It May Not Be the Bee's Knees, But I Hope My Knee Will 'Bees' Better

This is about how my knee feels now. Every day.

I am scheduled to have left knee replacement surgery this Wednesday (April 14, 2021) at Carle Foundation Hospital in Urbana, Illinois. A few random thoughts:

• This will be my first major operation since my kidney transplant at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis on November 18, 2011. (Great Googly-Moogly! That was 10 years ago! I just realized that. Suppose I should think about doing some sort of anniversary tribute later this year.) And to tell you the truth, I really don't know how I feel about this week's procedure.

• My surgery initially was scheduled for March 2020, about a week before the world as we knew it flipped upside down and corona became way more than the name of an imported beer. My joint replacement was canceled due to a sudden, urgent need for hospital beds. Then it was aborted a second time in November when the virus spiked again. As a result, I have been in relentless, agonizing leg pain for more than a year, Biofreeze and IcyHot my constant sidekicks.

I have not been a happy cowboy.

As another result, I find myself approaching this week's operation with a feeling of...well, really, no feeling at all. I'm not excited or anxious or nervous or relieved. I was bitter for quite some time over the cancellations and the knowledge that my suffering continued through no fault of my own. But when you've been in pain day after day for months, it sadly becomes part of your normal existence. You learn to live with it. If you can call that living.

(Many deep thanks to Danny McFarlin –– absolutely no relation, unless his family once owned mine –– the physician's assistant who kept me reasonably sane between surgical disappointments with a series of cortisone injections in my knee. He really gave me a leg up.

My Surgeon: 'No-Pain Bane?'

(Too much?))

And while I'm told the pain will be worse after the procedure, at least initially, at this point it's all relative. Besides, fool me twice, shame on everybody. When I'm actually on the gurney with an IV in my arm and being wheeled into the OR, then I'll know it's really going to happen. Until then, I'm keeping my emotions on lockdown.

• The orthopedic surgeon performing my procedure (a total left knee arthroplasty) is one Dr. Robert Bane, who by all accounts is the Dr. Kildare of east central Illinois. I am not exaggerating when I tell you every single person who's asked about my operation has broken into a broad, knowing smile when I answer, "Doctor Bane," followed immediately by, "He's the best."

OH! I misspoke. One woman at my church replied, "I tried to get Dr. Bane, but I couldn't get onto his calendar. (Pause.) He's the best, you know."

Even other doctors praise his holy name, which is rare indeed. Last week my cardiologist broke into a broad smile when Bane's name came up. "You're in good hands," he reassured. Ironically, I have yet to meet him: we conversed briefly via Zoom many months ago, but due to COVID I will not meet the man in person who's going to cut into my flesh until I'm on the table preparing for the anesthesia. I'm in the hands of a near-total stranger. He is, quite literally, the Bane of my existence.

I am absolutely positive I am not the first one to come up with that.

• I know times change over the course of a decade, but I don't remember ever jumping through as many pre-surgical hoops as I have for this procedure. I have had a complete pre-op physical, new X-rays, bone density screening, blood pressure monitoring, a consultation with my cardiologist. Bathe with a special soap the night before and the day of surgery. Sleep on clean sheets. Stop taking vitamins and all supplements. And, of course, the obligatory COVID-19 test. 

Good news: here you can take the COVID test without having to leave your car. Bad news: It entails pulling into a line as long as the ones giving out free food these days and enduring what seems like a drawn-out, confusing and disorganized process. Very good news: The Carle system requires patients to simply run a Q-Tip around both nostrils, rather than jamming a stick past the eye and into the brain. Extremely good news: I tested negative, so we can continue to communicate.

• I suddenly came to realize one reason so many pre-op tests are required is because I'm not as young as my brain keeps telling me I am. I was blown away by the number of contemporaries who responded to my Facebook announcement of impending knee replacement with comments like, "Had mine done years ago," "Had both of mine done" or "You won't regret it." One friend even sent me a book of healing techniques after surgeries! Good Lord – my friends are getting so OLD! So thankful I'm retaining my youth.

My knee, without a scar. For posterity.

• I am also required to watch a video on knee replacement surgery provided by the hospital. Now, I expected a slick, well-produced instructional piece; after all, Carle owns about half the property around these parts and as a foundation pays no taxes. Instead I got a droning, hour-plus YouTube lecture apparently pulled directly from a long-ago seminar. What a disappointment! I have drifted off every time I've tried to watch it. The clock is ticking. 

• I was grateful that my pastor, Herb Coates, specifically mentioned me and my upcoming surgery during his congregational prayer last Sunday. Prayers are always welcomed. However, since I was manning the Welcome Desk next to the front door after the service, I was an easy target for every parishioner who wanted to inquire about the operation –– which seemed like every parishioner. I swear, I think some of them seemed to care more about my surgery than I do. Is that a good thing?

• I am also so, so grateful for the advancements in medical science. Knee replacements are commonplace now but practically unheard of in America until the 1970s. I think of my Aunt Carrie in Palmetto, Ga., God rest her soul, who made her living by cleaning the local movie theater. In those days you were lucky to have any job, so she worked on her hands and knees, picking up candy and all manner of filth brooms couldn't reach, well into her 80s. What unbearable pain she, and so many other laborers, must have endured! 

I'll think of you Wednesday, Auntie. Just before the lights go out.

Happy to be a Part of 'the Minority Report'

My friend Mike Freeman, Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White, and Me.

Last week was National Minority Organ Donor Awareness Week. For a minute I felt guilty about not writing this post last week to coincide with the occasion. Then it hit me: every week should by Minority Donor Awareness Week.

According to organdonor.gov, of the more than 101,000 people in America waiting for a kidney transplant right now, more than a third of them are African American. So of course, more than a third of all African Americans are signed up to be organ donors, right?

What do you think?

No, seriously – what do you think?

The need for minority donors in this country – Hispanic, Asian and Pacific Islanders, as well as blacks – is more crucial than ever. That's why I'm so proud of the efforts of Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White and his phenomenal "Life Goes On" initiative to register Illinois residents to become organ and tissue donors after – well, you know.

This week, White's office announced that the state's donor registry hit the astonishing mark of six million registrants. "I'm thrilled to see that Illinoisans continue to show their giving spirit by signing up for this lifesaving program," said White, who became personally immersed in organ donation decades ago when his sister needed a kidney, in a prepared statement.

"Our mission is to sign up everyone who is eligible in order to give others a second chance at life and end the waiting list for the approximately 5,000 people statewide."

Despite those impressive sign-up numbers, every year about 500 people in Illinois die waiting for that perfect matching organ. Many of them are African American. 

So what a great honor it was for me to share a dais with White – the longest-serving  Secretary of State in Illinois history and the first black person to hold the office – last week for a Minority Organ Donor Awareness event at Carle Hospital in Champaign, Ill. 

We were joined by my new friend Dave Freeman, who lives in the same complex as I (our building manager introduced us) and is preparing to begin dialysis in hopes of an eventual kidney transplant.

Jesse and Dave were there to plead for the need. I was Exhibit A, the walking, talking success story.

Unlike me, who relishes any opportunity to open my mouth in public, Dave was more than a bit jittery prior to making his remarks. He had included a joke in his short speech and wanted to run it past me:

"When they asked me if I wanted to be an organ and tissue donor, I told them, 'No thank you. I play the trumpet.'"

Crickets. 

"I don't get it," I confessed.

Once he explained it to me – a play on words about musical instruments – I gently suggested he remove the "and tissue" part to put the key words closer together. Dave agreed to try it.

I won't bore you with every word verbatim (much as I'd like to), but this is the bulk of what I said to that hospital audience:

"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning.

"I'm happy and proud to share the podium with our esteemed Secretary of State, who has been such a champion in the field of organ and tissue donation. Thank you, Mr. White, for all you have done and continue to do.

"My name is Jim McFarlin, and I am speaking to you today from beyond the grave.

"Logically, realistically, there is no way I should be standing before you right now. In 2008 I was diagnosed with Stage IV kidney failure, and as many of you may know, the medical types tell you that at Stage V you should be checking your insurance policies and making arrangements.

Talk, talk, talk: Jimbo, the Kidney Crusader

"Now, I'm going to talk about God right here, so if you are not the "religious type" you may wish to tune out for a moment. Because I don't believe you can knowingly come so close to death's door and come away clean and healthy on the other side without having your faith in God renewed.

"I was on dialysis for just over two years – far below the average wait time for a transplant – when a precious little girl, just six years old, collapsed and died on the playground of a brain aneurysm. Her kidney was a perfect match, and in perfect condition. 

"I will forever be grateful to her parents for having the courage and selflessness to think about how their dead child could benefit others at that most devastating time in their lives. My transplant was performed November 18, 2011, and I'm still going strong. Praise God!

"I am Exhibit A for the benefits of organ donation. I am blessed. And I truly believe one of the reasons I'm still around is to encourage and appeal to my brothers and sisters – of all colors – to make the choice to register as an organ and tissue donor.

"High blood pressure and diabetes are two of the leading causes of kidney failure, and you know that black folks lead the league in those statistics. Y'all eating all that pork! 

"But you just know that African Americans are not signing up tp be organ and tissue donors in equal measure. Quite simply, we're not pulling our weight! We're not doing our fair share.

"And while it's true that the races have interchangeable parts, the truth is that tissue matches are just better when transplants occur within ethnic groups – that is, when black patients receive organs from black donors, Hispanics from Hispanics, and so on.

"For about two years I served as the End Stage Renal Disease Patient Representative for the State of Illinois. And while it was largely a ceremonial position, I tried to use it to best advantage. 

"As I traveled around the state, whenever I could I would drop into a dialysis clinic and ask to speak to the patients. And while I learned a lot from them, the takeaway that struck me hardest was that it seemed no matter where I went, the vast majority of patients were the same color as I am. The need for donors is critical.

"Why don't we donate? One reason, I think, is because we believe in all those myths and old wives' tales that just aren't true. Doctors will not let you die on the operating table so they can harvest your organs...you can still have an open casket funeral...organ donation is not against your religion. There is no legitimate excuse.

"So if you really believe that Black Lives Matter – or Asian Lives, or Hispanic Lives, or every life –  here is a positive, nonviolent, selfless way to prove your commitment. Become an organ and tissue donor. Do the right thing. Donate life. Thank you."

And by the way, Dave's edited joke got a big laugh. A good day all the way around.