Last Friday morning at 10:00, I had total hip replacement surgery. On Saturday morning at 10:00, I got out of bed, dressed myself, walked into the common room for breakfast and participated in a 40 minute physical therapy session—a fairly impressive rebound. Now I might add here that all of that activity was not my idea—those nurses in the joint wing are not easily dissuaded.

Today, a week and two days later, I got out of bed, dressed myself, walked into the living room for coffee and read the paper. Given my 24 hour spike in activity last week, you'd think that by now I'd at least be running a marathon or mowing the yard. What's up?

Maybe the initial surge of energy and enthusiasm was just gratitude for waking up. Although I'm up to walking six blocks a day now, doing my "exercise protocol", performing rudimentary household chores, washing my hair (even added blow-drying), and checking email; it seems like a long way to the finish line.

The TEDs drive us mad—Bob struggles to wrench those white tights on my chubby legs trying to avoid pinchy wrinkles and I squelch the moaning. We're both exhausTED by the time they're on.

I have to sleep on my back now, I never sleep on my back. By morning I feel like I've been laying on a concrete slab and am thrilled if my alarm clock reads 5:30 so I can get up. My butt has been sat on far too much lately and by 9:00 pm I'm running out of choices. Can't sit, can't run, can't roll over, can't bend. Being horizontal is the best—fans humming, shades down, sheets up to my ears, sweetie by my side. All in all, I'm just fine.