Don't tell if asked

Ninety five percent of the time, if not ninety eight, I'm fine. Really. I can nearly always function at work and at home, lifting and moving things as required. But the affects of ageing are still there.

Yesterday for example I spent most of the day with my hip bothering me enough that I was indeed having trouble functioning. I sat a lot, stretched out on the couch or the bed a lot. No amount of ibuprofen seemed to help. I simply had to resign myself to hip pain until it decided to alleviate itself.

Yet that's not the worst part of it. The worst part is knowing that in about nine years I'll need to have that hip replaced. I wouldn't know that if I hadn't been stupid enough to mention to my doctor about a year ago that my hip hurt.

You know how that goes. You're just in for a regular, routine checkup and he asks how you are. "Well, my hip bugs me a bit doc," you answer. So after about five minutes of stretching and manipulation he says, "I'm thinking you're about ten years from a hip replacement."

Thanks Doc. That means that every time that my hip hurts like yesterday I think things along the lines of, well, one year of that ten years is past. It's something to look forward to I suppose. But the next time I see him, at my regular scheduled exam in April 2020, and he asks 'How are you Mr. Cosgriff?' unless I am experiencing crushing chest pain or the like, I will simply answer, fine.