Hip with No Hop

“I drove on Day Three,” says my orthopedist. He’s talking about his hip replacement.

“After a hip replacement? Which leg?”

“My right. You’ll see—it’ll be easier than you think.”

“There goes Dr. P once again setting unrealistic expectations for his patients,” the nurse says as the doctor whisks out the door.

“I felt better right away,” says my brother, who has had both hips replaced. “I couldn’t believe the results.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Susan,” my nephew says. “I know Dad is going to tell you stuff like he was able to run a marathon after two weeks. He will torture you.”

He does.

Dr. P and my brother are either delusional or liars. Maybe both.

Not only do I not drive after three days, I can barely heave myself in and out of bed. It takes two weeks and large doses of Advil before I leverage myself into the driver’s seat. I’m so exhausted I just slide out and go to bed.

After a month, I venture out with both dogs on a leash. They are deliriously happy to be out of the house. I am delirious with worry they will spot a bunny and drag my sorry carcass into the desert.

“It’s about time you walked the dogs,” my physical therapist says. She makes me feel like a third grader struggling to learn the times tables. And I was never good at math.

My son comes to visit, and we walk the dogs. I apologize for moving slowly.

“Mom, you’re always slow.” I try to pinch him, but he skips away.

I admit the hip pain is gone. A dull ache replaces it. I watch others walk confidently and I seethe with jealousy.

“I still have swelling and discomfort,” I tell Dr. P after two months.

“It’s a major surgery,” he says. Like I never noticed. “It’s going to take a year for everything to be normal.”

Now they tell me.