Hazen: Nothing like a little knee surgery to keep one humble

By Dan Hazen / Herald Forum

I’ve been humbled. Again. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, but I’m still caught off guard by how much my expectations of a thing differ from the reality. I think I “know” something, and it turns out I don’t.

For 61 years, I have enjoyed good health. I have never been seriously ill, broken a bone, been under anesthetic, had an IV or been hospitalized. Call it luck, privilege, blessing or fate, but as a result I developed a blindness to my physical autonomy. If I want to do something, I pretty much do it without much thought. Of course I can’t pole vault 20 feet, fly or hold my breath for an hour, but when I choose, I can walk a couple of miles, kick a soccer ball, get in a car and drive or climb a set of stairs.

I recently had knee replacement surgery, and the concept of physical autonomy caught me because of its sudden absence. I could no longer do any of those things. It took a few days for the effect to come into focus and I first articulated it to myself as, “I’m trapped in my own body.” There was a low-key claustrophobia about it; a panicky feeling of betrayal at having this body, which has served faithfully for nearly seven decades, suddenly becoming non-responsive. The burden of this experience was equal to, if not a little greater than, the post-op pain.

And here’s the humbling part: I was warned that this was going to be hard. I personally know at least six other people who have had the procedure done, and while each of their stories is unique, a common experience each of them shared with me was, “Recovery will be hard. It takes a long time, and you’ve got to do the work.” The surgeon said the same. So did the X-ray techs, medical assistants and the custodian in the doctor’s office. Everybody warned me. I got the message. I counted the cost, girded up my loins and prepared to do a really hard thing. But I didn’t get it; really.

I didn’t count on that sense of being trapped, and my friends likely didn’t think to mention it because they had all lived it before in ways that I never did. I didn’t prepare for the psychological weariness that comes from living with even low-grade but relentless pain for weeks on end, the lack of sleep, the sense of isolation, the feeling of frailty and shame that comes from needing help to stand, sit or count pills.

It’s been harder than I thought.

Yet, I’m deeply grateful, and here’s why: First, my family and community have taken such good care of me. I feel very loved. Second, this humbling is finally a good thing. It helps me recalibrate how I set expectations, how I see myself, how I envision the future and how I listen. It’s underscores that one of the many diseases plaguing our society is a lack of humility, an un-willingness to re-examine our views, humble ourselves and learn. I for one, intend to be more teachable as I start this next decade with a shiny new knee.

Dan Hazen lives in Marysville and works in Everett.