You know that moment when reality slaps you in the face? Yeah, that’s me right now—sitting on my couch, leg propped up, staring at the hospital bag I packed like it’s some kind of ominous prophecy. Knee surgery tomorrow.
Three months ago, I was hiking. Two months ago, I was limping. Yesterday, I was googling “Can you bribe your way out of surgery?” (Spoiler: No. Believe me, I checked.)
1. The Pre-Op Mind Circus
My brain has been running a non-stop horror movie marathon:
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What if I wake up mid-surgery and yell something embarrassing?
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What if they accidentally give me a bionic leg and I end up in a Marvel movie?
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What if I forget how to walk and have to relearn like a baby giraffe?
The rational part of me knows it’s routine. The irrational part is drafting a will just in case.
2. The “Last Normal Day” Pressure
I tried to cram in everything today like it’s my final day on Earth:
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Ate my favorite burger (because post-op diets are a sad, kale-filled mystery).
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Took a long, dramatic shower (bye-bye, unsupervised standing for a while).
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Hugged my dog extra tight (he has no idea why I’m being weird).
It’s funny how surgery makes you nostalgic for things like walking to the fridge without planning it like a military operation.
3. The Unsolicited Advice Flood
Everyone suddenly becomes a medical expert:
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“My cousin’s friend’s dog had knee surgery and now he runs marathons!” (Great. Can he do mine instead?)
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“Just think positive!” (I am thinking positively… about canceling.)
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“You’ll be fine!” (Says the person with two functioning knees.)
I appreciate the love, but right now, I just need someone to say, “Yeah, this sucks. Want to watch trash TV and pretend it’s not happening?”
4. The Weirdly Calm Moments
Between panic spirals, there’s this eerie calm—like my body’s accepted its fate. I’ve done the paperwork. I’ve sterilized my apartment like a germaphobe serial killer. I even bought one of those grabber tools so I won’t have to bend over. (Adulting level: Grandma chic.)
5. What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
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It’s okay to be scared. Surgery isn’t just physical—it’s a mental hurdle. Cry if you need to.
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Distraction is key. I’ve binge-watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine to avoid WebMD doom-scrolling.
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You’re allowed to ask for help. Pride doesn’t crutch you to the bathroom at 2 AM.
Update from the Future: If you’re reading this post-op, we made it. If you’re pre-op like me right now, take a deep breath. Tomorrow, we trade anxiety for anesthesia. And hey—at least we’ll finally get some decent hospital Jell-O.
P.S. If you’ve been through this, drop your best (or worst) surgery story below. Misery loves company—and tips on how to sneak extra pudding cups from the nurses.



