My Hip Dad
My dad is young, he's hip, and tomorrow he's getting a new one. Actually two. Hips, that is.

Tomorrow my dad goes in for the first major surgery of his life (that I know of), a hip replacement. He's too young for this, but someone forgot to tell his hips. They went and got crappy on him.

So, I'd like to take this opportunity to not only talk about my dad and this event, but to pay tribute to his hips. I write this to commemorate this major event in his life. And, to give him something to read while he is up late tonight, not able to sleep because of being nervous for his surgery tomorrow.

I've known his current hips for nigh on 29 years now. The loss of these hips will hit my family hard, as they are the only hips we've ever known of my dad's. Tomorrow, two new hips will replace our familiar hips. And while we hope to grow to love them and let them serve in every possible capacity as the old ones have done, they are new and foreign. And not made of natural products. They won't be easy to love.




It will take time to adjust. For all of us.

My dad is my hero. He sets the bar high for men in my life. Every time I was ever sick or in the hospital, he was there. He would always ask me what I wanted after he'd rushed me to the hospital during an asthma attack. I'd always say, "My bear." And he would go home to get my brown stuffed bear, and bring it to me in the hospital.

I still have that bear. I don't touch it, because it has been to only-God-and-my-mom-knows how many diseased hospitals with me. It likely carries the plague, west nile virus, and several of those CDC diseases that only people with yellow hazmat suits are allowed to touch. But, I still have it. It's cute.

It's safely tucked away in a box in the attic.

When I had my sinus surgery several years ago, my dad slept outside my bedroom in the hall, on the floor, to be close by if I needed anything. He's always taken care of me. I still call him when I need a guy to do things. He's the handiest man I know. He can take anything apart and put it back together again, pretty much the way it was before, and sometimes even better than it was before. In fact, you'd think he'd be able to do his own hip replacement. Just take it apart and reassemble. No problem.

And now, for all the years he's taken care of me, it's my turn to be by his hospital bed, and do things for him while he can't get around very well during recovery. And I am honored to be there to do it.

Typical of my dad, when he found out he was going to have this surgery, he got online and started researching on the internet. He probably knows more about hip surgery now than the doctors do. And being his daughter, I did the same thing. Because that's what we do.

To Google "hip replacement surgery" or "artificial hip joint" will bring up 108 thousand links to everything you do or don't want to know about this surgery. My dad mentioned today while we had lunch together that he will be getting a metal on metal joint. I found this . . .



. . . as the first picture of my dad's new hip. It's not very pretty. But hopefully we will all grow to love it. Maybe we will send it out in our family Christmas cards this year.

It's a weird feeling to think of my dad being stuck in a hospital bed, and unable to do all the things we know him to do. I've never seen him sicker than having a bad cold, and I've never seen him in a hospital as a patient. That's usually my spot. We're about to experience a role reversal, of sorts. I guess.

He'll have to work hard in rehab to get back to the things he does. And even then, it won't quite be the same. It will be about 108 million times better than what he's hobbling around with now. But, let's just say he won't be running a marathon, or climbing Mt. Everest with the new hips. He will, however, be able to play golf, and bike, and do lots of things. But, it's strange when our parents start to actually seem old. Not as invinceable as they once were, and how you've always known them to be. It happens fast. Last summer, my dad and I climbed around on the roof of my house, repairing gutters. This year, not so much.

But then you realize, if they are old, that makes you old, too. So, I guess it's my turn to be grown-up and take care of family things.

But really, I've had to grow up quick. It didn't just now happen for me. It's times like these when I really miss my sister. You always figure you'll have each other when we start to have to take care of our parents. And now, it's just me. It's lonely. It's scary. I wonder if I can cover for both of us.

I admire my mom during these times. Not that there have been other hip replacements for us to deal with. But, she just buckles down and continues to take care of all of us, like she always has. I think it's tough for all of us to not have my dad to do things for us. It hasn't happened, before tomorrow. But just the thought of it is a little weird. He asked me today if I needed him to do anything for me before tomorrow morning. I almost panicked for a second. I've been trying to think of what I can do for him before tomorrow, and for the next weeks and months. I didn't think if there was something I needed from him. But after tomorrow, if my gutters fall off of the house or something, it will be quite some months before I could call him to come fix it. I'm not used to that. I almost got teary because I know he won't like not being able to come fix things.

But, we have each other to cover for each other until we're back to functional again. That's what's cool about families. We make it.

I'd like to end this rambly, somewhat emotional, but a little bit silly post with one final mostly silly tribute to my dad's old hip. It's a poem I like to call . . .

Ode to my Dad's Old Hip
Dear hip, why must you go?
We're not ready for this, don't you know.
Hips aren't made to last,
They wear out way too fast.
You'll leave us, dealing with woe.

Dear hip, you've been really good.
Day by day, you've always withstood.
But alas, you've now given out,
And my dad must do without.
But we know you did the best that you could.

Dear hip, you'll surely be missed.
It's not like you are being dissed.
But a new hip's in town,
This poem winds down.
Farewell, much love, is the gist.

Much love, Big Daddy. 18 holes, me and you, before your new hips are one year old.

C.T.