A Slip of the Lip

Back-pain is fine.

Everybody gets back-pain. Athletes get back-pain. Joggers.

Back-pain doesn’t label you, it’s just a fact of life.

Hip pain is a whole different kettle of pinchy craw fish though. Hip pain is a real milestone in the decrepitude stakes. That’s one you won’t quickly admit to colleagues or friends.

I have a pain in my hip.

No. Sorry. Can’t see that happening. I’d rather say I have leperacy or warts.

Hip pain. If I told my children I had a sore hip, that would be the start of a very rapid decline for me. Even their language would change, subtly. You see, up to now, if I happen to trip over something while dragging great pieces of furnature around the house or pushing the Harley out of the barn, or wrasseling a crocodile, one of my kids might just mention it to the other:

Mom biffed.

Did she? Is she all right?

Yeah. She just fell over something.

But if they knew I had a stiff hip, they wouldn’t say that. Instead it would be Mom had a fall.

Oh.

And they’d frown at each other. A fall, eh?

Yeah. She had a fall.

It won’t end there. As time progresses, the language will turn even darker and the frowns will become furrows.

Mom had one of her falls.

Really? One of her falls? Maybe we should consider …

Nah. She’ll be fine.

Even that won’t be the worst. After a couple more years will come the absolute pits:

Mom had another fall last night.

Another one! Shit, we’ll have to …

Yeah. I think we will …

I’m keeping quiet about this hip. It’s probably just a strain.