Pimp My Walker

The ice on the parking lot that forced me to waddle like a penguin with a lame knee should have been a more recognizable harbinger of what that Friday was to bring, but I didn’t realize it at the time. In fact, I wouldn’t realize much until later, when the drugs wore off.

Earlier that morning, before my ten year old sprinted across the snow and bounded up the steps of his school bus on two good knees, we prayed for my bad ones, the left of which was to undergo surgery shortly.

After praying for my son’s day, he asked how I would specifically like him to pray for mine. Let me just say it up front: I hate anesthesia. I don’t like feeling I’ve lost control. It’s not my body I worry about. It’s this big mouth of mine. I talk under anesthesia and other strong medications and I am pretty sure I am the ONLY one interested in my conversation.

Example: It was morphine that coaxed my brain and my mouth into thinking it was perfectly okay to refer to my three pastors as “Curly, Moe and Larry.” To their faces. (That’s not to say I would ever call you fellas that behind your backs!) It was nitrous oxide that whispered something hysterically funny in my ear, causing me to slide like a slimy snail down the wall of my dentist’s office, leaving me so limp with laughter that it took the dentist, his assistant and my sister together to pour me into the car so I could be driven home.

No sir. I do not like anesthesia.

So that was my prayer request of my son….to pray that the surgery would go well and there would be no issues with the anesthesia.

God bless that boy of mine. He can pray the house down when he has a mind to. He interceded for me in a big way and my heart was moved because I could tell this kid has been spending time in prayer on his own. I was certain he had God’s ear. Even right up through when he asked the Sovereign Creator of the Universe to make sure everything went well with my “amnesia.”

Amnesia. Ahhh. If only….

I arrived at the surgical center a little later that morning, accompanied by my intrepid partner in crime….my older sister. Does anyone else have an older sister who makes you laugh at the absolute most inappropriate times? Or who can lay waste to your dignified demeanor just by making eye contact with you? That is my sister….a riot looking for a place to happen.

Knowing I needed to have my knee repaired but not looking forward to the pain that was to come, I was a little aggravated that the surgical nurse would page me on time. Is it NOT in the oath required of medical personnel to make their patients wait until madness nearly sets in before calling them for their appointment? How DARE she be on time! And to add insult to injury, she was a cute, perky little thing whose every word and every move dripped with reassuring sweetness that implied everything was going to be just fine. I almost fell for it until she asked which leg they were working on for me. DON’T THEY KNOW???

Little “Miss Cute And Perky” left the room and was promptly replaced by “Miss Tall, Blonde and All Legs Perky.” Know what she asked me? Yeah! “Which leg are we working on for you today?” For crying out loud!!! Are you SERIOUS?

Know what else I totally don’t get? Hospital gowns. Why bother? Miss Tall, Blonde and All Legs Perky handed me a gown and said “It ties in the back.” WHO CAN GET THEIR ARMS BACK THERE, SISTER? Do I LOOK like a lithe contortionist? No! I am ROUND, sweetie. That’s how I roll!

Well, I got into the gown, but could only get it tied around my neck. Every time I took a step, the resulting breeze caused it to billow open like a Superman cape made from your grandma’s ugly old curtains. The view must not have been too pretty, either, because Miss Tall, Blonde and All Legs Perky said “Oh HONEY! Let’s get you tied up in back!” Am I the ONLY one who has noticed that even if you were to duct-tape a hospital gown shut that it would STILL fly open at your most vulnerable spots? I humored her and stood still while she battened-down my hatches.

A few moments later, now on the gurney and waiting to be taken to surgery, I looked up to see my doctor stroll in. He was in far too good of a mood, blue eyes twinkling like (as my sister would later tell him) Santa Claus’. Know what he asked me? You do TOO! And no, I am NOT kidding! He asked which knee we were working on!!! They gave me a big old purple surgical marker and told me to put an “X” on the knee he was supposed to fix. (Small wonder that he did not ask me to draw a map of where “x” marks the spot!)

No sooner was I wheeled into surgery than I was waking up and it was all over. After I came back to myself, my sister told me that she had told my surgeon – as I knew she would – that his eyes twinkled just like Santa Claus’. I am sure that flattered him to no end. Every man wants to be seen as dangerous. This poor guy…he’s dangerous like Santa. And I am the one who has to go back and face him while trying not to burst out laughing. See, my sister is trouble even when she is NOT around.

The surgical center outfitted me with a walker before I left. Learning to use it has been quite an experience. Right away I found it much easier to go backwards than forwards. I am sure there is a spiritual lesson in that somewhere. And I’ve been thinking, too, about how I might “soup up” my walker.

My son wants to paint flames on it to give the illusion that I am moving fast. Personally, I would like a single headlight, a bicycle horn, basket and turn signals. I also want driving gloves so I can at least look cool…and I may hang my license plates from my bum so I can be street legal. A friend who pastors a church told me I need a “honk if you love Jesus” bumper sticker for my backside, too.

What do you think?

Come up with ideas to “pimp my walker” and as a thank you, I’ll let you hang out with my sister. Really.