The goat has died

Late last year, Goat arrived.  Unannounced and uninvited, Goat made the crossing from the neighbour's paddock ("we thought we heard a goat - no, not ours!  Shoot him!") he made a beeline for the two donkeys who were slightly surprised at the newcomer.  They've not met a goat before, but, being donkeys, they were quite quizzy about this little white Billy, so they kind of adopted him and tolerated his company.   Goat was very timid and the minute he heard either of us coming down the pathway, he bolted, lowering his head so his horns acted a bit like rails, he could easily slide through the wire fence and make his way down the gully out of sight.

We don't have much land, just enough for 4 cattle and the two donkeys - who can live off the smell of an oily rag, practically - so as far as Goat was concerned, he was a waste of rations, but so long as he remained in the gully, we didn't mind.  However, time came for the donks to be shifted to a different paddock, and Goat got lonely.  He followed the donks, but went via the garden.  Not a good move.  But he didn't appear to have gone into the sacred vegetable plot, so he was forgiven, or rather, ignored.  I did notice he had a real liking for succulent plants, though, and especially enjoyed the tender tips of shrubs.  I didn't point this out.

Every farmer within cooee was asked if they'd lost a goat.  (a) no farmer would keep one billygoat and (b) no one could catch the damn thing anyhow, and (c) who cared about a goat - shoot him, they said.  But we didn't.  We just ignored him, as he ignored us, and life went on.

Yesterday, I went down to feed the chooks and saw Goat lying quietly by the shed.  He looked as though he were asleep.  All the same, I was surprised he didn't hear me coming, and my heart sank as I opened the gate and he still didn't move.  Exit Goat.  Poor little old Billy.  I don't know if he was old - he didn't look too old - or sick, or just ill. 

Not really the bee's knees

So, it came to the point of deciding whether to have an arthroscopy and debridement (ie fancy names for dusting and tidying up around the knee), before looking at the issue of a knee replacement.  At first I felt a bit of a fraud because there were days when The Knee was performing ok, and days when it got a bit antsy about going downhill, down steps, or just walking around town.  It certainly objected to having to wear heels no matter how low to the ground they were, and preferred bare feet or, at a pinch, good old rubber jandals.  I was going to say rubber thongs, but that was not what The Knee needed.

The Knee went to a private hospital on the premise that the insurance would pay, and was done and dusted in a day.  It was checked, labelled with a green felt-tip pen and initialled by the surgeon, just in case Other Knee got done instead - which it now needs anyway, and painted bright pink.  It was wheeled into surgery where I was given an injection and a mild feeling of final panic as the mask came down over my face.  My last thought was, I wonder if the vision of the anaethetist's masked face and hatted head would be the last thing I would take with me.

I woke and saw a nurse who asked me how I was feeling.  I asked her whether this was a dream, and she confirmed that it was.  No, she didn't.  She said that it wasn't a dream and that I'd had my operation.  Know what I said next?  I said, "How did you know I was awake?".  And her reply?  "You opened your eyes."
Anaesthetic does funny things to one.  I was actually expecting to have a Great Experience while The Knee was out to it.  But I didn't.  Nothing like the last time when I had all sorts of messages from Beyond.

So, having come to, I was on a great high.  One, I was alive, and two, The Knee may have been fixed.  I was wheeled back to the recovery room where I slept and dozed for a bit before being offered a nice cup of tea and some club sandwiches (yeah, club sandwiches).  The Knee was feeling fine and I assumed the anaesthetic might have worn off enough to let me eat, so I enjoyed the sandwiches and tea, while the sunshine streamed in the window and did nice warm things to The Knee.

The Husband then came and picked me up and I hobbled to the car aided by the nurse and two sick buckets "just in case".  The drive home was just fine and the sick buckets were certainly not necessary.  The Knee and I remained on good terms, but it required a lot of attention with high up pillows and was not keen on walking let alone supporting any weight.  After three days, Knee was feeling much better, so I took it for a short walk, just down the corridor.  Back was not ok with that, and immediately went 'out'.  That made me feel very sorry for myself.  Somehow Back causes more pain than Knee which is a bit remote and out on a limb.  But Back is needy, self-obsessed, and attention-seeking, and won't let me alone.

Wouldn't it be nice if joints remained healthy for at least a long life-time.  Arthur Itis is not welcome around here.