by cindy

I done been sprung!

Date of Surgery: March 15

Start of Physical Therapy: April 2

Release from Physical Therapy: May 14

All done, thankyouverymuch.

I feel like a million bucks, I do. I would dance if I could. If I could.

But I can’t, for reasons not even related to knees, old or new. The problem is an issue of coordination. And lack of grace. AND possibly an inability to remember my left from my right. Little things like that. Ahem.

Some have tried to teach me that delicate art, the first being “Mr. Louie” during after-school lessons when I was in elementary school. It cost 25 cents for the tap lessons which were held on the little stage in the school’s little auditorium. Each of us would place our quarter in a basket and then take our assigned spots on stage. I was, not surprisingly, in the back row and actually quite happy there. It didn’t occur to me until much later that the back-row-beauties were the ones who could not dance, no way, no how.

Mr. Louie always held his arms gracefully out to his side, with the thumbs, index, and little fingers gently extended. It was months, maybe years, before I realized why he held his fingers in such a manner: while one hand held the two middle fingers down toward the palm, the other hand was altogether missing the top two-thirds of those two fingers. I never discovered what had happened to them, though I often wondered why it took me so long to notice their absence. Perhaps being so far in the back had something to do with that. Oh, and maybe being near-sighted.

My second dance teacher was affectionately called “The Tap Nazi”. This wisp of a teacher could bark orders like none other. In a bout of temporary insanity, I had agreed to perform onstage as one of several extra (as in unnecessary and inconsequential) nuns in the musical Nunsense. The role required a certain amount of tap dancing. (It also required singing but we are not even going there. My dancing was bad enough.) The Tap Nazi managed miraculously to teach the group of us “dance-challenged” hoofers the appropriate steps in the correct sequence. This effort required many evenings of remedial dance rehearsals, held downstairs on the concrete floor of our basement. If a rehearsal went particularly well, the Tap Nazi rewarded us with cookies she had filched from my kitchen. I can’t say I ever mastered the routine but I did like the purple tap shoes. And the cookies.

Dance failures aside, I am simply delighted to have two well-functioning knees. Let’s hope they’re the last of the replacement body parts for quite a while, yes? YES!