At suppertime last night, it hurt to put weight on my left knee, but it's fine now at 2:45 a.m. I think it'll be okay. I've decided not to discuss whatever my decision will be until it happens. Everybody is too busy with their own lives, and old-people conditions are too deadly boring. I have a cousin who is the same age as I am, and I remember that her kids gave her and her husband a trip to Europe for their 25th anniversary. By then, their families were pretty much grown, and she and her husband only in their fifties. I feel like I'm in a time warp, so distressingly old, and my kids right in the hot and heavy midst of marriage and parenthood. It's an irony that what, by necessity, dominates our lives at the present time is anathema to those we are close to. Geriatric issues are the last thing anyone not personally facing them wants to address. If I announced that I was hatching a dinosaur egg in my cellar, it might generate a spark of interest, but health issues fall on deaf ears. Boring, depressing.
When I decided to have my surgery last year, I was distressed at the idea of being a hospital patient; my only in-patient stay had been for maternity which is a different type of deal. I totally resisted the possibility of a rehab facility. That idea doesn't seem so intolerable now; there's not that much going on in my life anyway. Tomorrow, Wednesday, I'll see what condition my knee is in, and maybe get an estimate of how long it's likely to hold up. Then I'll consult my actuarial table, and proceed from there.
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