in the back there) and providing the memsahib with the perfect reason for withdrawing conjugal rights ("Ugh. You look revolting. The sound you can hear is my libido making for a reverse slope position".) I thought things couldn't get much worse. Cue the cynical laughter.
A recent jaunt along Hadrian's Wall turned a sore knee into an inability, on a bad day, to walk more than 200metres without wincing. My Doc, known as Dr Mengele to some, told me that I was becoming bow legged on one side (But how, I'm not a rider, let alone ex Cav!) and as a result, the gap between upper and lower knee was compressed and the cartilage both trapped and escaping. The solution? An "upper tibial osteotomy". The lower leg is opened up, ligaments and muscle separated from the bone and a wedge cut out of the tibia. The tibia is then bent so the two ends meet and the whole thing bolted together with a plate before the whole shooting match is stitched back together.
Today is day five post op. Looking down, from knee to ankle is a varicolored bruise that not even LSD could provoke, punctuated by blisters of escaped bone marrow. I'm on sticks and using them makes me squeal like a stuck pig. Mrs Rickshaw has had to go and assist her frail and increasingly doolally ma and Rickshaw Minor is oblivious down in Australia where he is fighting Parkinson's. Rickshaw Mini Minor is equally oblivious as he is swotting for his pre LE commission interviews and boards as well as catering for two young children who are on the autistic spectrum.
Now, why have poured all this onto the page? Two reasons: getting old is shiite and shiite happens. Secondly, there is always somebody worse off than you so if I have generated a little schadenfreude for some and a snigger of "Rickshaw bloody deserves it" in others, then my job is done. Oh, finally, painkillers mean no booze. Happy Birthday me.