My Knee Replacement Journey

My Knee Replacement Journey – May 8, 2024

Part 1

On May 8, 2024, I underwent one of the biggest procedures of my life—double knee replacement surgery. Both knees, at once. I didn’t spend too much time worrying about the recovery. My mindset was simple: get it done and move forward.

I checked into the hospital for an 8:00 AM surgery.

But things got interesting. Partway through the surgery, I became semi-awake. As a side sleeper, I remember wanting to turn over but couldn't. I heard the surgical team working—hammering, to be exact. I asked a nurse how much longer it would take. “About 20 minutes,” she said. That was fine by me.

Once the surgery was done, I was wheeled into recovery and then to my hospital room. The early post-op hours felt surprisingly smooth. I could move my legs, and honestly, I thought, this might not be so bad. It wasn’t long before I needed to pee. The nurse asked if I could walk. I tried—but my legs just wouldn’t cooperate. They decided to insert a catheter, but unfortunately, it was an intern nurse still learning the ropes. It didn’t go well. The pain was indescribable. After that experience, I made myself a promise: Next time, I walk to the bathroom. And I did, with a nurse’s help.

The first night, I was in pain but only needed one painkiller. I didn’t get much sleep, but the next day I got to work. I had goals: walk down the hall, take a shower, and move independently with my walker. I stayed a second night and asked for a sleeping pill—I wanted to rest up, because I planned on going home the next day.

And I did.

The Road Home—Literally and Figuratively

The ride home was rough. Every bump and pothole felt like a jolt through my knees. Lorie, my wife, got me straight home and helped me down the stairs to our basement, which became my home base. I had a recliner for rest and sleep, and for the first week, I mostly watched TV. I didn’t have much energy for anything else. Lorie brought my meals downstairs, helped me shower, and kept everything running smoothly. At least I could get to the bathroom on my own.

Week two brought a bit more mobility. I started walking around more, slowly tackling the stairs—first with Lorie’s help, and then on my own when she returned to work.

One day, my younger brother and mom stopped by and took me on a road trip. We visited a family friend’s farmyard out near Zealandia, then continued on to Rosetown for lunch and a stroll through an antique store. It was refreshing to get out—but by the time we got home, I was sore and utterly exhausted.

The Mental Battle

Physically, I was progressing—but mentally, things got tough. The lack of sleep, the pain, the confinement—it started to wear on me. I found myself feeling down more often. I talked to Lorie about it. She reminded me, “It will get better.” And deep down, I knew she was right. But that didn’t make it any easier in the moment.

I started spending more time outside on the deck, just to get some fresh air and sunlight. Visitors lifted my spirits. Each small moment of connection helped pull me out of the fog.

Four Weeks and Forward

At the four-week mark, I started physiotherapy at City Hospital. My doctor had pulled my license for six weeks, so Lorie drove me. Despite the pain, I actually looked forward to physio—it felt like progress. Every movement, every stretch, every ache had a purpose: to help me walk normally again.

Reflections

This journey has tested me—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Recovery isn't just about healing the body; it's about pushing through pain, facing moments of doubt, and choosing to keep going. It’s also about appreciating the people around you. Lorie has been incredible. My family and friends kept me going. And every small win—walking a little further, getting a bit more rest, feeling a bit more like myself—meant everything.

If you're facing a similar journey, know this: it’s hard, but you’re stronger than you think. Take it one day at a time. Celebrate the small wins. And lean on the people who love you.

Recovery is a road—and I’m still walking it. But every step is progress.