Falling Apart at 60

I'm convinced that after you turn 60 you start falling apart. This year has been nothing but ups and downs, mostly downs. For the last three months I've been fighting infected teeth, viruses and now on Saturday I tweeked my knee and am sporting crutches. I tore my knee up playing volleyball forty years ago. I had surgery on it thirty years ago and now it has slowly but surely starting to give out on me. Saturday night late I got up to turn on the lights to my baby chicks. As I walked to the door something snapped in my knee and I almost fell to the ground. Rich was asleep so I just shuffled to the bed and prayed I would be better in the morning. As I tossed and turned all night I could tell it was swollen and something was wrong, but I didn't want to miss church. So I had Rich get me the crutches out of the garage and off I went. Dave did an MAT treatment on me last night and today it feels a little stronger but dang it, another thing to make my life miserable. I don't know whether to call an orthopedist or just rest, ice and MAT it. The first thing I thought about was how this may ruin my trip to the beach in six weeks. All I can hope is that I just sprained it and it will get better at least in time for me to walk down Pacific Coast Highway and feel the cool ocean breeze in my face when it's hotter than hell here. I guess only time will tell if I need surgery, but right now I'm not ready to face that possibility.