Lately I’ve been having a hard time answering questions like, “How’s your knee?” “Are you recovered now?” “Are you done with the knee stuff?”
It’s not because I’m upset that people are asking. It’s really kind for people to remember that I’ve gone through a lot when it comes to surgery, and it’s nice to know they care enough to ask and to listen to the answer. At the same time, these types of questions make a lot of assumptions about where my focus is and how healing and recovery are defined.
See, I haven’t just been through six knee surgeries on the same knee (one on both knees simultaneously, and one on the same-side knee and ankle simultaneously). I’ve been through eleven surgeries, and two of those were to remove thyroid cancer. I’ve had persistent pain of one sort or another since college, or maybe even before.
But it took six knee surgeries — a massive disruption in my life — for me to finally sit still enough to realize that healing and recovery, like most things, are not binary concepts.
In our culture, and in Western medicine, we are either injured or healed, in recovery or recovered, with or without our “baby body,” healthy or unhealthy. If you can’t be categorized in the “healthy” category, you are lacking in some way and must either be pitied or criticized. And that’s how I felt for a long time — victimized by my body, and by my circumstances, and by the people in my life who got empathy fatigue and weren’t thinking about my pain 98% of the time like I was. Eventually, I either had to figure out a new way to look at my situation or accept that I would feel ashamed and depressed and weak and incapacitated forever.
So….
I started questioning my beliefs about health, wellness, and recovery. A shift in my thinking occurred over time, and with therapy (both physical and psychological), and really hard talks with my spouse, and love and support from friends and family, and inspiration from some really incredible humans, and continuously returning to my yoga practice (especially the non-asana parts).
It seems to me that a person is actually neither injured nor recovered, but in some state along a continuum. From this perspective, some of the pressure of “healing” is relieved, and a person can be both injured and living a full life.
For instance, I have several limitations due to my knee’s current state. There are many fewer limitations now than there were a year ago, but still plenty enough to infuriate me at times. Most of the time, though, I’m just living my life and my knee is what it is. I also don’t have a thyroid, which has certain ramifications on my time, finances, and physical and mental state, but it does not diminish my value as a human or my contribution to the world.
It occurs to me that maybe my dharma — my purpose, the way in which I contribute to the whole — can include my experiences of pain, injury, and illness, rather than being separate from and in spite of those experiences.
My health struggles are part of who I am, and in fact, much of what I’ve been through has changed my body permanently. If I went by the binary definitions of injured and healed, ill or well, would I have to define myself as sick and injured until I die? No thank you.
I suppose no, I’m not done with the “knee stuff,” because that stuff is a part of me forever. I have learned, and grown, and changed course in my life as a result of the knee stuff. And I have become more compassionate, insightful, and creative in the ways I interact with clients and patients through that adversity.
The hardest thing for me is to let go of labeling the state of my body and mind as “good” or “bad.” But when I can do it, I’m free of my pity-prison. I’m free to enjoy my life and connect with others, and the pain looms less in my awareness. I cherish those moments.
So, “How’s my knee?”
Right now, it’s not the center of attention. And I think that says a lot.
