I started out in life with nothing and I still have most of it. As we age some parts quit working and other parts just fall off. TJ had his knees rebuilt and he recommended it. It is not as easy as it sounds. There are lots of meetings and paperwork and I even had to take a class. A nurse gave me soap I was suppose to wash with the morning before surgery as well as a drink I was suppose to drink on the ride to over to Boise. When I got there I was given a gown, open in the back. They did not issue me a mask, they said I didn't need it. All the medical people were wearing masks and buzzing around. They put me on a cot and stuck an IV in me. One nurse was shaving my leg and young fellow moved a tray in beside me with a syringe bigger than my thumb. I must have shown some panic because he said, "Don't worry about it. By the time we get to this you won't care." The next thing I knew I was in a hospital recovery room. There were two nurses there and they wanted me to get up and go pee. I grabbed a walker and hobbled my way to the toilet. I couldn't figure out how to hold the walker, move my gown aside and take aim. One nurse told me to just turn around and sit down. I put on my best cowboy face and said, "You girls promise you won't tell anyone that you saw me sit down to pee?" They both laughed. I can't remember if the physical therapist showed up that day or the next. In my pre-surgery briefing they told me about her. You can't leave the hospital until you pass the physical therapist. She was a pleasant looking woman in her 30s. I liked and trusted her as soon as I saw her. She came and got me and walked me to her work station. I was doing pretty good in there until she tried to teach me how to climb stairs. The stairs had five risers and a deck at the top. There were handrails on the stair jacks. Every time I took the weight off my right leg, I tipped over to the left. The physical therapist wrapped a 2" belt around my chest so she could hold on to me. OK, I am still wearing this gown, open in the back, but I have given up on all thought of modesty. I looked over at her and she looked a little worried. I assured her we could do this. After a couple of more unsuccessful tries he suggested we take a break and she walked me back to my room. Just as I was getting comfortable she came back to get me. She said she had some ideas. She told me that I had strong arms so I should go up the stairs backwards. I didn't see how this was going to work, but I was game. I sailed up those stairs backward and she smiled and gave a sigh of relief. A week to the day after surgery I was told to ride the stationary bicycle. I was clumsy getting on. I put my feet on the pedals and turned one revolution. I screamed in pain so loud that I had to put my own hand over my mouth. I managed to get twenty revolutions before I got off. About the time I got downstairs the surgeon's office called and a young fellow called to remind me to start using the stationary bike. I told him about my experience with my hand over my mouth and he laughed. This is a brutal business. Life is good.