I had a bad night. Knee and leg pain woke me at irregular intervals, and sleep never held me for more than ninety minutes at a time.
Yes. I did my exercises yesterday.
So why is the pain worse?
Shouldn’t it be receding?
I don’t have enough experience with grief and physical pain to speak with authority—only anecdotally—but even in this short stretch, I’m noticing something familiar:
Neither the journey is linear.
Two days ago, I felt almost normal, like I could move through the day without effort.
This morning, my left leg is carrying a barrel of oil, and the pain level is close to the first post-op week.
I remember this relapse from my grief after Mom died.
I’d be at peace—acceptance, patience with myself, a quiet steadiness. Then, boom!, I’d wake in tears.
Angry.
Sad.
Flustered.
Will PT fix this?
I dread PT today.
When they measure the bend in my knee, it might be less, not more.
Did you do your exercises?
Yes, cross my heart…
Did you fall?
No.
Hmmm…
I did sit for a long time. I felt good so I put in a full day of work… sitting.
And that’s what can trip us up.
We start to feel better and then carry on as if nothing happened—
as if we had never had knee surgery,
as if we’d never lost anyone,
as if we were already “through it.”
I’ve come to understand that grief will be my companion from here on.
I’m hoping this is where recovery diverges.
I chose this surgery to relieve pain.
I’m not interested in pain as a second life-long companion.
So I hold on to this: that PT—painful as it is—will eventually ease the pain that follows me home.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2026
I was just contemplating the whole grief/pain connection yesterday. I lost my husband 3 years ago, and I’m facing some major oral surgery (I know, not the same as a limb!) in less than 2 weeks. Grief has been my constant shadow since losing him, so it has been -needless to say- hard. Facing surgery without him, without his comfort and care, seems ominous to me. I already feel the pain trying to take over, which has me hypothesizing that pain will seem “worse” due to the grief. I don’t want to give in to a pity-party, but some facts are unavoidable. The surgery is three days after the anniversary of my dad‘s death. So sadness preempts that day already. I’ll be glad when I’m over the worst of the physical pain, though I acknowledge that grief will always be with me, unable to be cut out with a scalpel.
Love & healing sent out to you all ~
Oh, Lisa. I think Grief will always “wake” in us at times when we could use the comfort of the ones we’ve lost. Thanks for sharing. This is true. It helps when we share these struggles because others going through similar feel a little less alone in it.
I know this is coming one day for me. I dread it, too.
They tell me I won’t be sorry, and considering the discomfort of the journey before the reward, it must be very very good. 🙂
I can totally relate to this, Pennie. Grief and anticipatory grief has been creeping up again lately (I suspect, but keep trying to pin my feelings onto something else, almost forgetting grief lives sometimes silently in my heart). Same with pain in my shoulder, in and out. It’s frustrating. It’s taking a lot longer to eliminate it. I want all of it gone, but am learning to accept the grief. I refuse to accept the pain… but still, I must. While it’s here. Sending healing vibes your way!
Thanks. I’m with you. I can sit with grief. Not so keen on sitting with physical pain.
As a future knee replacement friend I am trying to be optimistic, I can’t continue this way but I don’t look forward to the pain you describe. The climb towards surgery seems be less than the climb down – the recovery side. Writing about it is cathartic, just like grief. You are right grief can pain are very similar. A bit like sympathy and empathy. One denotes how sorry I am you are in pain, but empathy says I know how you feel. But do we? Do we really know how another person truly feels? I don’t think so. I think grief and sympathy are best understood as a solitary path..,one traveled only with our higher power.
The pain is more intense than I expected, but I do improve every day and they keep promising me it will be worth it. Mine is probably a little elevated because my knee has had very limited mobility for over 5 years. The new knee is already bending and straightening much more than the old one could. So I’m hopeful. I’ll be holding you up when your turn come. <3