This time I don't spend a year and a half suffering. I promptly make an appointment with Dr. Martin Anderson. Sensing my apprehension, he offers to give me shots to postpone my decision. I will have none of it. Bolstered by my loving wife, Orllyene, I now have a spanking new, titanium, right hip to match my left one. Prior to the operation, I ask friends and family to refer to the event as a "procedure," not an operation. The mind hears every word we speak. Everyone cheerfully complies, mostly because they are relieved that the "procedure" involves me, and …