Updates from Suzie Andrade

I know what you might be thinking—rejoice? In this pain?Trust me, I’ve asked the same thing.After my knee replacement, I had days when I sat in my recliner with tears in my eyes and a body that just... ached. My knee throbbed, the scar was red and angry, and I barely recognized the body I was living in. Sleep was scarce. Independence felt distant. And if you had handed me this verse on one of those days? I probably would’ve set it down gently… or not so gently.But one morning, I read these words in Jesus Calling by Sarah Young:

If you’re facing knee replacement surgery, chances are you’ve already said the words: I’m terrified. I’m petrified. I’m scared out of my mind. Those are heavy words. And they’re real. The truth is, most of that fear comes down to one thing — the unknown.Nobody really prepares you for the mental and emotional side of this surgery. Your surgeon will tell you what the procedure involves. Your physical therapist will walk you through exercises. But who sits you down and says, “Hey, let’s talk about the fear you’re carrying”? That part usually gets skipped, and it’s exactly what most of us need the most.

It’s easy to think of want as something shallow — like, “Sure, I want a good outcome, but that’s not up to me.”But actually... it is.Desire is what gives your want meaning.Desire turns “I hope I get better” into “I will do whatever it takes to recover fully.”And that’s exactly what I did.

My brain didn’t hesitate: Is my implant coming loose? Did something go wrong?Even though I’m nearly three years post-op on that knee, I still went straight to the worst-case scenario. Because that’s what we do. Something unexpected happens, and we assume it’s the implant. It’s the last big thing we did, so our minds grab onto it.

You want to stay positive. You want to trust the process. But some days, the stillness gets loud.Surrender sounds nice — until you’re forced into it. Until everything feels slow and uncertain and you’re left asking God why this is taking so long.But somewhere in the middle of the waiting, something deeper starts to settle. That maybe you’re not doing this alone… 

But here’s what I didn’t understand at the time (or maybe someone told me, but I wasn’t able to hear it yet):Healing isn’t linear. It’s layered.We often hold this memory of who we used to be and how we used to move—and we carry it like a measuring stick into recovery. At least that's what I did.But that version of you? That strength and stamina you had before surgery? It lives in the past. You accomplished it. It mattered. 

You are literally repairing your body for the future. You are exactly where you should be today. You are not behind, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.I know it’s hard, especially during the holidays when everyone seems to be out at BBQs, fireworks shows, and get-togethers. But I want to remind you—this is the season to be the most mindful.

I’ve always been good at picturing things that don’t exist yet. You want a dream chased? A goal cast? A Pinterest board for your next 10 years? I’m your girl.But I know not everyone is wired that way.Maybe you can’t see it yet. Maybe you’re still in the thick of pain or fear. Maybe the idea of thinking ahead just feels... fuzzy. And that’s OK.You don’t need a picture-perfect vision board to make a change. But you do need to get clear on one thing:

There’s a part of knee replacement recovery that nobody really talks about enough — and it’s what I call the Groundhog Day Effect.(Yes, like the old Bill Murray movie where he’s trapped in the same small town, waking up to the same song, eating at the same diner, stuck in the same loop over and over.)Here’s what it looks like in real life:You go to physical therapy.They add one new exercise to your routine — just one — and somehow, it’s the one that feels like it completely takes your knee out.

Let’s be real, sister—total knee replacement recovery is not just about physical healing. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, and if you’re anything like me (or 99% of our Titanium Group), you’ve probably felt all the feels in a single afternoon.One minute you’re queen of the recliner, nailing your exercises and dreaming about hikes and heels… and the next? You’re crying over a sock that won’t go on right. Girl, SAME.This isn’t just in your head. Between the pain, the swelling, the weird sleep schedule, and the sudden craving (or total disinterest) in food—it’s a lot. And don’t even get me started on well-meaning friends and family who ask, “Wait, you’re still in pain?” 😳