Six weeks after my knee replacement, I was sitting on the edge of my bed at 6am staring at my leg.
Still swollen. Still tight. Still shiny in that way that meant fluid was sitting where it shouldn't be.
My surgeon told me week five or six was usually when people turned a corner. My physical therapist kept saying I was doing everything right. My family kept telling me to be patient.
But every morning I'd extend my leg and think: something is wrong with me.
The swelling wasn't going down. Some mornings it looked worse than the week before.
And the nights were the hardest part.
I'd fall asleep okay. But sometime around 2 or 3am, I'd roll over and this dull pressure around my kneecap would wake me up. I'd lie there staring at the ceiling, running through everything. Did I overdo PT yesterday? Did I sit too long? Am I eating something that's making it worse?
I'm 63. I've had my share of hard recoveries. But I wasn't ready for how isolating this felt.