Knee Replacement 1: Is it Time?

2. Knee Replacement 2: Is It Time?

Even though we live in an era of second chances, I don’t think that most people get into late middle life, and in response to the pain of wearing out body parts, turn immediately to, Okay, it’s time, let’s just replace the suckers.

I have close friends and family members who question the wisdom of my decision to get both knees replaced. They would prefer that I chill and take up shuffleboard. Maybe just be normal for once.

But if you hang out with the people I’ve spent my life around—skiers, hockey players, motorcyclists, entrepreneurs, risk takers—replacing broken-down body parts is not a novel concept at all. It’s more of a when question than an if. They aren’t likely to be the ones who go gentle into that good night.

More of the rage, rage against the dying of the light types.

Sure, you could stop most of the pain by stopping the thing that’s causing it. Stop going into the mountains, the ocean, the desert. Settle down, old dog. But what if that thing—skiing with your children, spending time on bikes with the people you love, playing hockey with your favorite friends—is what gets you out of bed in the morning? The answer, for me anyway, is you don’t give up the things that you love. Not without a fight. Do whatever it takes to live your best life, for you and the people who love you. But when is the pain so bad that you’re willing to undergo much more of it, invest substantial time and money, to roll the dice on eliminating it?

For me, the answer was obvious. It came circa December 2023, sixty something years into a lifelime of knee-bashing—moguls, motorcycles, ice hockey, etc. I’d talked about the looming double knee replacement since my 40th birthday, and prolonged the lifespan of my knees with surgeries, PT, long hours on the bike, PRP, cortisone, and rooster juice injections. But no matter the therapy, my knees always reverted to the mean, and for me, that meant an enormous amount of pain. And then a moment came that made it glaringly obvious that the expiration date had run out on my OEM knees.

I was in one of my favorite places on earth, Little Cottonwood Canyon, with my two best ski buddies, my daughter Grace (then 20) and son Liam (then 18). It was snowing hard enough to have warranted a road closure, but not so hard that they had to close the lifts. One foot, two? Who knows? Deep snow, with not many people skiing, and I’m with my kids.

As good as it gets.

We’ve just skied Upper Silver Fox together, pausing for a moment at the top of Rock Chute. Both kids opt for the little left-hand goat path cut out that takes you around Rock Chute and into Lower Hanging Bowl. But I wanted no part of that traverse; there are several down/up whoop-dees that even when you hit them perfectly, throw you into the back seat. This is a move that sends electrical surges of pain from knee to brain, and it’s one that I don’t have an answer for. So, I avoid it. When you’ve been skiing a hill since 1984 and your knees went out of warranty in the 1990s, you know exactly where the pain-producing terrain hides.

So, the kids disappear somewhere off to my left, while I drop into the white-out in front of me. Taking it up the wall to the right, I get a nice high-side turn into a smooth drop to an untracked pillow. The landing hurts both knees, but then I’m in the untracked. I can’t see it, but I know that the next hundred yards are wide open, and I just let go. Steer, bounce, turn, gulp of air. Steer, bounce, turn, gulp of air.

Emerging from the white, I see two figures to my left, standing, backs to the wind.

How was it over there? I ask as I pull up.

Soooo good, says Grace.

I went over there, skier right on Rock Chute.

We know, says Grace.

We heard every turn you made, says Liam.

What?

Yep, every one.

Heard what, I’m thinking. I wasn’t hitting rocks, wasn’t hooting like a powder-mad flatlander.

We heard every fuck, fuck, ug, fuck, fuck, ug, fuck, fuck..., says Liam.

No, not really, I say, looking from one child to the other.

Really, says Liam.

Sorry, Dad, says Grace.

When you can’t do the things that you love with the people you love, and you have a way, however painful and expensive and time-consuming, to fix that, what wouldn’t you try?