On being in pain...

I hate pain. I always have. Pain has never felt good. And pain explains why I've been gone the last three days, at least for my noon show.

When I was six or seven, my hip suddenly gave out. I was doubled over in excruciating pain. A few x-rays later, doctors determined I had what's called Perthes' Disease. In layman's terms, one of my hips is squashed flat, malformed. The disorder also inhibits blood from getting down to the leg, so my left leg is slightly shorter and smaller than my right. If you watch me walk, closely, you'll sometimes notice a limp.

This pic, though kinda pretty, is of my defective left hip.

For about a year and a half I wore a leg brace to try and correct the problem. I saw numerous specialists. There's no cure, just pain management. After wearing a brace for that year and a half, a kindly orthopedist in Spokane, Washington determined the brace was doing no good and I could take it off, for good. I remember running through the Spokane JC Penney's with my sister, looking for new shoes, now that I didn't need the ugly old shoe on the leg brace.

Occasionally over the years it's flared up, but after an attempt to water ski Saturday during a family reunion, I woke up Monday morning in pain, worse than ever. Which brings me to the topic of today's piece.

I love pain medicine, proportionately to the level of my disdain for pain. I think one of the reasons I like it is because, one, it kills the pain. But number two, as a Mormon, I can "legally" get high. Not that getting high is a good thing. But doing something typically "forbidden" is kinda sneaky and fun. Getting high is just gravy.

But getting loopy has its downsides. I'm completely useless. Completely. Sometimes I'll just stare at the wall. And while I don't break into laughter, I can see the humor in it. Only those who've had pain medicine can understand just how hilarious a blank wall can be. A couple of nights ago I laughed uncontrollably at something that a sober brain would find only mildly funny. (Actually now, thinking about it, it WAS pretty funny. My daughter basically told her little brother, "The reason we fight is because you don't do what I say." For some reason, Vicodin makes that SO much funnier.)

At the doctor's office I was told that I would eventually need a total hip replacement. I'm thirty-freakin-six years old. Hip replacement? That's for -- sorry to the older generation out there -- the older generation out there. Not me.

But, he did tell me that I needed to nurse my bum hip for as long as possible. Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. And lots of marital intimacy. (OK, I threw that last one in.) My wife didn't fall for the whole I'll-be-healed-if-we-have-sex-three-times-a-day-for-the-next-two-years pitch. Dangit. That tactic got me the famous "Esther eye roll" and a very non-romantic good-night kiss on the cheek.

Anyway, I think my hip is on the mend. Sadly I'm going to have to give up my voracious appetite to try water skiing every three years, like I have so far. The doc said downhill skiing is probably out as well.

He said I can still crochet, though, so I've got that going for me.

Actually, I should be back to normal soon, biking, hiking, walking. But the upside is that now whenever my wife wants me to take out the garbage or pick up my dirty clothes, I can legitimately say, "Oh, I've got a bad hip, or I would love to."

That will bring another Esther eye-roll.

Most importantly, I can still do talk radio.