Falling Apart

Outta Leftfield
Published: Wednesday, May 19, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Emergence of ‘grump bone’ leaves him without a leg to stand on

Morsch recently underwent minor knee surgery. From that bit of information, I am guessing that he will present the "comical" idea of a "grump bone," in contrast to the "funny bone," because he knee hurts or some such. Let's see...

If the hip bone is connected to the thigh bone and the thigh bone is connected to the knee bone, then I can only assume that given the recent series of events in my life, the knee bone is connected to the … grump bone.

Delicious. Continue.

That would explain why I’m so cranky after knee surgery last week. Had I known that my post-surgery mood would be so sour, I would have asked the orthopedic surgeon to make an adjustment on the grump bone while he was fishing around inside my knee.

This is, I must say, a particularly lame premise. How is he going to get another six or eight paragraphs out of this? For the few people who were initially amused by the idea of a "grump bone," I would imagine it's already grown thin.

As a walker, I kind of need my knees to complete that particular activity.

"A walker"... that's like a fish bragging about being "a swimmer."

I walk between 20 and 25 miles a week, at what might be considered a fairly brisk pace for a lug of my girth. To provide some context, I usually time my walks with a calendar, so “brisk” is a relative term in this instance, measured not in minutes but in days.

I'm sorry, I hardly think that 20 to 25 miles in an entire week is all that great. I probably do that walking back and forth from the bathroom and the printer at work.

With that approach, one would think serious injuries would not be a concern. It’s walking, for criminny sakes. But over the past five years, I’ve blown out both knees and an Achilles tendon just walking around the park.

This might be a warning sign, like peeing your pants when you sneeze. Morsch is like the Toyota Prius of humans - overrated and full of defects.

Those are by no means pleasant injuries and it continues to baffle me how these injuries occur. Did I mention I was just walking?

Idea - you're fat and lazy. Other men your age are running marathons. Those men aren't shoving hot dogs down their throat every evening.

Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m the guy who threw his back out … ironing. That’s right, I was standing at the ironing board pressing a shirt several years ago and my back went out on me. I was in discomfort for several weeks because of an ironing mishap for crying out loud. I could not make that up if I tried.

That is sad. I mean seriously, that is sad. The slightest physical activity causes this man's body to fall apart.

So about six weeks ago, my right knee began barking at me during my walks. Since I had experienced the same thing five years ago on my left knee, I was pretty sure I knew what had happened.

Morsch also complained that walking on cement floors causes him pain. My mind boggles.

A visit to the orthopedic surgeon — Dr. Thomas Greene of North Penn Orthopaedic Associates in Lansdale, a swell fellow who it turns out is a whiz with the knife (a valuable skill for a surgeon) — confirmed what I already knew: a torn meniscus. I have no idea what that means — I thought Meniscus was the Roman god of knee-jerk reactions — but it did hurt like the dickens.

Hey-oh! Normally, with stupid, irrelevant things that he finds on the Internet, Morsch does some research. With something that directly relates to his health, he seems not to care. I'm beginning to see how he ended up like this.

Now my approach from the beginning was to get this surgery done as quickly as possible and get back outside for my walks. Two things I failed to consider: (1) I’m not as young as I used to be; (2) My knees are not as young as I used to be.

Obviously.

What this means is that my body responded differently to surgery this time than it did five years ago. For some reason, I don’t recall missing any work after the surgery and I’m pretty sure I was out walking within a few days afterward.

Would missing work even be necessary? I suspect that most of Morsch's day involves sitting in a chair and trying to jab one key at a time with his bloated hot dog fingers.

In reality, that’s not likely what happened five years ago after the first knee surgery but because I am older now, I forget a lot of things. And I forget that I forget those things.

He pops and tears things while walking; he throws his back out ironing; he completely forgets major events in his life. How has he survived this long?

And that in turn caused the grump bone to be front and center this time around.

The surgery itself was uneventful, although it did hurt like a sonofagun in the immediate aftermath. The doctor mentioned to The Blonde Accountant after the surgery that my knee looked relatively yucky (a medical term I suppose) once he got in there and took a look around. My guess is that all that damage occurred from long periods of standing over and ironing board.

I think you mean "an" ironing board. I would imagine that his knee contains 30% bone, 10% tendon, and 60% mustard and relish.

But the doc cleaned everything up. Of course, I had to wear a hospital gown for the procedure and I had several people that day at Lansdale Hospital — a fine facility with a wonderful group of professionals who took great care of me — ask me if I had removed my undershorts prior to the surgery. I was unaware that the facility had a No Undershorts in the Hospital Rule, but I complied nonetheless.

This conjures up a lot - a LOT - of disturbing images. And all the superlatives he's heaping on the doctors, the hospital, etc etc are wearying.

And while I’m questioning hospital procedure, what’s with the hospital gowns that feature a breast pocket? Of course the gowns are not meant to be stylish, but I couldn’t help think that if I had a nice matching handkerchief to put in that breast pocket, I would have looked a bit more dapper heading into the operating room.

Woah there, Mr. Seinfeld! What's up with airline peanuts?

Or at least as dapper as one can look with one’s hind end, sans undershorts, hanging out of a hospital gown.

I just threw up. In my mouth.

(Further research indicates that the pocket is called a “telemetry pocket” and is designed to hold a telemetry machine, which monitors whether or not one still has his undershorts on underneath the gown. It would have been funnier if it was called a “hoagie pocket” and one could carry around an extra sandwich.)

You know maybe - just maybe - Morsch's obsession with constantly eating large amounts of food is to blame for his dramatic physical deterioration. I wonder if he's ever considered that. And I like how he researches the pocket, but not what a meniscus is.

As you might expect, I have not been the most pleasant of patients. I insisted on going into work the day after the surgery and caught seven kinds of heck from The Blonde Accountant, the physician’s assistant, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker and Kukla, Fran and Ollie (if you’re counting that’s actually eight kinds of heck).

I'm not getting those last three references, but I'm guessing it's related to some kind of 60's sit-com.

So I went home after a few hours and then took the following day off to stay home with my leg elevated, the grump bone prominently displayed and griping at me the whole time.

It doesn't surprise me that, in addition to being a fat slot, Morch is also a huge crybaby. Suck it up! Rub some dirt on it!

By the way, crutches are no fun at all, so I have opted for a walking stick.

Good, that way you can throw your back out holding the cane.

It seems a little more cosmopolitan and when people ask, I do nothing to discourage the possibility that the cane conceals a sword, just in case Errol Flynn drops by and wants to start heckling me. (See, you have to be really old to get that joke.)

Number of people who asked Morsch if his cane conceals a sword: 0. Number of people amused by Errol Flynn reference: -1.

But I am slowly improving and hopefully will be out walking soon. In the meantime, I am more than happy to follow sound medical advice and return to tip-top physical health as soon as possible.

I thought he was grumpy about it... what changed? Shouldn't the title of the article have been "Morsch Happily Follows Sound Medical Advice"?

If that means no ironing for six weeks, then so be it.

You see that? Clever. See, Morsch doesn't WANT to do ironing. So even though it sounds like he's upset that he can't, he's really happy. That's some first-class humor column stuff right there.