I went to see an orthopedist in Vermont. I had some nasty falls in Hebron, at the first Bedlam Farm, and one of my doctors thought I might be having residual trouble with my right hip. The doctor was brisk and efficient and very confident – like most male  doctors, he didn’t say a single word more than was necessary, and we were together about five minutes.

My basic theory of medicine is to try and see female doctors and nurse-practitioners, they will talk to you if they can. I guess to be honest, I heard what I needed to hear, “your hips are fine.” I was quite prepared to hear that I needed a new one.

The X-ray technician was fun, the process of wandering around the medical center in a hospital gown with my butt sticking out was a bit on the de-humanizing side, but I was more than lucky. My hips are in great shape after six decades, said the doctor, I will have them the rest of my life.

This was good news, I am keen on my body parts, I already have a refurbished heart and want to keep the rest of my bones and organs. This was big news for me, as I have a passion for walking.
The doctor thought my muscle difficulties were a kind of sciatica, and he said it was quite treatable, I already know the stretching and exercises, I think.

As I get older, I suppose I am more resigned than before to doing some serious maintenance work on my body, but I am perhaps too willing, perhaps,  to be pessimistic. Older people do a lot of lamenting about their bodies, I try and avoid that.

I am delighted that my hips are strong, and I welcome them to the rest of my life.

For good measure, and in the interest openness, I took a photo of my hip with my Iphone, and decided to share it.