I had a standing desk for fucking years. Working at stainless steel counters in kitchens. Listening to vigilantes talk about the dangers of sitting. I think of my knees. A lot of you have tattoos that tell your cooking stories. These two scars are mine. A cook's old knees. *** I was 46 the first time I saw an orthopedic surgeon. He put my x-rays up on the lightbox behind his desk. The back of his leather office chair facing me. Shaking his head. Told me they both needed replacing. But I was too young. *** I waited seven years before I had my first knee done. Expensive gel injection…Traumeel lotion…Epsom salt…electroacupuncture…cortisone shots. Needles in the knee. Let’s talk about the pain of ink. *** I’m not going to bore you with the details. But I’m always up for knee talk. *** From 2009 to 2021, I lived with pain. Twelve years. The last two were the worst. Going up and down stairs was murder. *** Being free of it has been a big relief. My spirit's lifted. The only drawback. The metal in my knees triggers the security sensors. I have to go through a double check at the airport. 1983Comments are closed.
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