The last thing I remember was being wheeled into the operating room. I had been asked to answer the following questions on eight different occasions that morning in the hospital: What is your name, your birthdate, and what procedure are you having today?
My left hip and left foot were marked with a Sharpie Marker. All of this advanced technology was to alleviate mistakes, something like accidentally getting a lobotomy instead of a total hip replacement. Comforting, this modern medical science. The Wedge of Truth, Strap On In!I remember the operating room being cold. I recall the operating table being metallic, cool and narrow. I remember someone saying something about... and I was out as the doc did his dirty deed for the next two hours, placed in the recovery area and monitored for an hour, and finally assigned my post-op home: room #405, Piedmont Hospital, Atlanta.
I awoke to numbness, a loving wife, my legs strapped to a foam wedge placed between my thighs (to keep my new ball joint at the proper angle, I guess), and a morphine drip. I was told that the operation was a success and my hip that had been replaced was “in bad shape.” Well, I could have told them that.
I was also told I could hit my morphine drip plunger every 8 minutes, if needed. I knew from past experience my brain is very good at calculating life in 8 minute intervals and issuing urgent commands to the right thumb to plunge away.
I was done. The nastiness was done. I had a 12-inch gash on my butt sealed with a row of 33 pretty surgical staples. Now came the really hard part– avoiding the catheter.
It ain’t pretty, but at least Percocets can ease the pain.On Monday, Nov. 2, a man I barely know had me stripped and knocked out. Then he cut open my left buttock, yanked out my left leg bone, sawed-off the diseased arthritic ball joint, cemented a new titanium one into the leg bone and put it back into the hip joint (where he had placed a new artificial socket for smooth hip rotation).
Welcome to total hip replacement surgery. Welcome to arthritis playing for keeps. Welcome to the ravages of growing old. Welcome to some Percocet-inspired notes about my ordeal for your enlightenment and perhaps even amusement. To quote a great philosopher, “The only thing that distinguishes mankind from animals is our ability to laugh at pain, and not wag our tails.”
This was my second hip replacement. My right hip was replaced in April, 2008. It’s wonderful not to have arthritic pain there anymore, but to get to that pain-free other side requires a painful journey. The surgery, the rehabilitation, the scrutiny of TSA personnel when traveling because your fake hip got the metal detectors screaming, they’re all part of the process. Watch your step!The good news is you can be fixed. The bad news is medical science hasn’t made the process a cakewalk or cake-hobble.
I will spend the next few blog entries detailing my experience. Reading these will be less painful than hip surgery and probably somewhat more enjoyable.
Daniel got nothing on me.Many people have often compared me to Daniel Day Lewis– with the exception of his good looks, incredible acting talent and fantabulous wealth.
Still, we’re pretty much two peas in a pod. Daniel starred in My Left Foot, and I am soon to star in My Left Hip. You see, dear children, this Lint Screenin’ daddy-o is about to undergo ‘total hip replacement’ surgery on Monday, November 2.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking: he’s just doing that because joint replacement surgery is what all the cool baby boomers are having– it’s the “in” operation to have and he’s just got to have it!
On left, the plastic model from my doc’s office. Yum!Sure, I’ll confess that there is a certain amount of peer pressure involved, but there is also the little issue of arthritis decaying my joints these past 8 years like gasoline on Styrofoam (try it some time– what happens when the gas makes contact is pure evil). I had my right hip replaced in April of 2008, and now it’s time to balance the technology to alleviate my pain.
As Carly Simon sang, “I haven’t got time for the pain”, so I will undergo pain to be done with it. My store-bought titanium right hip is pain-free, with the exception of the commotion it causes going through security at airports. But its triggering of alarms does afford me the unique and stimulating opportunity to share a little bonding time with friendly TSA personnel. F-U-N!
The high tech utilized to indicate which hip needs replacement.While I certainly don’t look forward to this surgery, I do look forward to some day soon not having pain that causes my entire body to contort to compensate. I also look forward to one day getting off the pain management medication teat.
In the grand scheme of things, what I’m going through is nothing. This is fixable, and physical therapy and time make it better than before. No pity parties here. It’s just a minor repair and I think I still have some mileage left on me.
I ask you all to contemplate your lives, count your blessings, remember the suffering of those who have little hope, and give thanks for good health. I will leave you with a photo of the chart which will be a focal point of my room in the hospital. It forces one to think about the pain he/she is feeling. What is your number? It’s a good think to think about daily. What is your number?Put a number to your pain. Now, reduce it. By the way, you may not be reading fresh dispatches for a little while, I’ll be whacked-out on the goof. In the meantime, I invite you to graze deeper into the Lint. Here’s ten of the most popular morsels you may have missed and ample proof as to why this blog is the world’s fastest growing website containing the words “Lint” and “Screen”: http://bit.ly/4oE8ug http://bit.ly/IfrBR http://bit.ly/kSBMn http://bit.ly/Pw8Ah http://bit.ly/RtgjN http://bit.ly/1VRoUk http://bit.ly/15Wtzv http://bit.ly/whi6I http://bit.ly/2luzZK
And, for all you monkey humor fans, http://bit.ly/9MonkeyDinner
Of course, there’s plenty more fun to be discovered and shared. Thanks for playing, mind those hips.
Having been in Scotland a week, here’s some observations.
The thought of haggis is much worse than the taste of it. That said, you’ll probably never see “haggis-flavoured” anything on your grocer’s shelf.
The people are wonderfully friendly and very accommodating. They’re bright, interesting and good conversationalists. Plus, they hardly ever sucker punch you.
Many people speak with a “Scottish” accent. What’s with that?
Europeans require much less space than Americans. The cars are smaller, hotel rooms are smaller, houses are smaller. They are also gentler to the planet with eco-friendlier diesel engines and smart ideas like requiring your hotel key be placed into a slot to access electricity in your room. BTW, if you’re ever in the U.K and have a chance to stay at a Dakota property, jump on it. High tech meets high comfort– I wish this concept would come to America.
Not all Scottish homes are smaller.
Have yet to see anything “butterscotch” on a menu. Spooky.
The Scots are very precise in their pours of their fine whiskeys. They use silver short stubby measuring cylinders and carefully pour the amber love to the brim, then into the glass ye go– and not a drop more! Pity they don’t pour more generously, but apparently it’s a legal tax-related thing. That reasoning for a stingy pour is no reason to a thirst man!
To see a Scot wince, ask for ice to accompany your fine whiskey.
I’ve seen men in kilts, and I’d sooner wear a fuchsia taffeta backless number that rode high on me thigh– I have adorable pumps for that get-up and can accessorize perfectly.
British is not synonymous with English. The Scots like the English about as much as the Irish do. Still, they’re all British and proud of it in war times (although a Scotsman told me a disproportionate number of Scots and Irish spill their blood in the cause).
Although most pubs have Guinness, it’s rarely poured here. Tennents and Belhaven’s Best flow freely, however, and they drink right nice.
The Scots are not terribly overweight, but the restaurants serve mammoth portions of foodstuffs. “Chips” are usually platefuls of sheer, utter disappointment– thick wedges of limp, under-cooked potatoes. Slabs of starchy mush. It’s time these good people cranked the heat on the deep fryer and gave the chips a longer bath to crispdom. The same goes for England and Ireland. How ’bout it U.K.– serve some crisp on your chips!
Beans for breakfast? Is that any way to start your day? You do live amongst fellow humans, you know…
Golf is a religion here and my game is agnostic, at best. Still, I thoroughly enjoyed the courses, the people and endless challenges presented by wind, weather and trickster greens.
Many people here are actually from there. Last night, our waitress was from Pittsburgh. This morning, the waitress was from Poland. This evening from Budapest. You’ll hear many accents over here, some of them are even Scottish.
Edinburgh is one great city. It has an incredible history, stunning beauty and wonderful people. I’ll be back here, aye, I will.
Scottish Fields Forever
The Scottish countryside is easy on the eye with gently rolling hills and fields of rape seed that are absolutely resplendent in the sunlight. You see them and imagine Dorothy, the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion running up over the hill.
If you have an ad account in the U.K., call on The Union, an excellent ad agency in Edinburgh, and rest soundly. They’re smart, likable people who are quite genius at coming up with good adverts and such.
My ears cannot acquire a taste for bagpipes. Sounds a bit too much like cats being tortured.
Although the Scottish golf courses I played were magnificent, Irish golf courses are more challenging. The roughs are rougher, the terrain more challenging and the caddies more caustic. Still, Scottish golf is hardly a walk in the park. For me, it was more of an endless hunt in the gorse.
The basic food in Scotland is tastier than that served in Ireland (or London for that matter).
Soccer is football here and Manchester United is the New York Yankees of football clubs (the manager is a Scotsman). There are Scottish teams, but most of the buzz was about “Man United.” People are also keen on their rugby, which I was told is a sport at the finer and more exclusive schools. A Scot told me there’s an old saying, “Football is a game for gentlemen played by hooligans, and rugby is a game for hooligans played by gentlemen.” I nodded my head knowingly not knowing anything about any of it.
Scottish dance is like mad ballet and a perfectly beautiful punishment for naughty feet.
I’ve become too reliant on the digital teat. I had shot over 200 pictures with my digital camera when suddenly it informed me I had no images on my SanDisk 2 GB flash card. I’ll see if this can be remedied in the States and I will be hate-filled if it all that shutterbuggery goes into the digital ether. I had so many great Scottish images caught, it’s a shame to leave them to my pathetic analog memory (the pictures above were taken with my iPhone). Has anyone else ever had this problem with digital cameras? Was it fixed? Am I digitally screwed?
Although Robert Burns and Tom Morris are gods here, don’t you dare try and read poetry on a tee box. Ye won’t make many friends.
If you’ve never visited Scotland, do so. There’s a reason it’s inspired so much poetry.
It’s a crappy day. The earth no longer has Paul Newman. Damn shame, that.
Newman had the looks, talent, humor, compassion, empathy, faithfulness, fearlessness and boundless energy we all crave. He was also generous and caring, helping unfortunate kids by donating millions in profits from the sales of his various food products.
As an artist, he owned every scene he appeared in, not by chewing scenery but by being in the moment, enveloping his character in the story and occupying the human condition completely. Maybe that’s why everyone was able to relate to Paul Newman. He may have been better looking than us, but he was one of us.
Newman led a rich life. He fought in WW II, studied ‘the method’ with Lee Strasberg, did Broadway, burnished himself into pop culture through a series of unforgettable roles in classic films like “Hud”, “Cool Hand Luke”, “The Hustler”, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”, “The Verdict” and many more. He fathered six children from two marriages (staying married to Joanne Woodward for over 50 years), lost his only son to a drug overdose, raced cars and was good enough to win, was politically active enough to make Richard Nixon’s enemy’s list (in some very good company), directed plays and movies, led workshops and throughout it all was generous and philanthropic.
The man is gone but fortunately he left us pieces of himself to enjoy and explore. He also left us a spirit and joy to emulate.
