I wanted to write sooner—to update you, to process—but fear (and writer’s block) held me back. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of being honest about what the recovery process has been like. But today, I’m pushing past the fear.
Before the sun rose, Holy Spirit woke me up with a song—Casting Crowns’ I’ll Praise You in This Storm. Considering the season I’m in right now, I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful anthem.
Health Update: The Road to Recovery
As I mentioned in my last post, on December 17, 2024, I had knee surgery. The surgeon opted for a kneecap regraft as I’m too young for a full knee replacement. In order to regraft the kneecap and fix the cartilage damage from previous falls and dislocations throughout the years, they had to break bones and insert metal screws to support the surrounding area.
Even though the recovery from the surgery itself is 6 weeks long, it will take longer— realistically 6 months to 1 year—to regain strength and full range of motion in my right knee. And eventually, I’ll have to do the same surgery on the left knee.
It’s been a long 48 days (6.5 weeks):
- I couldn’t walk for the first week; I was wheelchair bound. For 2 weeks, Mom helped me get clean.
- I have to wear a knee brace and use a walker until my knee and surrounding muscles are strong enough to support weight bearing.
- My knee and surrounding joints are still stiff and tender. My doctor warned me they’ll be that way until month 3.
But in these 1.5 months, I have made progress:
- My awesome physical therapist is gentle and gracious, even when pushing me out of my comfort zone (when he pushes too far, I hit him with pillows 🙂). With his guidance, I’ve hit every mark so far on my treatment plan!
- Until last week, I’d been taking sponge baths at the sink (since week 3). That first bath was sooo relaxing!!
- Tuesday this week was the first time I’ve gone to PT with just my knee brace which means I can, for the most part, ditch the walker entirely!
- Step by step, it’s getting easier.
The Loneliness of Recovery & the Gift of Friendship
Despite the physical progress I’ve made, it doesn’t lighten the emotional weight of recovery.
I’m mostly homebound. In theory, it’s not much different than how I spent my time pre-surgery but post-surgery I feel… subhuman.
Before, staying inside was a choice. Now, it feels like I’ve been ostracized from life.
I know there are things I can’t do yet because I’m still healing but being included—or even considered—would be nice. I know my friends are busy—work, baseball and gymnastics drop-offs, grocery runs, petty arguments with spouses. I can’t help but feel left out. And my church friends have offered to hang out—they want to see me—it’s just a matter of coordinating schedules.
Last Friday night, I got a chance to escape the suffocating quietness of the house. My high school best friend picked me up, and after dropping off her mom and sister to a Gospel concert, we made a Chick-Fil-A run. While babysitting her 6-month old niece, we thoroughly enjoyed our spoils on the comfy couch with The Equalizer on in the background. Being there with them, I wasn’t a recovering patient, I wasn’t defined by the brace or what I couldn’t do, I was just me hanging out with a friend.
Nightly Frustrations with My Body
While I’m proud of my physical progress and how far I’ve come in such a short time, I find myself struggling to not be annoyed with my body. I know I shouldn’t be but I am, especially at night.
During my 1-month follow-up with the orthopedic surgeon, he gave me a half jewel: I don’t have to sleep with the brace on—thank God!— but if I wake up in the middle of the night to relieve myself, I have to wear it to support the knee. It’s humbling and… embarrassing honestly.
Half-asleep, I move to the edge of the bed, ready to take that first step—only to remember two seconds too late Oh, wait! I forgot the brace! I sigh, grab the step stool to climb back up (because of course, my bed is too high), strap the brace in place, and climb back down, holding my bladder all the while.
Returning to Work: Adjusting to a New Normal
Even though walking is getting easier, my gait is still slow. This is prevalent because after being gone for 6 weeks, I returned to work last week. (A week before surgery, I got set up with monitors and everything I’d need to work from home.) And even though I’m home now, I still have to monitor my breaks with probably more care than my colleagues.
For example, we have a 30-min lunch break. It takes me nearly 10 minutes to walk to the kitchen after strapping on the brace. I then have to decide—quickly—what to eat, make it, scarf it down, and then spend another 10 minutes hobbling back to my desk to login before my alarm goes off, which leaves me only about 10 minutes to eat and get a reprieve from the computer.
It’s definitely been an adjustment.
Maybe I had unrealistic expectations because I’ve been at this job for over 6 months, but that first day I returned to work, I was surprised at how much I had forgotten! I had to shadow my coworker for an hour because I couldn’t remember how to do anything!
My team and manager have been supportive, especially when I have to leave work to go to PT, but it’s been hard having to relearn everything. It’s even harder not beating myself up or having an anxiety attack if I make a mistake or take a longer time on a call because I’m trying to find the correct information in our giant database to assist the caller. I’m trying not to put pressure on myself (like I did before surgery) to get everything right but it’s hard because of the nature of the job. If I make a mistake, it affects someone else’s health. That’s a heavy weight to bear.
A Whisper in the Storm
I just got to song’s bridge: “I’ll raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away…”
I’ve been struggling with professional doubt for a long time, trying to teach myself different skills in various fields, all the while wondering why would Yahweh gift me creatively if I wasn’t going to use it vocationally?
I was talking to God about this yesterday and Holy Spirit—sweet, bless’d Counselor!—answered me through my friend and former college roommate.
She texted me:
Just reading in Philippians 3 & 4 and reminded of the “surpassing worth of knowing Christ” and how he counts everything else a loss compared to knowing Christ. Everything we have in this life that’s wonderful or good or enjoyable is just bonus/cherry on top. We already have the greatest thing by simply being God’s children—passing from death to life, moving from the path of darkness to the path of light—Jesus taking our place—the joy that can come when I fully understand this… I never have to face what I truly deserve because Jesus took on death and my sin’s penalty for me, in my place.
Her words struck deep. I repented immediately for trusting in my own righteousness, in my own abilities and skills instead of my Savior.
So I can be in poor health, financially struggling, it could seems like I have “nothing” in the world’s standards. My confidence is in the Lord alone. And even if/when these are the case, I can choose to rejoice even if/when when life feels hard, and be filled with joy and gratitude and my cup can overflow even in the valliest valley moments. Because the truth is: we have gained absolutely everything… simply by knowing and living with Christ.
…it could seem like I have “nothing” in the world’s standards. My confidence is in the Lord alone.” I’m tearing up re-reading this. This timely reminder that by knowing Christ—and having Him know me, truly and intimately—I have everything I need regardless of my health or life struggles.
…I’m just reminding myself today that my hope doesn’t have to lie in my current circumstances or my feelings or in my job doing great or bad or in the health of my body or in my successes/failures… my hope is secure, so much so, that I can open my hands to whatever God has for me today—even if it is suffering or pain… even if it doesn’t feel good—and I still will possess everything, life’s greatest treasure. I still will be full of life. Christ has made His home in me! Praying we can both stand firm in our faith today and choose to rejoice. We have great reason to. We know God is strong enough to hold us today. 💗
What a beautiful reminder of Yahweh’s strength and intimacy!
Furthermore, her encouragement was, if nothing else, a testament that Yahweh does see me in my pain, that I’m not invisible.
Armed with that knowledge—that even in the midst of pain, uncertainty, and a knee brace I’d love to set on fire—I can still echo the words of Casting Crowns: ‘Though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm.’ This too shall pass. One day at a time. Trusting and holding onto Jesus all the while.
