Knee Jerk

The knee doctor

I've known something was wrong with my knee for quite a while. In fact I've had twinges of pain for years, and knowing my family's history of knee problems I should have been more proactive. It wasn't until I was lying on the side of the street, dragged down by Chandler while he chased lizards, that I finally admitted I should see a specialist. It's got so bad that I've had to make concessions. When Mark and I go out, my first piece of business is to find a place to park my ass. Often you'll see me sitting at the bar with Mark standing, wedged between me and the next occupied bar stool. He is ten years younger, and it doesn't bother him, but it still looks bad. You know, the old white guy making the black guy stand while he takes the primo seat. In fact the more I think about it, with Mark driving me everywhere, cooking my dinners, and doing my shopping, it sometimes has the appearance of the old south around here.

Anyway, I finally went to a knee doctor, and this Friday I'm getting the knee 'scoped'. I'm not exactly sure what that means other than I'll have a television camera, and a laser beam inserted into the knee. The doctor will then do some kind of magic, and within a few weeks it should be like I was forty years old again. Until then I think I'll be on some good pain killers, and Mark will have to wait on me day and night. Once again, it will look suspiciously like the old south. However, we will be in the privacy of our own home, and believe me, it may look like the mean old white man is bossing the poor black guy around, but the reality is Mark controls this house. I just walk the dogs, take out the garbage, wash the dishes, mop the floors, and generally do the household cleaning. Mark will do anything to get me back on my feet.