Frankendad

My Dad has been on my mind quite a bit lately. Almost three weeks ago he underwent DOUBLE knee replacement surgery.

He's needed this surgery for years. Ever since I was a kid, I can remember him icing his knees each night, and then later wrapping them each day. In the last few years he's resorted to having doctors administer shots of something or other in them to help keep the waning cartilage lubricated.

I'm not sure what put him over the edge to finally have the surgery. I imagine it became pretty uncomfortable to maneuver in his favorite sports—golf and racquetball. Or maybe the icing and wrapping became too much of a pain. Either way, it was obvious to everyone who saw him that he couldn't keep going on the knees he had.

I think originally his knee problem stemmed from a high school football injury. When my Dad was 16 or so, he weighed about 125 pounds (I'd guess), stood 5'8" (or so), and was a wiry little sucker (and if you've ever met my brother, Tim, you'd know exactly what that description looks like). At any rate, from the stories I've heard, Dad was a football superstar—not an easy feat given that he grew up in the football motherland of Massillon, Ohio (near Akron). Those high school coaches are still churning out draft picks today.

And all these years, his knees have been on the decline. Poor guy!

When he had his surgery, I wasn't able to be there. My work schedule, the three-hour drive, and plans I'd already made kept me from his hospital room. I did check in with him regularly (as much as you can when the patient is heavily drugged!), and my mom kept me filled in on the finer details.

Mom sent me pictures this week of his knees in recovery. I was quite surprised! The incisions were relatively small, very clean, and held together by a handful of shiny, silver staples. Something about those raw (even though quite precise and surgical-looking) seams reminded me of Frankenstein (sorry dad... I'm sure that's not the look you're going for!). Check out what I mean:



Frankendad or not, I'm glad he's okay, and that he's on the mend. Mom told me yesterday that he's walking up and down stairs already, driving (!) himself around, and seems to be rapidly improving. I don't think it'll be long before he's back out on the golf course, happily shooting the back nine with the assistance of his cart.

I'm cheering for him and wishing him an even speedier recovery.