Hell on Wheels

My dad needs new knees. Much like Batman’s, there is no cartilage in them and the doctor does not recommend heliskiing.

The top image is of a normal set of knees. The bottom one is of Dad’s knees that are soon to be replaced with bionic ones. Meanwhile, he doesn’t let those cushion-free knees stop him from enjoying life, as he proved on our recent family trip to Mexico. He had a blast lounging with my mom, hanging with my sisters, and tossing around his grandkids in the pool.

But there is one part of the trip that he was not very fond of. He needed a wheelchair to get through the crazy line at Customs. The line-waiting would have been torture on his knees. We had to practically knock him into the chair. He hated feeling like he was losing his ability to do things that were once a simple part of life. He hated needing that help.

My sisters and I didn’t like seeing him in a wheelchair. But it was exceptionally cringe-worthy for me. I caught a glimpse of the future that may be in store for me. I might end up needing to be assisted through a crowded airport.

I know that I am not definitely fated for this. I might never even need a cane for support. I might never have an attack again. I am taking a weekly shot to slow down the progression, and I just had another MRI to see if the medicine is working. It just may be.

Let's face facts. The odds are good that I will need some form of walking assistance during some portion of my life. But, here is the upside of needing walking assistance:

You get escorted through security, allowing you to make your very tight connection. You get to ride in a pimped out golf cart. You never are the one designated to get drinks at the bar. You can hit insolent children with your cane.

And when it’s my time someday, I’m getting a kick-ass walker.

Chairs with wheels may be in my future, but until then, I’m on boots with wheels, thank you very much.