Finally, this 'fraidycat makes a commitment.

Both of my knees have managed to destroy the meniscus over 70-plus upright years.

I like to think that I have a certain about of courage in my soul. After all, you don't get to be 72 without some.

But to be fully honest, I'm really a wuss. I have never run into any burning buildings to save a dog or a cat, let alone another human. I've never faced enemy fire in the service of my country. And while I've generally tried to use intelligence and rhetoric to get myself out of most personal conflicts, I have probably lost every single physical fight I've been in. I might get in a good lick to start, but then I stand there admiring my work until my adversary gets up, brushes himself off and then proceeds to whale the tar out of me. I just have never had that burning anger within my soul to sustain a conflict.

Another aspect of my self-preservational tendencies is a pathological fear of invasive surgery. I've had a few such instances -- removal of my stone-filled gallbladder in 2001 and my damaged left testicle in 2010, not to mention enough dental records to fill a short novel. But if it's something I could avoid, I made a point of doing my level best to do so.

I've finally reached the point, however, where I can no longer avoid some very important repair work.

Later this week, I will have my first consultation with an orthopedic surgeon regarding the replacement of one of my damaged knees. It's something I've been putting off for a long time because of the impact it would have on my work schedule as a local high school TV sports announcer. But I can't put it off any longer.

It's not the pain as much as it is the uncertainly of my mobility.

My first knee injury came in high school.

I can handle pain. My left knee has bothered me since I was in high school, and I finally tried to address that in August 2020 with arthroscopic surgery on my left knee to remove what remained of my damaged meniscus. It helped for a while, but the meniscus is the cushion between the two major bones of your leg, and when it's gone, you've got bone rubbing against bone. As they say in medical terms, "that ain't good."

For many years, I forced my right knee to do extra work to compensate for the weakness of its partner on the left side. But gradually, that knee started to break down as well. Now both click and pop all the time, they give out at the most unexpected times and they pose a serious threat to my health if it happens at the worst time.

There were two such incidents in recent months that pushed me over the edge.

The first was when I drove up to Oakmont Regional High School to watch the Foxboro girls play in a non-league basketball game at mid-season. I got there just as the junior varsity game was wrapping up, and when it was over, I walked toward the center of the bleachers to find a place from which I could chart the game. 

When I got to the steps, I noticed that there was not an extended step to floor level that would make it easier to get to the first actual step. And the handrail in the middle of the aisle was pointed away from the floor, and not toward it, which made it impossible to reach and thus provide an assist to start the steps up.

This knee brace was a pain in the ass.

I looked at it and thought to myself, "Don't be such a wuss. It's one friggin' step. You can make that." So with briefcase and seat cushion in hand, I raised my right leg to get leverage on the first step, hopefully to be able to reach that handrail and pull myself up.

Didn't make it.

Once I put pressure on the right knee, it sent a wave of pain throughout my lower body and lost all strength. The result was a spectacular, ass-over-tea-kettle tumble to the gym floor that brought an audible gasp from the fans in the stands.

I wasn't hurt, just embarrassed beyond all redemption. People immediately came out of the stands and helped me to my feet, and I repeatedly thanked them and assured them that I was uninjured. Even Foxboro coach Lisa Downs came running over from the opposite sideline to make sure I was still in one piece.

The other incident of note took place on the day before we got our second huge snowstorm of the winter about a month ago. We had a little slush storm just before that, and I was at the base of my driveway trying to clear away what the town plows had pushed there, when I stepped on a flat, loose chunk of ice that was hidden from sight because of the slush covering it. It went out from under me, and for what seemed like an eternity, I thought I was on the verge of regaining my balance -- before my right knee just gave out and I started falling to the pavement.

I was able to turn just enough in mid-fall so my right shoulder would take the brunt of the impact and not my head. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and I initially thought I had broken my arm or dislocated my shoulder. But as I was lying flat on the street, I wiggled my fingers and then lifted my lower arm, so I assumed all was well. I turned over, crawled to my nearby fence and pulled myself up with my left arm.

For about a week, I couldn't lift the full right arm above shoulder level. Gradually, my range of motion improved. I still have some pain and a loss of strength in about a 20-percent area of rotation, much like when I tore my rotator cuff in high school. But for the most part, it's practically back to normal. 

Arthroscopic surgery wasn't invasive.
Whatever comes next will certainly be.

I'm just fed up with not knowing what my knees are going to do at any given moment. I have steps to climb and much more walking to do before my days on two feet are done. I'm not ready to surrender to infirmity. 

Most of the people I know who've had the procedure have encouraged me for some time to pursue it. One of those is Kristen McDonnell, the extremely successful basketball coach of the Braintree girls, Norwood boys and Norwood girls, who recently resigned from the latter job to spend more time with her family. As a player at Boston Latin and Stonehill College, McDonnell injured both of her knees more times than anyone would want to count. By the time she was in her late 30s, both of her knees had been replaced. And she has been the most enthusiastic supporter of my plans to follow through.

Now, keep in mind, as a young, athletic and fully motivated woman, McDonnell was able to recover her mobility fairly quickly. I'm 40 years older, and while I have shed some poundage from the days when I used to run up and down the sidelines covering football games, I certainly don't have the physique of Adonis. I have to remember that I need to heal and heed the advice of the medical professionals, no matter how frustrating that might be. And it may still interfere with a schedule I have from North TV that includes at least eight games in various sports -- but there's not much I can do about that. I'd rather have it interfere now than in the fall, when the schedule gets really busy again.

I will cross all of those bridges when I get to them. The whole point of all this is to be able to cross those bridges without falling down in mid-crossing.

Wish me luck, folks!

MARK FARINELLA is not known as the most patient person in the world where it comes to rehabilitation programs. After all, he walked 11,000 steps a day for nine days in Phoenix during the week leading up to Super Bowl 49 in 2015, about four weeks after suffering a mild stroke. Tell him to chill out and heal by emailing him at theownersbox2020@gmail.com.