Front Porch: Life keeps rolling along, even with a bad hip

Just when I was feeling pretty good about my life, Father Time slapped me in the face.

Well, not the face exactly … the hip.

I am already the owner of two titanium knees and one titanium hip, but now my right hip has turned to dust. Well, not dust exactly, but rather a complicated mess of things, including (but not limited to) stress fractures in my femur, just under the hip cartilage.

I can no longer bear weight on my right leg without a lot of pain and an immediate limp. For a variety of reasons, a new hip is in order, the scheduling for which will take several months. Meantime, I’ve returned to using a walker to enable me to get about without too much pain.

This column is not intended to be an old lady’s rant about her decrepitude, but rather about friendship and how it can rescue you from the doldrums. The first couple of paragraphs just sets the stage for the story to follow.

I have a friend, Pat, with who m I have lunch at times throughout the year. She’s still a pup, as far as I’m concerned, in her mid-60s and still working, so those lunches are a bit hit or miss. We often visit via text.

Because at our last lunch, I arrived with walker, she’s followed up on the progress of my diagnosis. Frankly, I’ve gotten a bit blue.

It’s not just the hip, but what seems to be a piling on of issues that interfere with how I’m trying to live my life as an older woman in a society where many (most?) of us feel invisible. I’m understanding better the old adage about the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

On a happier note, I did write two weeks ago that in mid-October I’d be getting together with a group of dynamic women I count as friends for a long-overdue and hard-to-get-on-the-calendar gathering. That’s today, and, if all goes as planned, I’ll be arriving with walker to enjoy their company.

Things could be worse.

When I got this latest diagnosis, I fell into a pool of semi-depression. My husband and I have a trip scheduled in early January with our youngest son and his husband. It’s a celebratory trip marking some significant milestones, and we’ve put some effort into it. We’re going top-drawer – even flying first class for once – and my son-in-law and I are doing most of the planning.

Another trip is just beginning to be organized for late January with our oldest son, for the same celebratory reason. I’ve been planning to write about these trips and their significance when the calendar flips over into 2026.

But can we – or should we – go out adventuring with me being, as the literature politely puts it, uncomfortable and mobility impaired? I don’t want to limit what the others do on the trip, nor cause them to feel discomfort at going off and doing things without me, which I would insist on them doing. (Postponing the journey comes with a whole set of other problems due to work and assorted other issues.)

Big fat blue funk.

And then Pat said: “A lot of people take trips with walkers, wheelchairs and scooters, and they still have a great time. I think it will have be to framed by the people you’re with while you’re experiencing and celebrating good times and seeing new, cool things and adventures, right?”

That reminded me of the many times I’ve seen people in wheelchairs at the airport. This summer, when I flew to California to visit with a friend, there was a man checking in ahead of me – in a wheelchair, traveling alone and checking in several pieces of luggage.

On that trip, I requested wheelchair service from gate to baggage claim at the Oakland airport to give my already-beginning-to-bark hip a break. So, there is a lot that’s doable if I let my mind expand to consider the possibilities.

Pat also told me a story from her own life. Many years ago, she was on vacation with family members in the tropics. Being northwesterners not attuned to the intensity of the sun closer to the equator, she and her husband brutally sunburned the tops of their feet.

“Those second- and third-degree burns were red, bubbly and painful for the rest of the trip. But we made the best of it and refused to let it ruin our time. We used tons of ice, aloe vera, ibuprofen and rum punch!”

She said that when they think back on that trip, what they remember is all the fun they had. “Now and then we joke about the burned feet – a temporary medical issue – but it’s not top of mind.”

Our planned trips in January would involve a lot of touristy walking. I can use a wheelchair for the more extensive outings. Sadly but conveniently, there are friends in our age range with wheelchairs to lend. For short walks, the walker will work.

It’s doable, though not optimal. I just had to pout for a day or two and have a friend jump-start me to see this as a challenge, not an obstacle.

For now, I use the walker around the house; I have a loaner walker (our friends also have walkers to lend) I keep in the car so I can easily drive off to do what I need to do, wherever I need to do it. I’ve made a few other physical accommodations and adjustments to maintain a relatively normal life. It’s been mandated: no more yard work for me this year.

And, unless things change radically or my doctor comes to advise against travel, we’ll be off making new memories this January, centered around some significant passages in our lives, and with the people we love most in this world, and who love us right back. Everyone’s on board.

Our son Sam suggested they could do wheelies with me when I’m in the wheelchair, which is more appropriate than it should be. We did that very thing with him when he was in one due to a broken arm and leg when he was 6 and we were in the parking lot at the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle, waiting for the gates to open.

Everybody gets a turn.

So, I’m thankful to Pat for being the kind of friend I needed at just the right moment. I love her last words on the subject:

“At least you weren’t planning a 5K run, skiing or a 12-mile mountain hike.”

Yeah, there’s that!

Voices correspondent Stefanie Pettit can be reached by email at upwindsailor@comcast.net