Not a hemorrhoid-free blog (alternate title:  TMI)

You know you’re getting old when your endosurgeon tells you you’re hemorrhoid-free, and that’s the best news your body has given you in ages.

That’s why I was thinking only good thought the other day when I was lying on a gurney, wearing nothing but a hospital robe, while the good doctor was shoving a camera up my ass.

And we – that is myself, Hugh (my endosurgeon and I are on first name basis, as I’m sure you can understand) and his assistant – were enjoying home movies on the monitor during the whole procedure.

Now I’m sorry if I’m being too graphic here, but it’s not as bad as you think. The insides of my anal canal are pink and beautiful, like a non-smoker’s lungs. They looked so healthy I had to ask, just to make sure they were mine.

They’re certainly in a lot better shape than my left knee, ravaged by time and physical activity. A torn meniscus was operated on in 2009 and when the problems persisted, it was operated on again just before Christmas.

I think I’ve re-torn it since, but that’s the least of my problems. Arthritis, which was in its early stages down there three years ago, is now full-blown, Grade 3 arthritis. My soccer career, such as it was, is in jeopardy for this summer and perhaps forever.

(I didn’t ask for much from soccer. Just not to be the worst player on the pitch on Wednesday nights playing with my mates from the Over-45 league. Some nights I was successful; others, not so much. But I had fun trying.)

I haven’t danced in a long time, but that didn’t mean I didn’t think of that when I was given the arthritis diagnosis by my orthopedic surgeon. Will I dance again? Damned if I know. I used to have fun doing that, too.

The cure, by the way (besides some quick fix cortisone shots), is a half-knee replacement. Oi.

My hip is also sketchy these days, my teeth need some work, my heels are cracked and the general body aches and pains are getting harder to ignore. And my eyes? Don’t even go there. I’d like to say my future looks bright but I’m going to need to change the prescription on my reading glasses to make that call.

Thank God I’m still beautiful. They can’t take that away from me, can they?

There’s a bright side to all this. If I’m ever in a bar, and some dude gets up in my grill and threatens to carve me a new asshole, I can say, with confidence:

“No thanks. I’m good.”