I had to be “commanded” by my friend, himself just a few months post-hip replacement surgery, to show up that Monday morning at the walk-in orthopedic clinic, just a 15-minute drive from my house. Him, “What’s on your calendar tomorrow?” Me, “Nothing.” Him. “Go! Just get it checked out.” I’d been moaning about my own growing hip pain for months, but I was worried about going under anesthetic at my age—82, and about whether the hip defect I’d been born with would make the walk-out surgical procedure he described much more difficult for me.