Here, let us replace that JOINT!

By Joseph Walther

No! This has nothing to do with “wacky tabaccy.” I’m talking about body joints; you know… knees, elbows, hips. It’s far too detailed and complex to cover in a single article. First, there’s the rationale behind replacing a joint in the first place. Second, there’s the very nature of joint replacement centers, themselves. Next is the actual surgical procedure. And, finally—this is CRITICAL—you’ll need a true, non-edited picture of after-care physical rehabilitation.

I’ve spent considerable time analyzing this stuff. Based on my experience, I’m telling you not to overlook two alternatives: amputation and suicide. Personally, I lean towards the latter. It’s cheaper and there’s NO post-operative pain.

Look, let me explain joint replacement in non-medical terms. Then you folks can make an informed decision as to what to do. I’m coming from the perspective of knee-joint replacement, but the same principles apply to elbows, hips, etc. So, if you think you may want to go through such agony, pay attention—make that NEED; only idiots WANT this.

OK! OK! I already know what some of you are probably thinking. I just thought about it, too. Some people get their rocks on pain. If you’re one of them, email me, maybe we could, you know…get together or something. JUST KIDDING!

Another thing I’m telling you, right up front, is that I’ve eliminated ALL of the marketing brochure, feel good hype. For example, I don’t use the phrase, “initial post-surgical discomfort.” Why? Because there’s no such thing. What you experience is heart-stopping, searing pain—the kind that morphine can’t touch.

So, do you need joint replacement surgery and how much does it cost? The honest answers are; it depends on which surgeon you see first, and a cargo ship full of money. But, if you have insurance, who cares about the cost?

Actually, the insurance companies care. They really do. Of course, it’s not about you, as a person. Insurance companies are conflicted. Life insurance companies want the people they insure to live forever. Health insurance companies want the people they insure to die quickly. The older the insured, the more claims health insurers deny. They can outwait you!

Now, assuming that you’ve decided to undergo the surgery, the next step is to find a place that does it, preferably, one with a low mortality rate. Don’t worry too much about finding such a place, though. The chances are that the orthopedic surgeon who told you that you need surgery will send you to “his” hospital.

Once you’ve settled on where, you’ll need to arrive several hours before the start of your scheduled procedure so that they have plenty of time to get you into their “new” computer system. By the way, they prefer the term “procedure” because it’s not as scary as “surgery.

You’ll check in at the surgical center’s admissions desk, where they’re obligated to say, “Sign this and take a seat. Someone will be out shortly to take care of you.” And, whatever you do, please understand that “shortly” is a secret hospital term that means “around the middle of next week.”

Even though they provide free coffee in the waiting area, YOU can’t have anything—not even water—because you’re going to have a procedure. You have not had anything to eat or drink since last midnight. Only God knows when they’ll give you something to eat or drink. But, yes, they DO validate parking.

Once they get you in the “back,” the fun really begins. First, they start with a game called, “getting you into their computer system.” It begins with simple stuff like name, address, phone number, next of kin; you know… all the stuff you’ve given them at least one hundred times over the phone.

They then up the ante to the more complicated medical history questions, like whether you great, great, great, great first-cousin on your mother’s side ever had gas pains. It goes on and on.

While this is going on, someone hands you one of those hospital robes, the ones that are wide open in the back. You’re supposed to take your clothes off and put it on. They put a patient bracelet on your wrist and start taking your blood. They take it from your arm veins, wrist veins, and any other place they think may contain some blood.

They take your temperature, put another bracelet on your wrist, take some more blood, and give you a couple of “shots” for…um, I not sure why, but you must need them or they wouldn’t give them to you.

While they’re doing this, someone will notice that you still have some color left in the cheeks of your face. God, they hate THAT! So, sure enough, they’ll take some more of your blood and put another bracelet on your wrist.

And, since you’re getting groggy from those earlier shots, they figure it’s a good time to ask some more medical history questions, only more complicated than the earlier ones were.

They look one last time. If there’s still any color left in your face, it means that you still have some blood left and they take it. Of course, this requires another bracelet and another scan. Then you just sit there, nodding off and waiting for someone to take you “to surgery.”

Ok, now you’re on your way. They are taking you to the “OR.” This means operating room. Once inside, they’ll start drawing stuff on your knee, hopefully the correct knee. They’ll soon start administering some anesthesia, but not before placing another patient bracelet on your wrist. They need this one to scan the stuff about the anesthesia.

There’s an interesting twist to this anesthesia stuff when it comes to joint replacement procedures. They don’t actually put you to sleep. They now administer what they call “spinal” anesthesia. It simply numbs everything from a given point, up or down, depending on where they have to operate. They say it’s safer.

Well, at least that’s the current theory. But, what happens if they scan the wrong bracelet? They could mix them up, and scan the wrong stuff in the wrong place. What happens then? A lawyers’ Hootenanny, that’s what’ll happen! But it won’t bother you, though. You’ll probably be dead.

Regardless, since you’re not actually asleep, you can hear everything that’s going on. Did you know that they tell a lot of dirty jokes in the operating room? Think of the sounds made by power saws, hammers, chisels, and power screwdrivers. You get to hear all of these, too, not to mention the realization that they’re using them on YOUR body part.

“EEEWWW, look at THAT,” blurts one of the operating room personnel. “Oh, shi…I mean, oops, where’s the glue?” asks the surgeon. Trust me; being awake may not be all that it’s ballyhooed to be. I wonder how many bracelets it takes to scan THIS stuff.

Mercifully, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, you do fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. The next thing you recall is Frau Helga rousting you to make you sit up in a chair to keep your blood circulating. You’d think she’d have remembered to check the “new” computer system and realized that they took all of your blood in preparation for the procedure.

But, will Frau Helga be around when the bathroom calls? Don’t bet on it. She’ll be busy trying to get some other patient’s bracelets to scan properly.

Summarizing in the interest of space, you’re in for some painful bumps over the next four days. The physical therapy will be nasty. The hospital personnel will lie to you and tell you how great you’re doing, but it’s still going to hurt.

The only thing that will keep you going is the prospect of going home and getting some real sleep. Yes, it’ll still hurt, even after you’re at home, but there’s a liquor store not far from your house.

OK, you’re finally going home, bracelets and all. From this point on, for the next two weeks, additional administration of pain will now be in the hands of a visiting nurse. That’s right; if your insurance covers it, a nurse will come right to your home and hurt you. You won’t have to leave your house at all.

But, on the bright side, you won’t have to scan anything because you don’t have a computer to worry about at home. Well, maybe you do, but that one’s probably just for downloading pornography. OK! Email, too.

Regardless, you’re beginning to feel hopeful again. It still hurts, but not as bad as before. Of course, you can only go up and down stairs once a day: up in the evening to go to bed and down, in the morning, after you wake up for the day.

The fact that the BATHROOM is on the second floor is just tough nuggies. You just have to take your daily dump sitting on a porta-potty in the middle of the kitchen and get someone to take it upstairs to empty it. It could be worse, you think to yourself.

Yeah, right. This is OK for you to think, but I assure you that the person who has to empty the damn thing does not follow your trend of thought!

Still, though, you’re feeling much better about yourself. With each day, there is less pain. You look forward to the day that you’ll be able to go upstairs to the bathroom and go behind a closed door. You look forward to other things, too: going outside and driving your car.

Then, as cockiness increases and without warning, BAM! You’re on a rack in the outpatient physical therapy room, staring right into the eyes of Mistress Marylou. “Vee vill teach you how to bend that knee. Yes, trust me, you VILL learn,” she taunts. PAIN? Up until now, you've had no idea!

From what I can gather, outpatient physical therapy (motto: “Here, let us show you how to BEND that!”) is where you go when you have to satisfy an overwhelming need for more pain…EXCRUCIATING pain, the kind that either makes you pass out or experience an orgasm! If you fall into the latter category, look out; you could have a coronary!

Mistress Marylou, and ALL of her physical therapist associates, is a certified pain specialists. This means that they’ve gone to school to learn how to hurt people and that they’ve ALL passed a standardized pain administration test to prove it. It’s all perfectly legalized assault. Hell, Mistress Marylou even has a PhD.

They’ve scheduled you for no less than ten (one and a half hour) sessions with these people—and, Mistress Marylou is the best. Trust me; before it’s over, you will have slapped yourself in the head and exclaimed, “Boy, I could have had an amputation or, better yet, committed suicide.”

In my opinion, a dentist, drilling through one of your live tooth nerves, without using anesthesia, is less painful than physical rehab therapy. In fact, I’d rather reach back there and yank out bleeding, grossly inflamed hemorrhoids using a pair of industrial sized needle nose pliers. It’d be less painful.

So, there you have it, a real-life picture of the joint replacement hype; a complete portrait with all of the ugliness of facial blemishes, pimples, outright zits, and discolored teeth included. I hope you’ll be in a better position to make a more informed choice when it comes to ALL of your options regarding your screwed up joints: live with the pain, replace the joint, amputation, or suicide.

While the first choice is not really an option, don’t jump into a decision too quickly! Always remember; there are things that can happen to you that are far worse than death. You’ll only die once! Then, no more pain. Think about THAT!

I’ll be back next week unless I have to face a joint replacement procedure. Also, in all fairness and truth relative to the pain of physical rehabilitation therapy, if I have to go through it, I’d definitely want to have Mistress Marylou in charge. She’s the BEST!

Joseph Walther is a freelance writer and publisher of The True Facts. Copyright laws apply to all material on this site. Send your comments. Just click here.