Your Old Friend

Many years ago (like 1975-ish) Bob wrote a poem entitled: “My Old Friend, Pain”. He has been acquainted with orthopedic pain more than the average person, mostly from the childhood bike-riding accident where he was hit by a car, thrown 30 feet, and then run over by the same car! Because of the lasting effects, he’s had 2 hip replacements and 2 knee replacements, and, then, of his own doing broke 2 vertebrae and one ankle, which was severe enough to still cause pain 22 years later. The last hip replacement was just earlier this month, and he is now in the recovery stages. This poem was written by our daughter, Eve, and was inspired by his poem on pain:

Your old friend - pain
Is back again
To humble
And to sharpen
But if you turn your head just right
You start to see reflected light
The contrast, starkly defined
Joy and health - the other side
Without Old Pain
They're undefined
And lacking in their meaning
You've had your share of suffering
A companion through the years
It's played a role
Sometimes a starring part
But you've kept an open heart
You remain
In Pain
But empathetic to the plight
And hopeful for the dawn
You've emerged
Battle - scarred, but wiser
Tired, but kinder
A man who understands
You can't have day without the night
You can't know peace without the fight
Your old friend Pain is back again
Your body heals
Here you stand
Intact
A wounded, but unbroken man.


I’m Fine

I'm fine; there is nothing whatever the matter with me.
I'm just as healthy as can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees, 
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
I think my liver is out of whack, 
And a terrible pain is in my back.
My hearing is poor; my sight is dim.
Most everything seems to be out of trim.
My days, my doctor says are few,
Every week he finds something new.
And the way I stagger sure is a crime.
I'm likely to drop most any time.
I jump like mad at the drop of a pin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
I have arch supports for both my feet, 
Or I wouldn't be able to walk the street.
Sleeplessness I have night after night,
And in the morning, I'm a perfect fright.
My memory is failing.  My sight is dim,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

The moral is:  As this tale unfolds,
That for you and I who are growing old,
T'is better to say, "I'm fine", with a grin,
Cause it surely will help the shape you are in.

I found this poem (untitled), handwritten in an old file among scraps of geneological tidbits, from Bob's family.  It's not his handwriting, so I won't attribute it to him.  I have no idea who wrote it and probably should not be posting it.  If anyone knows the author, please let me know.  Perhaps his Grandma Davis wrote it.  She was very expressive in writing.

Nevertheless, I like it because it fits with events of the past few weeks.  Bob was finally able to get a new hip replacement a few days ago.  Everyone who works at a hospital looks just barely old enough to be in high school.  All of them.  His surgeon must have begun medical school in kindergarten!.  As they recorded the necessary information, they were amazed that we had been married almost 48 years.  And I reflected on our present physical and mental health--comparing it to our early years of marriage--and reluctantly admitted that we had changed.  A lot.

Bob's marathons have been traded in for shuffles to the car.  My foot was in such bad shape the night before his surgery, that I wondered how I'd get him up to surgery.  Bob's legs and ankle are generously marked from previous surgery scars.  We use grabbers and canes.

And I wondered what happened to all those decades?  Wasn't it just last spring when we planned our wedding?  Isn't getting old for our aunts and uncles and grandparents? --  but never for us!