Back in the mid-nineties, I had hip replacement surgery. I didn’t want it, but the horse I fell from about twenty or so years earlier gave me no say in the matter. It was a strange journey. About 1989, I went to see an orthopedic doctor at Ft. Sanders when my back was hurting. He ordered an MRI after saying he was pretty sure he knew what was wrong. I wish he had just told me.