What My Knee Rehab Taught Me about Patience

(Image by u_puw75baxua from Pixabay) 

This is the second of three posts about what I learned as I rehabbed after knee replacement surgery. In my initial session with my physical therapist, he helped me get the right mindset for what I was in for. He explained to me that pain is part of the process, how I should expect the first three weeks to be difficult.

As I wrote in my previous post, he was right: the pain was a factor, especially in those early days. My knee was stiff and sore for weeks, and I often had to remind myself that the pain was trending in a good direction. It was not for nothing; it served a good purpose.

THE OTHER THING THE THERAPIST TOLD ME

But the therapist told me something else that has been helpful in the process. He told me not to expect to see progress day by day. The process is nonlinear and long-term, three steps forward and two steps back. He said that instead of measuring my progress day by day, I should measure it week by week.

He told me to expect to become discouraged.

I have observed that people who have joint replacement procedures eventually get to the place where they say they are glad they had it done; they often say their only regret is that they didn’t get it done sooner.

I’m not there yet.

I’m glad the therapist told me that I might become discouraged. He was right. Since the pain is more or less constant, it tends to wear down my resolve. I know on one level that this process is long-term and I must be patient and persistent, but my emotions don’t always align with my mind in this matter.  

Twice, in fact, I have found myself feeling blue about the whole process. 

The first time was a few days after surgery when I woke up feeling lousy. That was the first time the irrational thought crossed my mind that my knee shouldn’t still be hurting so much.

In retrospect, of course, I can see how silly that notion was. But the pain blindsided me at a vulnerable moment, and I got discouraged. 

But only momentarily because I remembered that discouragement is likely, and I shouldn’t take it seriously.

The second time I experienced discouragement was just this week. 

I had noticed early on that the shift from an active lifestyle to the rehab lifestyle was more dramatic than I had anticipated. I went from being busy helping people to being helpless and having to be assisted with almost everything. 

At first, when I was so weak and the pain was so great, I accepted my helpless condition. And my wife has proven to be a superb caregiver. (We celebrated our forty-fourth anniversary this week, and she has been living out the “in sickness and in health” part of our vows with such grace.)

But this week, as I’ve started feeling better, I’ve become increasingly bored with the monotonous routine of rehab. I want to do things; I want to contribute and not just receive.

I’ve even felt a little embarrassment. Shouldn’t I be stronger, more productive by now? Shouldn’t I be closer to carrying my weight here around the house? Shouldn’t I be returning to the office to pick up where I left off?

But my body isn’t so cooperative. My overall stamina is not yet restored, and my knee is obviously going to gain strength on its own schedule. 

That’s when I recall what the therapist told me at the beginning: this is a long-term process. 

So I got up this morning, took my pain meds, and did my first set of stretches. Not because I feel any better than I did yesterday. In fact, thanks to a new set of exercises assigned this week, my knee feels worse.

But the therapist says I’m doing well. The doctor has been pleased with my progress in my follow-up visits. These people whose job it is to assess patient progress have told me I’m on the path to recovery. 

I just need to keep trudging on.

GOD’S LONG-TERM PLANS

One of the things that is clear from the Scripture is that the God we serve is always playing the long game. 

That was my main impression as I recently read through the accounts of the patriarchs in Genesis. From Abraham to Isaac to Jacob and on to his twelve sons, you can see the hand of God patiently working out His Plan over the decades, through several generations. 

Think of His lavish promises to Abraham and how long it took for even one of those promises to come true (a decade before the birth of Isaac). And think about how Abraham died without seeing other parts of God’s promise come true (the Land would belong to his family, and his offspring would bless all the peoples of the earth).

Think even of Jesus, who waited thirty years before he began his public ministry. Surely he saw the desperate needs of the people long before the inauguration of his ministry, and yet he waited patiently on his Father’s timing.

God has committed Himself to the long-term plan of our sanctification, making us more and more like Jesus. This is a life-long project, and we are told that “he who began a good work in us will carry it on to completion” (Phil 1:6).

We grow impatient, of course, because we cannot clearly envision the end product. From where we stand, in the middle of the process, all we can see is our fickle, wicked hearts and our deeply ingrained tendency to rebel. 

But we grow impatient because we are forgetful. We forget that twenty centuries passed between God’s promises to Abraham and the appearance of Jesus, the Man through whom all the peoples would be blessed.

We forget that God doesn’t think about the passing of time the way we do. We serve a God whose plans work themselves out not over years but over millennia (2 Pet 3:8).

My physical therapist told me that I must constantly remind myself that this knee won’t be made whole if I avoid pain, nor will it be made whole by this time tomorrow.

I must commit myself to a process that sometimes seems futile, knowing that the people who know what they’re doing have told me this is the path toward wholeness.

In the same way, I must trust that my Father knows what He’s doing. I can commit myself to a settled life posture of trusting obedience, even when I don’t see the point, even when I cannot detect any progress.

I can persevere not because I fully understand the process but because I know and trust my Father.