I have a trick ankle. When it gives way, I can go from standing upright to lying flat on my back in a heartbeat.<\/p>\n
This usually happens at the most inopportune moments.<\/p>\n
As a college student, I fell down the stairs in broad daylight at a UCLA fraternity house, my skirt hiked over my head. The guy I was crushing on helped me to my feet and became my college sweetheart.<\/p>\n
As a young professional, my trick ankle gave out and I collapsed in front of my boyfriend, Drew, in the parking lot of a TV studio in Hollywood. I got back up unscathed and proceeded to surprise him with an on-air Valentine\u2019s Day marriage proposal on \u201cKTLA 5 Morning News.\u201d When we got back in the car, Drew was officially my fianc\u00e9.<\/p>\n
Recently, my ankle gave way while hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains. I slid down that trail with my leg dragging behind me and injured my right knee. This time, I needed surgery.<\/p>\n
Although I had already consulted with three orthopedic surgeons, Drew, who married me despite my nosedive in the parking lot, wanted me to see Dr. Bert Mandelbaum<\/a> at Cedars-Sinai.<\/p>\n \u201cHe only does young, virile Olympic athletes and FIFA soccer players,\u201d I protested. As a woman in her 50s living in youth-obsessed Los Angeles, I was well aware of my age.<\/p>\n Drew persisted. A week later, I limped into Mandelbaum\u2019s exam room.<\/p>\n \u201cDiana, this MRI shows your medial meniscus is torn and that your ACL is severed,\u201d Mandelbaum said.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s my trick ankle,\u201d I moaned, adding that I\u2019d had this surgery before, after a snow skiing accident in my late 20s.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you do now for exercise?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI swim, hike, do yoga and paddle board.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, none of those require an ACL,\u201d Mandelbaum pointed out. \u201cI recommend a debridement of your meniscus only. It\u2019s a less invasive surgery and a much easier recovery.\u201d<\/p>\n I was surprised by his meniscus-only recommendation, especially because the other three surgeons had breezily recommended the full reconstruction.<\/p>\n As I drove back to my newly remediated home in the fire-ravaged Palisades, I considered how differently these two knee surgeries were. In my late 20s, I\u2019d wanted a full reconstruction, hard stop. I\u2019d been a gymnast and cheerleader in my youth, and I still wanted to be able to do cartwheels. (That surgeon had looked at me quizzically, \u201cCartwheels? Really? I haven\u2019t heard that one before.\u201d)<\/p>\n As soft sunlight slanted in through my car window, I realized I\u2019d already passed the performance baton onto my teenage daughter Dayna. My enjoyment now came from sitting back and watching her shine. Her cartwheels, in the form of her singing and acting in Pali High musical productions, were now my cartwheels. As age acceptance pulsed through me, I made my decision: I would go with the meniscus-only option.<\/p>\n Two weeks post-op, I started physical therapy, and as the weeks passed, I felt more and more like myself. A will of steel rose within me to get into the best possible shape. My next birthday was fast approaching, and I was headed toward the legal speed limit in California: 55.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re looking good, Di,\u201d Drew said, coming up from behind me, and encircling my waist with his hands. <\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s have a party for my birthday,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n I told him I was planning to be more like my spirited grandmother, who had never apologized for her age and lived to be 94. I vividly remember, when I was about 8, and seated next to her at the family dinner table, how I\u2019d run my index finger along her forearm. Curious, I\u2019d asked, \u201cGrandma, why do you have all these brown spots?\u201d<\/p>\n She\u2019d turned to face me head-on, eyes widened in feigned shock, her right hand over her heart. \u201cToday me, tomorrow you,\u201d she\u2019d said, wagging her crooked, arthritic finger in my face.<\/p>\n Her prophetic words had scared me. With the arrogance of youth, I\u2019d never considered that growing older could be anything but positive.<\/p>\n To further aid me in my age acceptance campaign, I started to affectionately refer to my birthday as my \u201cDouble Nickels.\u201d With my husband onboard, we chose a venue: the Penthouse<\/a>, a swanky restaurant atop Santa Monica\u2019s Huntley Hotel. On the appointed evening, Drew and I watched the sun set over the Pacific with an intimate coterie of dear friends, imbibing cocktails, mocktails and my favorite Schramsberg sparkling wine<\/a>. (When I die, I want to be buried at their vineyard in Napa Valley.)<\/p>\n When we sat for dinner, speeches \u2014 or rather, roasts \u2014 broke out around the table, with our shared peals of laughter making the air ring with life and its sweetness. Tipsy, I stood up to address the table, having no idea what I was going to say. I started with thank you, and then, upon hearing Gloria Estefan in the background singing about the rhythm and the beat, I called to my friends to join me in a conga line around our table. (Note: I kicked off my heels before dancing, because, again, the trick ankle.)<\/p>\n Waving my white dinner napkin aloft, I thought of my grandmother: loud and proud. It was a smashing evening, and I fell asleep that night deeply grateful for my 55 years.<\/p>\n Lying in bed the next morning, Drew and I reviewed the highlights of the previous evening. Soon we were howling, bordering on hysterical. So much so, that I could no longer look directly into my husband\u2019s face. It was when I was looking away, in that barely-breathable moment, that I had another idea.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s go away together.\u201d<\/p>\n As our marital negotiation ensued, I agreed to toss my one-piece for a new bikini if he made the travel arrangements to the tropical destination of his choice.<\/p>\n About six weeks later, I laid my red bikini-clad body atop the white, powdered sugar sand of Canc\u00fan, Mexico. I was certainly not cutting the svelte figure I had in my 20s. But I was alive, healthy and with my favorite person in the world. The fact that Drew still gazed upon my more than half-a-century-old, decidedly not-hot physique with love and desire was a marvel and a gift.<\/p>\n Trick ankle aside, it\u2019s love that we need to age gracefully.<\/p>\n The author is a writer and literary\/entertainment publicist. She is at work on a memoir. She\u2019s on Instagram: @dianadanielepr<\/a>.<\/p>\n L.A. Affairs<\/a> chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com<\/a>. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here<\/a>.<\/p>\n