Southwest Messenger - December 15th, 2019

PAGE 4 - SOUTHWEST MESSENGER - December 15, 2019
Opinion Page
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There’s an old saying routinely used since WWI. One of
the early 50s shows I remember had the title of that saying.
Actor William Bendix starred as Chester A. Riley, a
riveter at an aircraft plant. He was leading, “The Life of
Riley,” meaning an easy and pleasant life. He was stereotyped
as a blue-collar family worker, gullible, clumsy, wellintentioned,
socially inept, but a big-hearted man. At some
point in each show, faced with a new plot dilemma, he’d
look at the camera with his sad basset hound look and tell
the audience, “what a revoltin’ development this is.”
That’s what I felt like saying as the surgeon went over
the x-ray with me. “See this hip, that’s your left one,
there’s the cartilage, good shape. See the right one, no cartilage
at all, completely gone.” The x-ray was conclusive,
even to my untrained eyes. “We could try a shot, a few
other things, but I’m positive nothing will work for more
than a short time. You need a hip replacement. From what
I see, you’re a perfect candidate for an outstanding outcome.”
Now over 70, I’ve been very fortunate, but I’m finding
wear and tear on body parts are starting to catch up with
me. I’d put up dealing with my leg pain for as long as I
could. I left the office with a surgery date for hip-replacement,
Veteran’s Day, my first surgery since the removal of
my tonsils as a little boy. I figured the flags would be
proudly waving high. I’d need all the mental advantage I
could muster.
By way of background, I felt something was amiss some
10 years ago. The symptoms kept changing and weren’t
sending this unsuspecting body a clear signal. I’ve played
sports all my life. As a hockey player, I crashed onto my
right side often. The old ‘hip-pointer’ syndrome was a common
injury for me. Many years later, after retirement and
sitting at a desk for 30 years, I took up jogging, ran in
numerous 5K races but didn’t embarrass myself in a 10K.
But after starting out as the gray-haired Silver Meteor, I
digressed to the Turtle Express and then to the depths of
the Turbo Powered Snail. I stopped jogging but remained
determined to walk.
Even that had become an excruciating painful endeavor.
I started humming that song, Dem Bones, on my walks.
You may remember that from your younger days, ‘the hip
bone’s connected to the back bone, the back bone’s connected
to the neck bone.’ When I walked on uneven ground,
sneezed, coughed, turned my torso to look at something as
I walked, I’d verify the lyrics and just how intricately
intertwined our body is as I’d get anguishing pain across
my groin. If I stubbed the foot on a bad sidewalk, I’d let out
a howl a coyote would respond to. My hope it was just a
strain, sport’s hernia, or pinched nerve that would go
away, had vanished. When it got to the point where I
couldn’t bend down to pet a dog on my walks, I decided the
time was now. It had to be dealt with.
As my Bionic Titanium Man transformation date
approached, I followed all directives. There were multiple
coordinating medical calls, physical tests, guidelines on
what to do and not do, eat and not eat, special bathing
instructions and pre-therapy training so I’d be able to function
at home post-surgery as recovery progressed.
Everything was covered except handling my growing anxiety.
It didn’t help when I awoke at 3 a.m. on surgery day
to flashing red lights as the medical squad took my neighbor
to the hospital where he’d ultimately also be facing
major surgery. Nor did arriving and finding all the
flags at half-staff (in honor of the Dayton police
detective).
Finally, I was there, laying in the hospital preop
bed, hooked up to more cords than my cable TV
and computer. The doctor came in and told me to
initial the proper leg. He then marked it. I resisted
asking him if he wanted to play tic tac hip. He tried
to reassure me. It didn’t help much. Away we went
to surgery. I’d been wondering how they dislocated
the old hip. That was an error. As we wheeled into
the operating room my peripheral vision saw some
big metal apparatus that looked like something out
of a medieval basement torture chamber. I’m sure
my eyes must have looked like they were going to
pop out of their sockets as my overly creative scenarios
got carried away and I thought, “Uh-oh.”
Then I heard, “breath in deeply.” I never did ask
about the details; suspect it best I never know.
Next thing I heard were beeps and a “you’re fine,
just breath steady,” as I awoke in the recovery
Gratitude from the Lions Club
The Grove City Lions Club wish to thank all who
supported our recent pancake breakfast. This charitable
fundraiser enabled our club to provide funds for
our sight saving projects and to Pilot Dogs, Inc for
their use in training guide dogs for the blind. The
financial support of those attending made this event a
success.
Guest Column
Dave Burton
room. There had been no out-ofbody
experience, I hadn’t seen
departed family or my beloved dogs,
even though I’m betting they were
there. I just hadn’t been anywhere.
But now I was again.
As the day progressed my
strength grew, and the anesthesia
wore off. I was surprised to find I
could get to the restroom with a
walker. I felt like yelling down the hall, “hark, hark, I hath
arisen”. However, I quickly found myself being assisted
back to the bed. My blood pressure had tanked faster than
an insurmountable Browns lead, and the world was spinning.
They gave me a spiffy barf bag. I never used it, but
brought it home thinking it might be useful watching a
future Browns game. A little more time in bed, some black
coffee, a few cookies, countless blood pressure checks, and
I was on my way home on the same day after a major
surgery that had only taken an hour, able to move with a
walker. Truly incredible.
After the second day home my walker was cast aside. I
had already graduated to a walking cane. A few days later
I didn’t need that either. My visions of being able to
resume playing rousing ping pong matches in my basement
against my also over-the-hill buddy became my driving
force for recovery. I began my outside walks, short at
first, increasing a little each day. My goal was quality versus
quantity as I had to reverse many years of pain compensating
poor gait and posture. I realize it will take more
time, but I’ll continue to hard work at it.
The road to recovery has been steady. The good days are
becoming great days and the bad days good ones. The ugly
days all but disappeared days ago. My biggest setback was
watching the Alabama football game and squirming as I
saw their heralded quarterback get carted off the field in
agonizing pain with a separated and fractured right hip
bone. I cringed as I watched.
The hardest part so far has been gaining the confidence
and trust to use my new part and not revert to previous
bad habits while realizing the agonizing steps I took for
years won’t be there now.
My thanks to the entire medical staff (for putting up
with me and my sarcasm). They’ve been great throughout
and I’ve once again learned how caring and supportive
good neighbors and friends can be.
Dave Burton is a guest columnist for the Columbus
Messenger Newspapers. He lives in Grove City.
letter to the editor
A special thank you extended to the following companies
for their donations; Bob Evans Farms, Inc.
Bussman’s 2B Printed, Giant Eagle Stores, Grove City
Kroger Stores on Hoover Road, Meijer Stores,
Schoedinger Grove City Chapel Funeral Home.
Duane Shaul
Grove City Lions Club