Spa Talk 11.

September 2025.

R.R. was a retired nurse, about seventy years old. She was a dedicated aquafit enthusiast. You could find her most weekdays, waiting in line at her local YMCA to get a pass for one of the morning lessons in the indoor pool. Since you had to be in line about half an hour before the class started, and after she had changed into her bathing suit, she still had time to enjoy the spa's warm water and soak her aching limbs.

On weekends, when there were no aquafit classes, she would work out in the e-gym, a dedicated room with a set of structured exercises to give a complete-body workout. Afterward, she would change and have a final relaxing soak in the spa.

Robin was talkative. She would share her health history with whoever wanted to listen, or let's say, whoever was in the spa with her.

What was on her mind at the time was an upcoming knee replacement in her left leg. She had suffered from a severe case of osteoarthritis, and the surgical procedure was deemed to give her permanent relief from the pain and discomfort she was suffering. The date had been set, October 8, and she was only a few weeks away from the date scheduled to go under the knife. Her medical provider was Sharp, one of the largest clinical chains in San Diego, which provides general and specialized medical care to the local population.

She would work out up to the date of the operation to ensure she was in the best possible shape and would recover fast from the ordeal. Notwithstanding her medical background and familiarity with surgical treatment for osteoarthritis, she was nervous in anticipation of her operation.

I listened to her talk about it several times when we were both at the same spa, and each time, I was reminded of my own feelings before my hip resurfacing operation in 2007. And following the uncomfortable recovery period, the relief that I was able to function again, without pain.

I asked her whether she had made all the preparations for when she came back from the hospital. She said she wouldn’t need crutches, she had a cane, and she would be issued a walker at the hospital.

“How about a removable toilet seat, a very necessary item. It would be placed on top of the regular toilet seat and would add several inches to its height, a great relief at a time when you would not be able to bend very well to squat on the bowl.”

She said that she had been thinking about that and would be purchasing one from a medical supply shop. I knew I had a suitable seat-height enhancer that was purchased in 2023 when Barbara, my partner, needed it for her hip operation. After her remarkably speedy recovery, the toilet seat was placed in storage, hopefully never to be needed again. But who knows, both Barbara and I had our left hip operated on. But there was still the other leg, and both knees. You never know. Osteoarthritis is prevalent in older people, and I had listened to various people in the YMCA spa who had multiple joints replaced.

I mentioned to her that if she needed a toilet seat, I would be happy to bring the one I had over and hand it to her before or after an aquafit class. She was somewhat hesitant about whether it would fit her toilet. “Bring it anyway, and I’ll try it for fit. We agreed I’d take it with me the next time we had an aquafit class together.

So, I did. I took the seat (pictured) in the trunk of my car, and after the aquafit class, she drove up her car from the West parking lot, where it was parked, to the East parking lot, where my car was. The handover was quick. I had put the seat in a black plastic bag to avoid the public embarrassment of seeing two elderly people transfer it between them. The deed done, I drove home knowing I had saved a fellow aquafit enthusiast and joint-replacement candidate the expense of purchasing a toilet seat, which she would only need for a few weeks.

I saw her a few days later in the pool and asked her if the seat fit her toilet.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t, was her answer. I tried to attach it, and it would not stay in place.” “Hum, perhaps, she didn’t understand how to place it and screw it on properly,” I thought. But I didn’t dwell on the issue and asked her if she had brought the seat with her so she could give it back to me. “No, I drove my other car, and it doesn’t quite fit in the trunk.” “It must have had an awfully small trunk,” I thought. Regardless, we would meet up again the next time we had an aquafit class together. I said that I would park my car in the West lot, where she normally parked, and we would meet up there.

When I saw her before the next class, she apologized. “I was in a hurry and didn’t take the seat with me.” “No worries,” I said, “we’ll meet next time again.” Which was the next day. I had parked the car again at the West lot and waited for her after the aquafit class.
But I waited and waited, and she never showed up. After twenty minutes, I had had enough and drove home. As I was leaving the parking lot, I saw her coming out of the gym in her bathrobe. I figured she had gone to the spa afterward to socialize and had decided that was more important than meeting me in the parking lot to return the seat.

When I saw her again the next week, she said that she was sorry. “I looked for you, drove my car to the East lot, and didn’t see you there. I reminded her that we had agreed to meet in the West lot, where I had been standing outside my car for twenty minutes, and I had never seen her.

“Listen, why don’t you drop off the seat at my apartment building next time you come to aquafit. My condo complex is next to the YMCA West parking lot. Just give it to the security officer. I’ll give them a heads up that you’ll be delivering it.” We agreed that she would do that. When I passed by the office the next day, I saw the big black bag in which the toilet seat was wrapped. I picked it up and put it back in the storage room where I had kept it before I’d taken it to the gym.

That would have been the end of the story if it weren’t for when my friend Babs, whom I see once a week for a French conversation meetup, told me she was scheduling an operation on her right knee. “Do you have all you need for after the knee replacement, crutches, a walker, and a toilet seat?”

“I won’t need crutches, but if you have a walker and a toilet seat you can lend me, that would be helpful.” She had her operation in early March, and I handed her the walker and toilet seat, discreetly packaged in a black plastic bag, when we met up the week before her operation.

She had a somewhat slow recovery because of a large hematoma in her lower right leg after the operation. She gave me back the walker last week, and no doubt, I’ll be receiving the toilet seat when she no longer uses it.

So, I had two occasions to help a friend with post-operative needs. And it fit the bill, i.e., the toilet, in one of the two cases. The toilet seat will be there for whoever needs it in the future. Listening to the conversations in the spa and hearing from people who are candidates for hip and knee replacement, that may well happen.

MvR – April 24, 2026. ✍️