If I’ve written anything in the past two weeks that offended you, I have a good excuse.

I had knee replacement surgery on June 22. The operation was successful. It was performed by a surgeon who happened to go to the same middle school as did Number Three Son. If you are anywhere near my age, you know someone who has had knee replacement surgery (if you haven’t had it yourself). For my younger readers, you should know that although the surgery itself has a history of good results, the post-operative recovery can be a bitch. During the first two weeks especially, the pain can be agonizing.

(Before you say it – I admit I have no authority to use this metaphor. But it felt very much like I was giving birth to a small, angry child through my knee.)

Which is to say, when painkillers were offered, I took them. Initially, I was eating 5 mg of oxycodone every four hours, day and night.

The effectiveness of painkillers varies from person to person. For some, they work instantly and completely. For others, they hardly work at all. Regardless of their success reducing pain, they almost invariably produce side effects. The two most common are physical fatigue and brain fog. (My friend AC’s theory is that they aren’t even intended to stop the pain. Instead, they make your brain so stupid that you don’t notice it!)

I’m experiencing both of these side effects. And it’s frustrating, to say the least. A walk that took 30 seconds when I was able-bodied takes me three minutes now. A paragraph that took five minutes to write when I was able-brained takes me half an hour. That means my productivity meter (which I check every day) is down about 70%.

And I almost forgot! The memory! That’s almost completely gone. I swear, a half-hour after I’ve done something or said something or had someone say something to me, it disappears from my memory banks. Like bubbles on Champagne. I mean, really. Gone. As in, “No recollection.” As in, “Nada.” As in, “You don’t remember saying you wanted mustard on your sandwich 15 seconds ago?”

So, that’s what’s been going on with yours truly. Pain. Brain fog. Fatigue. Now you know.

The good news is that the knee is getting noticeably better every day. As for the brain? I’m not so sure about that. But I’m not particularly concerned about it. I’ve always been what they used to call “absent minded,” and that never seemed like a bad thing to me. Yes, I’ve missed a lot of what was going on right in front of my eyes, but I was using that time to regurgitate information that happened to slip into the folds sometime in the past.

I don’t like severe pain. Physical or psychological. And as I get older and become more familiar with it, I want to think that there will always be some sort of drug nearby to put me out of my misery. But I don’t have that feeling about going senile that so many people my age seem to have. I always tell my kids, “Look into my eyes. If I’m not in pain, I’m fine. Let me and my absent mind be.” Of course, if it gets to the point where I’m fouling my pants, take me out. That indignity I would not want to endure, let alone impose on my children.