The Psychology of an Old Duck

I, the bionic man, already outfitted with one artificial hip, have scheduled a replacement for the other hip, too. It is not that I enjoyed the right-hip operation so much--it was a real pain in the . . . hip . . . but that the grinding noises in my other hip make it hard to walk and talk at the same time.

I recall telling someone, who had asked soon after the first operation what it was like, saying that every step I took was intentional; there was no strolling about mindlessly while the apparatus settled into place. Ever since, I have been curious about the relationship between a body used to working pretty well, but that no longer does so, and one's mental attitude. It is something like this: age is not very significant while one's parts work pretty well, requiring only ordinary oil changes, and the like; physical disability suddenly makes one feel old.

Something similar happened when the doctor proposed to operate on my second hip in a couple of months: without thinking about it, I quit pushing myself to get around quite as hard as I have been doing. So I am giving myself stern, silent lectures. Things like, "Oh, for god's sake, quit cooperating with arthritis!"

I suppose that is why I just carried the big bag of bird seed from the pickup to the back of the house. That, and that Mari said she wouldn't.

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