Two weeks ago yesterday, I entered the hospital to have my left knee replaced (the right knee was replaced 14 months ago).
It wasn't a pleasant experience, nor, for that matter, was it a particularly unpleasant one, if you don't count barfing up my dinner due to my usual reaction to morphine (can't take it, or any of its derivitives, without nausea).
The really bad thing about the experience was the total feeling of helplessness. When you're confined to a hospital bed, you are really at the mercy of everyone else. I was only in the hospital two nights this time (last time it was three) and my partner of 17 years slept in a recliner in the room.
The really tough stuff began a couple of days after I got home. I've referring to the arrival of my visiting physical terrorist (oops, I mean therapist). I have a window of opportunity during which I absolutely must regain as much motion in this knee as possible, and it's his job to help me do it, even if it means making my left leg do things it really, really doesn't want to do.
Is it fun? Not only No, but Hell, No! Is it necessary? Absolutely. 100% necessary. Would I do it again? Fortunately, that question is irrelevant because I don't have any knees left.
Just having one good knee for the past year and two months has given me a freedom or mobility that I hadn't had for a long time, and I'm really looking forward to the total mobility that two good knees will once again provide.