“I went in to get a replacement a few years back. They had me sitting on the edge of that plastic mattress in a green paper dress and the surgeon drew a pair of red x’s on my knee. A nurse showed up with a clipboard of forms, the anesthesiologist with more. I decided that I wasn’t going to surrender. I wouldn’t sign. The surgeon had to come back. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. He explained everything to me like I was a child. I wouldn’t do it. And so he left. No one came for a while after that.” 
“You chickened out?”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t know. I remember the feeling as a kid, when I had the first surgery. I was cold. And then nothing. I didn’t want to surrender just because they said I should.”

“I broke my hand. They put me out before I knew it.”

“You have to sign.”