August 16, 2024
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Photography by Amos Chapple/Stocksy United
8 years ago, walking was extremely painful. Now, armed with my titanium knee, I embarked on a guided hike to find my power again.
Living with rheumatoid arthritis (RA) can make you more reflective. I often look back on the good and bad times to take stock of how far I’ve come on my healing journey.
The anniversary of my total knee replacement, or “knee-versary” as I like to call it, is one of those times. I went from not being able to walk a couple of steps without severe pain, to being more mobile and pain-free thanks to my titanium knee.
So, I’ve since made it a habit to go on a walk almost every day. Getting my steps in frequently made me feel confident enough to tackle a long-awaited goal: going on a guided hike.
Ironically, I had almost forgotten all about my knee-versary this year.
In years past, I would make a point to mark the day in my calendar and post about it on my socials. This time around, I didn’t feel the need to do any of that. But what I felt called to do was get out there and live.
This is not to say that those who share their health setbacks and triumphs are not living life. Sharing my experiences publicly and connecting with others was cathartic to me for a while. Eventually, though, my perspective shifted, and it became more draining than healing. I had to start setting boundaries for how frequently I shared my life on social media.
So, on my 8-year knee-versary, I wanted to find my power in a new way.
I didn’t want RA and surgeries to be the center of my universe. I didn’t want to be in survival mode anymore. I wanted to honor my body by doing activities that were nearly impossible for me to do once upon a time.
After healing from my knee surgery, I remember my surgeon telling me to go out and do things that I previously couldn’t. I now had a second chance. This is what I’ve been focusing on celebrating more the last few years, and I’ve slowly built the confidence to try new activities.
In the first years following my knee replacement, I was hesitant to go on hikes. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk far.
My titanium knee has some scar tissue and doesn’t bend as well as my other knee. I wondered if this would hinder my ability to walk up and down hundreds of steps or climb up and over rocks, streams, and whatever else was on the path.
Another part of me babied my knee replacement. What if it was too much? What if I flared or irritated it? Fear, worry, and anxiety tend to be part of the chronic illness experience.
Eventually, I got used to my new normal, and those thoughts weren’t at the forefront of my mind as much. Meditation, affirmations, visualization, and working on regulating my nervous system helped me through the “what ifs.”
When I read on the guided tour website that this walk isn’t for those who have extensive disabilities, I wondered if I fell into the category of what “disabled” meant to whoever wrote this. After calling the company, explaining my situation, and asking a few questions, I decided it was worth a try.
A small group of seven people, plus the tour guide, did the hike with me. The scar tissue in my knee made me slower than others, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t a race and to take my time.
Our tour guide sometimes went a bit fast for other people, too. So, I spoke up. I wasn’t afraid to share the limits of what I thought I could and couldn’t do, and at what speed. The guide and the group were all understanding, and some of them were even thankful for my words.
The hike was scheduled to take 2 hours, and somehow we still finished with 30 minutes to spare! Going fast isn’t the end game, so don’t feel pressured to abide, but share your needs and wants.
There was one moment when I thought about turning back. Climbing up and down 87 stairs was quite the feat.
The hike often reminded me of my physical limitations more than I liked. Instead of letting it get to me, it gave me motivation to continue moving and keep up with my exercises every day.
I never thought I would be able to get to this point, or ever complete this goal. People say to find your “glimmers,” and this hike helped me do just that.
Glimmers are personal cues for joy and positivity. This might include fleeting, everyday moments that elicit a rush of happiness and peace. For example, a glimmer could be hearing your favorite song on the radio, or smelling a dish that brings back happy memories.
For some time, it was hard for me to focus on the glimmers in life when I was in pain and couldn’t walk two steps without assistance.
It was important for me to do this hike not because I had something to prove to anyone. Instead, I did it for myself, and for the sake of creating memories with loved ones. It reminded me how being able to take steps can be joyous.
The truth is, RA made it hard for me to find my glimmers for a period of time. But experiences like this have brought them back. The act of walking out of the house and even taking a few steps is a glimmer that I get to experience every day.
Whether hiking is for you or not, I hope you can find the glimmers that make you happy.
RA can change how we might find our joy, but it’s a challenge worth fighting for.
Medically reviewed on August 16, 2024
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