Knee Saga Part 3--The Revelation

So, for my own purposes only, I've reviewed the history of my knees, possible traumas from before any chronic problems developed, and my  attempts to resolve the early symptoms as they occurred. There was never any mention of even potential knee surgery until that visit with Dr. L when he dropped the TKR bomb, saying in no uncertain terms that it was called for, but hey, let him know.  After that shock, because after all, I'd never had surgery of any kind (except for outpatient in 2003), I mostly ignored my knees. When I visited my son in Boston, we walked throughout much of the city, including the entire Freedom Trail, where he lived, through the Boston Commons, wherever the Gay Parade had been held, to Faneuil Hall, Quincy Market, Rose Kennedy's church--all the good places.( Although the time we were there when they opened the Big Dig to foot traffic, I stayed in David's house while he and his father took the trip through the tunnel, about 2 1/2 miles or so.  I remember looking out the open window and watching one of the Holy Day street fairs in the Italian section of town.)  At that time, I was still walking a lot, and my knees only ached the day after extensive activity, so it was easy to ignore.  Besides I had a job, Dave was occupied with his job, my sister was going through her own agonizing experiences, and I couldn't even fathom someone's dealing with caring for me. 
  By 2007, I had finally secured health insurance in retirement, thanks to hard work, union assistance and watchdog attrition, so that worry was taken off the table, but I was still not motivated to exchange what I could call a minor inconvenience for major surgery.  But the more restricted you are by physical abilities, the smaller your world grows, and the more diminished you become as a person.  Until a person has been there, has begun to age, there is no way to know how willing others, the un-aged, are to accept your decline.  The brutal reality is that you are completely responsible to make the decision as to whether to go gently into that dark night, or try to prolong the inevitable, no matter for how long.  The hard part lies in assessing what the prorated value and cost would be.  With my mother gone for many years, and with the recent loss of my only sister, I find myself placing a different value on the odds. If the risk ends badly, few are left who will be bereft, acknowledging the inevitable,  so the risk is mine alone.So I am now contemplating the formerly taboo surgery from a different viewpoint.    TBC