You might be dysplastic if ...

1. You are under 30 and own a walker, a raised toilet seat and a hip kit.
2. You have said, "it's not a hip replacement, they are breaking my pelvis" more than once in the same day.
3. You are adept at doing the "fist in hand" demonstration of a what a normal hip looks like, followed by what YOURS looks like, followed by how the surgeon will correct it.
4. While carving a turkey, you take the opportunity to demonstrate for your guests how periacetabular osteotomy works using the carving knife, said turkey, and a few screws from the junk drawer in the kitchen. You end up ordering pizza.
5. You are the youngest person in your aquatherapy class.
6. You are the oldest patient at the children's hospital.
7. Before going on any outing you ask, "how far will I have to walk?"
8. You can spell "iliopsoas" and "trochanter."
9. Eskimos have hundreds of words for snow. You have hundreds of words for hip pain: snapping, grinding, tin foil, popping, giving way, ripping, tearing, shredding, burning ...
10. Even though you got a "C" in high school biology, you can name and describe the function of every muscle, tendon and bone between your belly button and your knee cap.
11. You practice sleeping on your back so that you'll be ready for the weeks post surgery.
12. You are a woman but you say the word "groin" a lot.
13. You have posted a picture of yourself in a hospital gown on the internet.
14. You have posted pictures of your incision, your x-rays, your hardware, or your surgeon on the internet.
15. You've refinanced your house and/or cashed out your retirement accounts just in case you have to pay for a surgery which your insurance company may, at the last minute, deem "not medically necessary."
16. You have a blog which you update hourly (first week post diagnosis), obsessively (in the months leading up to surgery), daily (the week before surgery), daily with help from a family member or nurse (from the time the epidural comes out until you leave the hospital), bi-weekly (from the time you leave the hospital until you get to throw the damn crutches away), then twice monthly until such time as you just want to get on with your life again. You then update the blog one year after surgery with a picture of your healed incision. Unless ... you need surgery on the other side; if so, repeat.

Explain to me again how this is saving water?

I have lost about 5 pounds in the past couple of weeks. I attribute this to loss of muscle, mostly because I can't exercise as much as usual. I haven't had such a dramatic weight change since losing 190 pounds of unsightly fat back in 2003, when I divorced my first husband. But I digress.

In an attempt to be as healthy as possible pre-surgery, I've been eating sensibly and drinking a lot of water as well. All of that water has to go somewhere, and so I've spent some quality time in the restroom lately. And that leads me to today's topic.

The concept of a toilet which flushes automatically intrigues me. You know what I'm talking about, right? You don't have to flush these beauties because they take care of the dirty work for you. I am not exactly sure what the point is though. It may have something to do with hygiene, perhaps, since not having to touch that disgusting handle is a major step in the right direction. But clearly there must be a cost to installing them, and thus there must be a cost savings involved, or else entities like airports wouldn't bother.

We all know that, in public, people often "forget" to flush, causing major backlogs and grossouts in the stalls. Perhaps the cleaning crew charges overtime for this, and the cost savings come into play there.

Nah, I don't buy that.

Maybe these toilets save water in a way that I'm just not understanding. Although even if they worked as designed, it seems they'd use more water than the old fashioned commodes because they flush every time, whereas we know that people don't flush every time when they have to do it themselves.

Problem is, these toilets don't work as designed. Nope. In fact, my theory is that the airport gets a kickback from the water department for every one of these uber toilets it installs, since they use FAR MORE water than a normal toilet. Variations of the following scenario have happened to me more than once, most recently during my trip to Lake Placid.

I hobble through the airport with my carry on and large puffy down coat, and find myself in need of a pit stop. After walking past about 20 gates I see the ladies room ahead of me and duck inside. I stuff myself into the tiny stall and come face to face with one of the newfangled toilets.

Since I am wearing a long coat, I take it off and hang it on the hook in front of me, but as I do that the movement of the coat evidently sets off the motion detector and ... fluuuuuush ... goes the toilet. A few drops of water end up on the seat. I hang up my cane and put my bag on the little shelf, and oops, the sensor is tripped again. FLUUUUUUUSSSSSHHHH!!!

More water gets on the seat of course, so I turn around and wipe it off with some toilet paper. Of course you all know what happens next, because this too sets off the motion detector and yet again, the toilet flushes.

I pull out one of those sanitary toilet covers and place it on the seat, carefully so as not to ... oh hell, of course you have already guessed that this sets off the motion detector and the toilet flushes, pulling half of the sanitary toilet cover into the bowl.

I am annoyed now and realize it's time to just do my business and get the f*** out of there. I step as far away from the bowl as possible so as not to set anything off, and carefully, slowly, holding my breath, unzip and de-pants myself in preparation for sitting down. I slowly back up toward the toilet, and I'm just about to sit when ...

FLUUUUUUUSSSSSSHHHHHH goes the toilet, throwing up more drops of water. I slam myself down and "go" as quickly as possible, praying that I won't be flushed on in mid-pee. Thankfully I make it, stand up, zip up, and gather my belongings while waiting for the inevitable final flush. Silence.

I move around, waving my bag toward the sensor, and shuffle my feet a bit. No flush. I do a little dance in the stall, shimmying as close to the sensor as possible in order to set off the flush response. Silence.

I stare at the toilet, realizing that I am now required to push the little red button hovering over the bowl. This means that the hygiene benefit of the automatic toilet is lost on me, along with whatever water saving functionality this monster is supposed to provide. Sigh. I lean forward and push the button. Nothing. Evidently I've exceeded the maximum number of flushes or something and the damn thing is now taking a "break."

Sheepishly I exit the stall, hoping the next occupant doesn't think I'm some sort of pig who doesn't bother to flush. No such luck, the woman waiting next in line sees the situation and gives me a dirty look as we pass one another. There's no point explaining of course. She'll find out the disturbing truth soon enough.

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(Post Script: Turns out you can buy one for your own home!
http://www.itouchless.com/share/cgi-bin/site.cgi?site_id=itouchless&page_id=sensorflush)

The Cane on the Plane

Ode to my walking stick, with thanks to Dr. Seuss

I like my cane
It’s very plain
It helps me walk
Avoiding pain.

My cane, my cane
Sometimes a pain
Rules out umbrellas
In the rain.

A lovely cane
It’s wood, nice grain
Tonight I’ll take it
On a plane.


I live in the Pacific Northwest. Granted, it doesn’t rain as much as we lead people to believe – some of that is hyberbole and meant to keep the rest of you from moving to our little slice of paradise. But for the past couple of weeks it has been pouring.

With the cane in my left hand and my backback on my back, I could in theory carry an umbrella. But usually I have a latte or a water bottle in my right hand, or something that doesn’t fit in the backpack which I’m carrying to a meeting across the street. Normally this is OK with me so I haven't been carrying an umbrella to work. However, last night I went to the salon, where they styled my normally curly/frizzy hair. If I keep it dry this style lasts a couple of days. Without an umbrella I’m doomed.

I pulled my jacket (no hood! Damn!) over my head and “ran for it” (meaning hobbled a bit faster) and made it with very little damage to my head. The return trip was equally difficult and the rain was coming down harder. Now I’m watching the frizz start to pop out everywhere on my head despite the seemingly hours-long blow dry session last night.

Luckily this won’t be a problem in Scottsdale where it’s warm and dry. We leave tonight and I’ll get to see how amenable TSA is to walking gear, which in theory could be used as a weapon. Stay tuned for a full report.