Hip Letter

Dear Right Hip,
I. Hate. You.  Over the last 10 years you've let me down.  Disappointed me.  Betrayed me.  Made me miserable.  I know I've always been a little rough on you, and I know that evening in February 2002 I was really hateful...but only because I had faith in you that you could handle any task.  You seemed to get back in working order for a while before you started to occassionally get angry and let me know every few months...and when it rained (you made me feel like I was 90...thanks).  You were tolerant enough to let me dance and run on you through college...it's almost like you knew I really HAD to do those things before you really rebelled.  I think you plotted with my left ankle, told her to go first, then you would handle the grande finale...and you did an excellent job of that.  I know I called you names, like "Granny Hip", but you were acting like it and it was my way of showing affection for you (we both knew it decreased daily, but you started it).  In the winter and spring of 2010, I just couldn't take it anymore.  You didn't like the doctor anymore than I did, so you put on a show to be something you weren't for the next 5-6 months.  I think you did it just to get back at me.  You made them poke huge needles into you (my hip joint) filled with cortisone thinking it would fix everything, but it did nothing.  So, after my doc gave up on that, she sent us to the same ortho who tamed the ankle (she knows what she did) who tortured us with physical therapy (I think it hurt me more than you, so don't give me the line about how it hurt you more) before deciding your issues couldn't be handled with physical torture (therapy).  That's when we went to the surgeon who sent us to a Radiologist (absent minded king of torture) so he could get a better idea of why you were so mad.  You made the Radiologist poke another huge (even bigger than before needle) in you and inject lots of dye...but not before you whispered in his ear that it was my shoulder as a joke and he started to do all this on the wrong joint before he closed his mouth long enough for me to get a word in.  Anyway, you made us land back in a huge white tube (you must have talked to my kidneys and hear it was fun or something).  You finally showed the doctor why you were really mad...your femur head wasn't shaped right (it's ok, we can't all be perfect, but that's no reason to take it out on me) and you were all torn up inside (literally...you let the bone get the best of you and tear your cartilage-labrum to be exact).  Even after all the attention to your personal problems and a surgical fixing (I know you didn't like being forcefully dislocated, but that's no reason to continue to gripe about it 9 months later...you aren't a baby) you are still punishing me.  You took your sweet time healing, and I gave you a break (I did the recumbant bike, you didn't feel a thing).  The doctor said we were both okay to start running again, so we were back at it...keep in mind that I still give you frequent breaks with the elliptical where you aren't pounded.  But you still rebel, and hurt like you are holding a personal grudge....it's time to GET OVER IT.  We will both be happier.  You will not ruin my life.  For now, we are stuck together.  Remember, you can always be replaced...and I won't hesitate to do it.  We both know the guy who can do it, and he remembers your sour attitude...I'm sure he will be happy to get rid of you.

Minimal Love,
The Human Whose Body You Reside In