My TKR Journey — From Ignorance to Awareness, From Pain to Progress
This is exactly how I felt when my physiotherapist asked me to stand after my TKR — like a 50-plus woman balancing on toddler legs. Wobbly, unsure, unsteady, but determined. Outside the window, the sunrise seemed determined to brighten the day, and I was equally determined to take those first few steps after surgery.
Anyone who knows me — personally or professionally — has heard my mantra for decades: “We shall overcome / हम होंगे कामयाब.” It has carried me through life since the early ’90s, and it still holds me steady today. If my mom were here, she would have stood right beside me, singing those same lines in English and Hindi, reminding me that strength and hope rise just like the sun.
And so, this is my story — from ignorance to awareness, from pain to progress.
Sharing My Ignorance and My Learnings
I’m writing this blog not because I have all the answers, but because I made mistakes. I want to share what I learned the hard way, in the hope that it helps you — or someone you love — avoid some of those same mistakes.
Back in 2019, I was diagnosed with arthritis. Without doing enough research or seeking the right guidance, I confidently told myself, “Suchi, walk more and eat less. That should fix it.” I couldn’t have been more wrong.
One of the biggest lessons I learned is that managing arthritis is not simply about walking more or eating less. Exercise needs to be appropriate for your condition and guided by professionals. Strengthening exercises, swimming, stationary cycling, and adequate nutrition can all play a role, but every body is different. Please get proper medical advice rather than following someone else’s routine — including mine. Learning the hard way is not fun.
My Walking Mistake — And What It Taught Me
For years, I walked 12,000 to 15,000 steps every single day. I was proud of it. Over four years, I lost around 12–15 pounds, and I genuinely believed I was doing everything right. Then came the first warning sign: severe back pain.
A spinal specialist looked at my routine and explained that the problem wasn't necessarily the walking itself. The hilly, uneven terrain in my neighborhood was putting additional stress on my body. So I changed my route and kept walking.
Then, slowly, the knee pain and soreness began. Instead of stopping to investigate, I adjusted my walking style to “manage” the pain. My legs even started changing shape — something I ignored because, in my mind, discipline equaled health.
The one person who seemed to truly understand that something was wrong was my son. He repeatedly urged me to see an orthopedic doctor, but I brushed him off. Eventually, friends and neighbors started asking about the way I was walking. That was when it finally hit me: This wasn't normal aging. This wasn't ordinary soreness. Something was seriously wrong.
Pain is information. I wish I had listened earlier.
And the first picture below says it all. My legs had become completely deformed.
The Turning Point
I consulted orthopedic doctors both in the US and during a quick trip to India in March for my dad’s funeral. The message was consistent: I was an appropriate candidate for total knee replacement (TKR).
Once I accepted that surgery was the path forward, I started gathering recommendations from family and seriously considered where I wanted to have the procedure. I ultimately decided to have my surgery in India.
Why India?
There were three main reasons.
1. Insurance: I have global insurance. We had to pay upfront, but we could seek reimbursement afterward.
2. Family support: I knew I would have family around me and, more importantly, a trusted caretaker available 24×7.
3. The surgical approach: My surgeons recommended addressing both knees together, which meant I could focus on one major recovery rather than going through two separate surgeries. As always, please discuss the appropriate surgical approach with your own orthopedic surgeon. What worked for me may not be right for someone else.
Planning, Support, and Surgery
The surgery may have been mine, but the recovery was definitely a team project.
My husband, Guna, handled most of the planning, with tremendous support from his extended family. Accommodation was arranged by Guna’s niece, Nithya, who managed everything like a pro. College Mama and Anu Akka became our pillars. Home-cooked meals? Done. Fresh idli/dosa batter? Somehow it appeared exactly when we needed it.
Sindhuma was our online backbone. She ordered everything from A to Z and made sure it reached our doorstep. It felt like instant gratification — and honestly, during recovery, that was exactly what we needed!
And then there was Kanaka, my caretaker. We had booked her months in advance, and she stayed with me from Day 1 in the hospital until the day we flew back to the US. She cared for me like a mother. She managed the apartment, welcomed visitors, helped with everything I needed, and supported me through some of the toughest moments of recovery.
I kept telling everyone, “My physical recovery will happen in India. My mental recovery will happen only when I get home to the US.” There is something magical about home — your bed, your comforter, your favorite mug, your own bathroom. The familiar little things that medicine cannot prescribe. They heal you in ways you don't always realize.
Food, Medication, and Some Hard-Learned Lessons
Food during recovery was simple and mild — spinach, curd, coconut-based dishes, and easy-to-digest meals. Many nights, dinner was simply idli or idiyappam. Strong medications seemed to demand gentle food.
The blood thinner made me feel bloated, but after I consistently reached around 3,000 indoor steps a day, my surgeon eventually decided I could stop it. That small change made a surprisingly big difference.
But medication taught me another important lesson: Don’t Google every medicine you’ve been prescribed and then scare yourself! Ask your doctor or pharmacist about what you’re taking, why you’re taking it, how long you should take it, and what side effects to watch for. Trust your medical team — and communicate with them.
I also learned to be particularly careful with sleeping medication. If you're prescribed one, understand how and when it should be used and discuss any plan to reduce or stop it with your doctor rather than making changes on your own.
And there was another lesson that sounds obvious now: Don’t stay in bed 24×7 just because you’re recovering. During the day, I tried to stay out of bed as much as possible. Otherwise, your body can lose its sense of day and night, and sleep becomes even harder.
If you have an understanding partner, accept the help. Sometimes your partner pressing your legs isn't just about relieving pain. It's about saying, “I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”
Guna tried his best. But, let’s be honest, he was no match for my Muthu Thatha!
Physiotherapy — The Real Battle
If surgery is the beginning, physiotherapy is where the real battle begins. Physiotherapy started in the hospital soon after the epidural was stopped. It was tough, it was painful, and it was absolutely non-negotiable.
At the hospital, the physiotherapist came twice a day. Once we moved to the apartment, my physiotherapist visited every day except Sunday. She spent about an hour with me, and I had to repeat the exercises another one or two times on my own.
Within days, she had me walking without the walker because my posture was beginning to be affected. Slowly, my range of motion improved. We even practiced climbing stairs.
Today, I still continue many of the exercises I learned in India. I also go to Rothman twice a week to make sure I’m correcting years of misalignment.
My right foot used to land almost perpendicular to my left foot. Now, I consciously work on correcting that with every step. And that’s not easy.
My right thigh and hip are still in significant pain because the muscles have years of memory built into them. Now they have to unlearn and relearn. That process is slow, it can be painful, and it is ongoing.
One PT Tip I Learned
Do the exercises up to your prescribed level of discomfort — not through severe or sharp pain.
Your physiotherapist is your guide. Learn the difference between the discomfort of working a recovering muscle and pain that signals you need to stop and ask for help.
A Lesson About Cold Packs
We hear it all the time: “Use an ice pack for pain.” Yes — cold therapy can help. But I learned the hard way that even something as simple as an ice pack needs to be used correctly.
Many early mornings, when my nighttime medication had worn off, pain would wake me up. I’d grab a cold pack straight from the freezer, wrap it around my thigh or knee, and fall asleep again. The numbness helped me sleep, but it also caused blisters — essentially a cold injury.
Both my legs eventually looked like a patchwork of colors. A home nurse had to puncture and drain the blisters to help them heal. It was a painful reminder that even simple remedies can cause harm when they’re not used properly.
Don’t put ice directly against your skin, don’t fall asleep with it on, and follow your medical team’s instructions for duration and protection.
Family, Life, and Moving Forward
Guna and Sree traveled with me to India. It wasn’t exactly a fun trip for them, but Sree still managed to squeeze some life into our otherwise very medical trip — outings, malls, movies, and endless outside food. She even managed a theme-park outing with her cousins!
Guna “worked from India.” His routine was simple: escape after brunch, meet friends, come home, work at night to support his US clients, and sleep. Repeat. His classic undercover style — quiet but effective.
And then, in the middle of all this recovery chaos, my son called me. He wanted to know how I was doing. He gave me a motivational talk. He patiently listened to my grumbles, complaints, and dramatic storytelling. And then, in his usual cool tone, he said:
“Amma… people run marathons after TKR. So come back to the US prepared to run the same way you did before surgery.”
And then came the line that completely melted me:
“Also… you need to dance with me at my wedding.”
That was it. One sentence.
Suddenly, the pain, the physiotherapy sessions, the corrections, the struggles — they all felt worth it.
Because sometimes motivation doesn’t come from inspirational quotes or grand speeches. Sometimes it comes from your child reminding you about the moments you still need to show up for.
And trust me. I will show up. Not just walking. Dancing.
Coming Home
We returned to the US just two weeks before Sree moved into her Rutgers campus.
Life shifted almost overnight.One minute, I was counting steps, doing physiotherapy exercises, and thinking about knee recovery. The next, we were doing college drop-off.
That’s life. It doesn’t pause just because you’re recovering. It keeps moving. And sometimes, you have to find your way to move with it.
Closing Thoughts
This journey taught me many things.
Most importantly, it taught me that discipline without knowledge can be dangerous. I was disciplined. I walked every day. I watched my weight. I pushed through pain. But I wasn’t listening to what my body was trying to tell me.
Pain is not an inconvenience. Pain is information.
Listen to it. Ask questions. Get the right medical advice. Don’t assume that what worked for someone else will work for you. And remember that recovery isn’t only physical. It is emotional. It is mental. It is deeply personal. There are good days and bad days. Days when you feel incredibly strong. And days when getting out of bed feels like an achievement.
But progress is progress.One step. One exercise. One correction. One day at a time. I started this journey feeling like a 50-plus woman standing on toddler legs. Today, I’m still learning how to walk differently, move differently, and listen to my body differently. But I’m moving forward.
And if sharing my story helps even one person recognize a warning sign earlier, ask better questions, or avoid one of the mistakes I made, then every word of this journey has been worth sharing.
Because we shall overcome. हम होंगे कामयाब.
And one day soon…I will dance.
