HIP TRIP

My hips hurt. Is that supposed to happen? What makes a hip suddenly hurt? I never heard of suddenly unknowingly ‘pulling a hip’ or ‘straining or a hip’. I’ve heard of ‘breaking a hip’ but I would assume mine is not busted, it just, well, is achy. Is that another over 50 year-old thing that nobody tells you about until you stumble across the half-century finish line in that segment of the Human Race (or hopefully marathon!). Is my hip like those cheesy off-brand electronic devices you buy at Wal-Mart that are designed to start falling apart just when the warranty ends? How do those toasters know? And where the hell is the warranty on me? And when did that thing expire? As stuff starts busting, and popping and falling off of me, everything is all out of pocket to do an overpriced patch-up half-assed fix up job that gets me going again but never seems to get things back the way they were. Like when you have that greasy-handed kid with tools down the street fixing your car vs the guy at the dealership.

I hit fifty and suddenly my body has turned from a sports car (albeit an ‘all for show’ nothing good under the hood oversized American model vs. one of those sleek crazy fast pricey European babies) to a rusted out old 1960s Buick station wagon in dire need of some body work and a mess o’ replacement engine parts but most days somehow gets me where I need to go. I tell you, I don’t like this roll out of bed in the morning only to discover that I have some new ache. This hip thing is weird though. About a week ago I started to get a pain every time I try to stand up? Alright, I’m getting used to this crap, I get it, but the odd thing is my wife’s hip starting hurting at the exact same time and she is still a couple of Presidential elections away from 50. Oh crap, what if we gots da’ Chikungunya!

You don’t know about Chikungunya? Oh it’s coming. Sure as the inevitability of a bug at a picnic, a politician stretching the truth during a campaign, or an incoming phone call just as you sit down for dinner, Chikungunya will get here and everybody will be talking about it. According to my sources (which means I typed ‘Chikungunya’ into Google), Chikungunya is a debilitating tropical infection spread by mosquitoes. People infected with the virus typically suffer fever, SEVERE JOINT PAIN and swelling, muscle aches, headaches or rashes. Patients usually recover in about a week. There is no vaccine and no specific treatment. Mosquitos love nibbling on me and suddenly now we are all mysteriously achy. Yeah, must be Chikungunya.

Chikungunya just got to the United States and it is sure to soon be the latest craze like the Twist or Twerking, West Nile is sooooo passé in the mosquito transmitted disease world. All the cool kids are jumping on the Chikungunya band wagon and apparently my wife and I are trendsetters in our paranoias since we have both independently have taken the huge chasmic sized jump to the Chikungunya conclusion and are sure our mutual hip pains must be because we have been Chikungunyanized. Soon we won’t be alone.

Mind you we are both ignoring the facts that during a weekend getaway last week we slept on a bed as firm as an old wet dish sponge, both engaged in some recent vigorous outdoor and indoor activities and oh yeah, both have no other symptoms at all except our his and her matching hip pain. Crap, 12 years of marriage and we have matching diseases and matching paranoia? What’s next? Matching windbreakers to cover our matching outfits while we take out little coupley evening neighborhood strolls? Eeeeks that sounds worse than the Chikungunya.

It would be a lot easier to whine to my friends, neighbors and co-workers about possibly having Chikungunya if I could actually pronounce Chikungunya. I keep stumbling on the word when I tell my wife we might have the Chickamauga or the Chick-a-fill-a. I’m not sure how to go to a doctor and complain without embarrassing myself. OK, it’s rare I ever go to the doctor without embarrassing myself too much. Chimichunga-cha-cha… Chick-a-Chachi. But I think they give these deseases such hard to pronounce names to make it harder on self-diagnosers spending way too much time on WebMD. It makes it a lot harder to tell a doctor what you think you might have if you cannot even come close to saying it. Chik-a-doodle… Chicken-a-la-king… Chung-King.

Truthfully though, I might bitch and moan here in the old blog-a-roonie but I really do not have it that bad. All Chikungunyas aside, I try to take care of myself because I would like to hang around this universe for a while. I like it here and besides, I’m a creature of habit. I’m not going to let my body’s various pangs, pings and pops get in the way of enjoying the race. I really don’t self-diagnose that much and I’m not a hypochondriac. But just in case, I think I’ll douse myself in DEET dripping Megga-Deepest Darkest Woodsiest OFF before I take my morning jog.