I’m Getting Old. My Hip Hurts Me.

Back-pain is fine.

Everybody gets back-pain.  Athletes get back-pain.  Footballers. 

Back-pain doesn’t label you, it’s just a fact of life.

Hip pain is a whole different kettle of lobsters though.  Hip pain is a real milestone in the decrepitude stakes.  That’s one you won’t quickly admit to colleagues or friends.

I have a pain in my hip.

No.  Sorry.  Can’t see that happening.  I’d rather say I have AIDS or scrofula.

Hip pain.  If I told my children I had a sore hip, that would be the start of a very rapid decline for me.  Even their language would change, subtly.  You see, up to now, if I happen to trip over something while dragging great baulks of timber around the garden or hauling concrete blocks out of a demolished wall, or strangling a crocodile, one of my kids might just mention it to the other:

Dad fell.

Did he?  Is he all right?

Yeah.  He just fell over something.

But if they knew I had a stiff hip, they wouldn’t say that.  Instead it would be Dad had a fall.


And they’d frown at each other.  A fall, eh?

Yeah.  He had a fall.

It won’t end there.  As time progresses, the language will turn even darker and the frowns will become furrows.

Dad had one of his falls.

Really?  One of his falls? Maybe we should consider …

Nah.  He’ll be fine. 

Even that won’t be the worst.  After a couple more years will come the absolute pits:

Dad had another fall last night.

Another one!  Shit, we’ll have to …

Yeah.  I think we will …

I’m keeping quiet about this hip.  It’s probably just a strain.


14 thoughts on “I’m Getting Old. My Hip Hurts Me.

  1. It’s when they start slicing the tennis balls in half to slip over the feet of the walker they’ve secretly bought you in anticipation.Thats when you should get worried.

  2. Bite the bullet soonest. Get the op. Devote six weeks to being like a genuine cripple and then marvel at why you didn’t do it sooner. Hip ops have to be one of the high points in human civilisation, if not the actual summit. Which you can reach, no bother, if you get a shiny new plastic pain-free hip.

    My thruppence.

  3. No fucking surrender Bock, you must keep falling and falling down á la Micky Douglas is a good way to fall down hard and then, hang on with cold bare hands to the pride which comes before that fall ( a quick aside, remember the fall triplets who used to play with Richmond), but under no circumstances allow the snappers to even hint about “ a fall”. Fucking respect is due here.

    My left hip is going gammy though and it’s just not funny anymore. I wake up from lying on it. Apparently the op. which Nick talks about is a life changing thing. You ready for a life changing thing Bock?

  4. Lads, the hip isn’t that bad. It’s just giving a little twinge now and then, and that could have been caused by dragging the concrete mixer up a ramp last week. I don’t think I’ll be calling the sawbones yet.

    And no, Sam. I don’t have gout, though oddly enough as we speak I’m having a nice glass of port with some Stilton and biscuits.

  5. Don’t even joke about that killer gout, Bock, I once made the near fatal mistake of drinking Heineken during one of our rare summer evenings.

    Following morning a red spot visible from space took over the area formerly occupied by my big toe and the ball of my foot had an alien with a lump hammer trying to get out by the shortest throbbing route.

    You may have a good idea who my Quack is when I tell you he fucked me from a height for drinking that brew “it’s full of salt, no wonder your leg blew up” and warned me never again to stray from Uncle Arthur’s Black Elixir.
    And the cure for that hopping clump of a thing would have had me eliminated from the Horse jumping at any Olympics.

    Anyway have a few tomatoes and some bacon rind to help the Stilton & Port down, no point me piling on the misery. And polish it off with a little dark chocolate.

  6. I’m not sure how to identify your quack without getting too specific.

    Does he have a beard and is he married to a well-known public representative?

  7. concrete mixer up a ramp? that’s what teens are for!
    Have a twinge or twa mysel, darned my daredevil youthful days…I still like a good rappell, though…less work, but
    I don’t recommend drinking and riding (horses)

  8. NO! not gout its horrible just horrible.I dont drink and I have been known to get it, its in our blood!

    Actually our uric acid but the Irish are the most afflicted with it.

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