Tuesday, May 30, 2006

For Goodness' Sake!

I got the hippy-hippy shake!
I got the shake!
The hippy-hippy shake!

You shake it at the bride
You shake it at the groom
Watch your newly severed leg
Go skitter 'cross the room!

Yes, well.

You remember all that bitching I was doing a few weeks ago about the bursitis in my hip?


It, er, wasn't bursitis.

The Gods of Comedy have decided in their infinite wisdom that Your Humble and Ob't wasn't saddled with quite the requisite amount of Uninvited Irony, and with that quiet insouciance that is their stock in trade have been squeezing the blood supply to the ball of my left femur, resulting in what the orthopedic surgeon I have just consulted calls Stage Two Avascular Necrosis. I prefer to think of it as Bo Jackson's Disease, and will henceforth refer to it thus, in an effort to rehabilitate an otherwise pretty fuckin' dreary little syndrome.

I have spent the last two weeks under the decidedly uncheerful prospect of total hip replacement, but now Doctor Subtilis thinks the joint can be saved. There has as yet been no collapse of the surface of the ball of the femur, and in this early stage the accepted practice, which has about a 70% success rate, is to drill about four inches into the bone starting at the hip pointer and going up into the ball, cleaning out the edema that is squeezing my veins, relieving pressure on the ball and (it is hoped) restoring blood supply to the joint. You can see an example of what I'm talking about in the x-ray image at the top of this post -- see the straight line through that poor bastard's hip-joint? That's gonna be me.

The drilled hole will be filled with a bone graft, which led to the following knee-slapping interchange:

Me: So where does the bone for the graft come from? [Thinking, maybe it's taken from my tibia or something)

Doctor Subtilis: Dead guy.

Me: Ah.

See how the Gods of Comedy work? I'll be carrying a piece of John Allen Muhammad's flippin' anklebone around in my hip for the rest of my life -- or less, if I fall into the unlucky 30% for whom this procedure doesn't work, in which case I will insist that the old dead hip come home with me in a jar of formaldehyde for proud display on my mantelpiece. A capital conversation-piece.

I don't know yet when this thing is going to happen -- I'd rather it be sooner than later -- but I'll be certain sure to live-blog it for you. I'll be on my back, making a pest of myself to Wonder Woman and abusing my post-op painkillers for a week or so, then on crutches for six weeks.

Oh, I'm gonna milk for all it's worth. Dahhhling, be a love and fetch me the TV remote -- it's there, on the floor at my feet... I'd lean over and reach for it myself, but I do ache so!

Doctor Subtilis, by the way, is Orthopedic Surgeon to the Washington Redskins. He's already had his hooks in me twice -- once for a broken collarbone and once for a torn rotator cuff, so I know and trust the guy. What I don't trust any more is my own worthless body.


Employee of the Month said...

Has he lost his stride?
Can Ned twist to see his behind?
Can he walk at all,
Or if he moves will he fall?
Is he alive or dead?
Has he painkillers within his head?
Well just drill in there
Why should we even care?

Hip was turned to steel
Dead guys bone resides in there
Couch planted recuperation time
Wonder Woman no longer kind

Nothing entertains him
He just stares at the tube...

Linkmeister said...

I'm impressed that you can still dredge up The Swingin' Blue Jeans for lyrics in this time of dread.

The Viscount LaCarte said...

I hear old T-Bone is willing to do a little "Standin' in for Ned" should Wonderwoman need some comfort.

All kidding aside EnJay, I wish you a speedy and comfortable recovery.

nrhwrfeu Future dead guy's famous last words...

Bob Dwire said...

Ned, you got my sympathy, that's for sure. But hey, a syndrome with a name, that's got to be worth something, no?

Here's hoping you'll be up and about and hovulm on your crutches in no time.

Kevin Wolf said...

Oh, man, Neddie, I do feel for you. Joints and operations - somehow I always thought the two shouldn't mix, until I had need of this mix meself.

I had a good surgeon after my mishap, and I'm fine. Really, it's just the pain for the rest of my life that's a drag, but you do get used to that. Sorta.

njmot - a patented Neddie Jingo (bon) mot

XTCfan said...

Kevin, given the pain that Ned may be in, I would say with utter certainty that joints and operations do mix! Light 'em if ya got 'em, Ned!

I'd make a joke about how the bone-jarring drive along that country road you love so much is responsible -- if only you hadn't fought that initiative to pave it! -- but that would be wrong.

Here's hoping you get a bit of dead gal in you, and that your recovery is swift and as painfree as modern pharmacology can provide. At least you'll still be able to play guitar, right?

Blue Wren said...

I'm scrunching up my face and sending you all the courage and cheer I can, Ned ...

-scrunch scrunch scrunch-

The vibes may slow down in their journey across the Midwest, but they'll get there eventually if no one shoots them down over DC.

Seriously, here's wishing you the best of luck with this.

Bobby Lightfoot said...

Dude maybe you'll end up with a few grams of Alistair Cooke in yeh.

Without having to light his cig after.

Bobby Lightfoot said...

Christ, that was flip. I'm your fucking BROTHER, for Christ's sake. God damn.

Trade you some bone for some hair yo.

Smashed said...

Too bad, man. Glad it's not affected your funny bone, at least.

Good luck and Godspeed.

eRobin said...

Good luck. Here's hoping that you get better without the surgery.

fgfdsg said...

I like how you handle the bad things life throws at you with such good humour.

Bobby, you wanted a guy to lay down covering fire for you? Just look at your damn brother. He'd have a bullet in the guts and still be there for you.

I suddenly wish I'd had a male sibling.

Anonymous said...

You might end up with a bit of Alistair Cooke in you: