Rehab is kinda like pregnancy

No matter how much we empathize, husbands simply can’t grasp what their wives experience during pregnancy. Gaining 50 pounds? Perhaps. Craving bizarre food combos? Maybe. But it’s impossible for guys to understand what it feels like to have something kicking around inside our bellies. And no, that undercooked beef burrito we grabbed from Taco Bueno at 2am doesn’t count.

Rehab might be the closest we get. Both last about 1 year, and both are littered with time-stamped milestones, as patients are expected to reach certain targets at 8 weeks, 5 months, you name it. Of course, pregnancies chart the growth of a human being, like the formation of a baby’s lungs, while rehab tracks how many degrees a knee can bend. Subtle differences, to be sure.

At my last appointment, I received the ACI rehab protocol. Good lord. The Dallas Cowboys playbook isn’t this detailed. It breaks down my 52-week PT schedule into 4 broad “phases,” similar to pregnancy’s trimester approach. Um, my wife’s shaking her head right now. I think that’s her signal that the rehab-pregnancy comparison has gone too far. Time to stick with rehab.

Ok, the first part of the rehab is called, the “Protection Phase.” The goal is to protect the implanted cartilage cells, which rest precariously inside my knee like recently pored concrete. Most importantly, my knee must remain “non-weight bearing,” or NWB, during Phase 1.

As soon as I get home from surgery, rehab begins. I’m not kidding. There’s a rehab assignment for Day One. 6-8 hours after the surgery, I initiate Continuous Passive Motion (CPM) for 8-12 hours/day, something I’ll continue until my knee reaches a certain Range of Motion (ROM). Yes, I realize I’ve already used more acronyms than a CIA briefing. Hopefully I’ll use only 2-3 acronyms regularly. Most are fairly self-explanatory, but I’ll post an “Idiot’s Guide to ACI Acronyms,” just in case you need help.

For the first 6 weeks, my best friend is the CPM. The CPM is a motorized knee brace which mechanically bends my knee in slight increments. The automated movement helps cell growth, and also creates a smooth surface along the cartilage surface. I’m allowed to progress my ROM by 5-10 degrees/day, “as tolerated.” Wait, does this mean I have to stop the moment I yell out in pain? Can I scream twice? Can I chomp down on one of those horse bits to deflect the pain? My interpretation of “as tolerated” might be a little different than others. Anyway, I need to hit 120 degrees ROM by Week 6 before I graduate to Phase 2, which means I need to be able to bend the knee all the way backwards. When I’m not using the CPM, my knee remains locked in a brace at 0 degrees at all times, including during sleep. Because it’s my right knee, I can’t drive during Phase 1.

In my opinion, the rehab protocol omits critical tips, like, “If you wake up in extreme pain, pop 3 vicodin. Repeat every 15 minutes if pain persists,” and “Ring little bell when you can’t reach your book or laptop. If ignored, demand compliance from wife. When she tells you to fuck off, apologize, point to injured knee, and beg for sympathy.”

Some of the rehab is redundant. There are only so many ways to say, “Bend your knee a little bit further.” However, seeing the simple, incremental targets spread out over one year is finally driving home the difficult journey I’m about to embark on. Ok, that last sentence sounded really lame. Or like a contestant on The Bachelor. But this is definitely The. Most. Dramatic. Blog. Post. Ever. Well, at least until the next post. Stay tuned.