It’s Time To Fix What’s Not Working: My Knees

The decision didn’t come lightly.

For years, I’ve lived with knees that have moaned louder than a man with a cold. I managed the pain. I did the strengthening work. I avoided kneeling, a difficult thing during my stint in martial arts where we knelt while verbose and self important teachers talked about the intricacies of twisting your centre this way, and not that way, for hours.

And eventually, every walk up the hill in the morning became a negotiation, and every set of stairs a small betrayal.

I booked the appointment with a specialist who was referred to me by a good friend who had his knees replaced a few years back. I suppose I was half-hoping he’d say, "You’re doing fine, come back in five years." Instead, after looking at the X-rays, he said, "I’d be happy to do a bilateral knee replacement." That’s both knees. In one go. My brain kicked into overdrive: Wait, are we doing this?

He didn’t pressure me. Just handed me a wad of paperwork and said to go away and think about it. Take all the time you need. I’ve said I’ll do them and there is no time limit on that offer.

And think I did.

Overthinking, over-Googling, late-night catastrophising. What if I’m not ready? What if the pain is unbearable? What if I lose all my strength? What if I’m the youngest person in the ward and they think I’m being dramatic? What if it’s a disaster? What if I’m less mobile than I am now?

Because here's the thing: I’m relatively young for this. My knees still technically work. I can hike small distances, get up and down off the floor even if I look like a rhino doing the Rhumba. I kept wondering, Do I actually need this surgery? Like I needed to prove I was broken enough. That I was as bad as some of the eighty year olds having it done.

But pain is pain. Function is function. And quality of life matters.

I want to do some major hikes. I want to do one of the Camino walks and maybe one on an electric bike. I want to explore the world a little. And I can’t do that comfortably with my knees the way they are.

So I began preparing.

Life Prep

First: clothes. Soft, stretchy sweatpants that can slide over bandaged knees. Pyjamas that aren’t thread bare but are comfortable. Socks that have those grippy soles so I can walk around the hospital. I know this isn’t a fashion parade but in my mind if I’m comfortable and have what I need it’s one less thing to worry about.

I got my hair cut and my eyebrows trimmed, plucked and dyed. There’s something about going into hospital looking slightly put-together that makes me feel more in control.

Appointments have been checked off like a medically themed scavenger hunt: dental, skin, eye injection, bloodwork, ECG. You’d think I was applying to join NASA, not getting new knees.

I’ve had my pre-admission clinic where I met all of the specialists who will have a hand in the operation and my subsequent recovery. Nursing staff, Anaesthetist, Physician (who decides if I’m physically fit enough to have the operation), a radiologist and physiotherapist. I have a team! I’ve never had a team before. I can now say “my team did this…” and “my team did that…”, just saying!

My team says I’m fit enough to go ahead with the op.

Wrestling With The Loathsome Seeds Of Doubt

Some mornings I wake up convinced I can cancel the whole thing and tough it out for another year. Then I climb the stairs and remember why I booked it in the first place.

The fear is real. Ten days in hospital. Intense rehab. Pain. The loss of independence. Not knowing how long it’ll take to get back to full strength.

But I’ve also been thinking strategically. How do I keep my upper body strong while my legs recover? How do I protect my mindset from spiralling? How do I use this time to rest without guilt and recover with purpose?

A Note for the Woman Who’s Hesitating

If you’re reading this and feeling a twinge. Not just in whatever joint might be bothering you but in your gut. Maybe you’ve thought about getting help but aren’t sure if you deserve or truly need it.

You don’t need to be completely broken down to be worthy of finding care.

You don’t need to suffer just because you’ve learned how to manage the pain.

If something isn’t working, get it fixed. You’re allowed to put yourself first. You’re allowed to want a better quality of life.

Be brave and make the decision that enough is enough.

The Truth Underneath It All

This isn’t just a physical operation—it’s emotional too.

I’m having to admit I need help. I’m asking for support. I’m letting go of some of the control I usually cling to with a death grip.

But I’m also reminding myself that strength isn’t always about pushing through. Sometimes, it’s choosing to stop and rebuild.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

New knees. New chapter.

Bring it on.

I will be writing about my experience once it’s done so if you're interested keep an eye out for that.