What It’s Like to Have Your Knee Replaced by Jim Hamilton – SEE SAW Comics, Webcomics from the Sequential Artists Workshop

What It’s Like to Have Your Knee Replaced by Jim Hamilton

Drawn in a graphic essay style, with hand-drawn serif lettering and illustrations rendered with delicate lines and crayon coloring. The title, written in bold type highlighted in blue, tops the page: "What It's Like to Have Your Knee Replaced" A person's left hand and wrist extend horizontally below the title. The person has light skin and their arm, hand, and fingers are lined with little hairs. They are wearing a traditional gold wedding band on their ring finger. They have on a hospital bracelet that identifies the person as Jim Hamilton, male, born in July, and that it is currently February 16, 2023. Next to this bracelet is another - a bright yellow band that identifies him as a fall risk. Jim begins his narration: "Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:10 A.M. (Before Surgery). I'm lying on a gurney in a fancy paper gown waiting to have my right knee replaced. I'm simultaneously nervous and glad to be here. I know what this experience is like and I want to get it over with. I had my left knee replaced in 2021. The hospital gown is actually fairly nice, despite being made of paper. It's a light lavender with long straps to wrap around the back. It has a connector for a tube that can pump in air, hot or cold as you see fit to keep you comfortable." To the right of this text is Jim's right leg, visible from the top of his thigh down to his ankle. The right leg is slightly crossed over his left knee. He is wearing the aforementioned lavender gown, which comes down mid-thigh, as well as bright yellow socks. His leg shows skin and hair, but also reveals his bones below like a scientific diagram. Little arrows and captions identify the issues he's having: "No more padding" at the knee cap, and "Bone on bone."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:55 A.M. People come and go checking in on me. On my wrist is a white band with my name and date of birth. Notwithstanding, everyone who I see asks me my name and date of birth. It gets a little tiresome. I also have a yellow band identifying me as a fall risk." Jim is lying in his hospital bed, which is angled so his back is propped up slightly. He is wearing his lavender gown, his hospital bracelets, chunky yellow socks, and a blanket that covers his legs. He also wears glasses and is writing or drawing on a sheet of paper in his lap. In the background are details from the hospital room, including the sink, clock, an IV drip, a monitor above his head, and a poster on the wall that says 'Call, don't fall!' The narration continues, "I have been set up with an IV line that will come in handy later. The anesthesiologist and his team, including an intern, let me know that I will be having a spinal anesthetic and a numbing injection in my thigh. That's good. The more the better as far as I'm concerned. I'm not good with pain."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 9:30 A.M. My surgeon, Dr. Ward, stops in to chat, then shaves the hair off my leg about four inches above and below my knee. I jokingly tell him that such a job is below his pay grade, but he replies with a reassuring comment about how they are all part of a time that strives to get every detail right. Before he leaves he writes his signature with a Sharpie on my right thigh. As they pass through, I ask some of the staff if they can tell me more about the most famous patient they have ever treated. No one wants to say specifically, but this being Boston some admit that they see well-known athletes frequently. After pushing the point, one person admits to me that they worked on one of the Beatles. They won't say which one. I'm guessing it was Ringo." In the middle of the page to the right is a drawing of Jim's legs, with the hair surrounding his right knee shaved off and the initials 'DMW' marked in Sharpie on the thigh. At the bottom of the page is a drawing of Ringo Starr in the same lavender hospital gown, yellow socks, and wrist bands, holding up a peace sign and saying, "Peace and love."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 11:25 A.M. I have my sketchbook with me plus a fine-point Sharpie and some colored pencils. I write and draw and color while I'm waiting. There has been a delay, but the operating room nurse was just here and she said that I'll be going into surgery soon. For my first knee surgery I felt oddly sentimental about losing my natural knee. I wrote a haiku about how I felt: 'A prayer for my knee / May God bless you loyal friend / It's been a long ride.'" An illustration of Jim beginning to write '11:25' in his notebook with a fine-tip Sharpie marker. He continues, "This time around I try writing a limerick: 'I'm sitting here feeling so bored / Just waiting for my doctor, Ward / He's replacing my knee / With robotic surgery / It's better than using a sword.'" Jim holds up a sparkling sword in the bottom right corner of the page.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 4:00 P.M. (The surgery is over.) After my first knee operation, I woke up with vivid memories of playing soccer with The Simpsons, but in a trippy style more similar to the Beatles' Yellow Submarine. This time it was calmer. A gentle, soothing, Earth Mother accompanied me through anesthesiology." Jim lies in a hospital bed, wearing a cap and surgery gown. His eyes are closed and he smiles dreamily. Thought bubbles rise up from his head. One depicts Bart Simpson playing soccer with a three-eye fish and an orange and yellow ball. The other depicts a woman with bright red lipstick and curly auburn hair, wearing a big smile, a pearl necklace, and a green shirt. Both drawings are playful and lightly psychedelic. "Despite just having my knee operated on, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since the night before. I dial up the hospital kitchen and order a pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms. I eat it all. Thanks to Covid I have a single room. One nice touch is that there's a rose in a bud vase on the window shelf." A view from Jim's window, with a rose in a vase and a little bird sitting on the sill. He sits up happily in his hospital bed, digging into a pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 4:30 P.M. I do not want to know anything about what the surgeon actually did in replacing my knee. I could have watched videos or asked questions. I did not want to. As far as I am concerned, it's magic. I prefer not to think about the details." A close up drawing of a knee and a few inches of thigh and shin above/below. The skin around the knee is shaved, while the rest is covered in leg hair. There is a long strip of bandage running along the middle of the knee and into the shin. The sharpied initials 'DMW' are still visible above the knee. "I do, however, want to see the scar. I'll have to wait weeks for that. It's covered for now with an Ace bandage and some gauze. Underneath there's a patchwork of "Steri-Strips" covering the stitches. They will dissolve later on their own. Four weeks from now, when the Steri-Strips finally come off, my hairless knee, swollen enormously and bisected by a scar, has the greasy, shiny, yellowish look of an uncooked chicken." A close up drawing of Jim's knee post-surgery, exactly as he described.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 5:15 P.M. They have me up and walking before long. By the following morning I will have been up and down the hall on crutches three or four times trailed by my IV on a pole. Before they will let me go home I'll need to prove that I can get up and down a few stairs plus prove that I can get into a bathtub for a shower. One of the first things you hear once you are up and moving around is that you should go up the stairs by leading with the side that hasn't been operated on, i.e., your 'good' knee. So throughout your rehab (and until you can go up or down steps normally), every time you face a staircase, you will talk to yourself like some unimaginative protester." Drawings from top to bottom: Jim stands in his lavender gown with crutches and bright yellow shoes/slippers, trailed by his IV on a pole and a woman in blue scrubs. He is smiling. Jim walks up a set of stairs, leading with his left leg. He holds a cane in his right hand and a sign reading "Up with the good!" in his left. A right foot is seen at the top of the stairs coming down, with a speech bubble reading "Down with the bad!"

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:00 P.M. A nurse hands me this peculiar contraption, sort of like a Breathalyzer in reverse or some bizarre carnival test of strength, only in miniature and for you lungs rather than your arms. You put your lips around the plastic tube and inhale. The goal is to lift a little blue disk with your breath, the higher, the better. I pass the test. After my knee surgeries, the hospital sent these things home with me. I now have two slightly different versions and I find them oddly appealing. I continue to use them, usually before I do my rehab exercises, like a hyperventilating warm-up routine." To the top right, a close up drawing of Jim's face as he breathes into the aforementioned tube, which is blue and ribbed. At the bottom, a drawing of two of the tube contraptions, labeled 'Thing 1' and 'Thing 2' a la Dr. Seuss. The one on the left has a shorter tube and is a light gray, labeled Voldyne 5000Â®. The other has a long blue tube, labeled Airlifeâ„¢.

"Thursday February 17, 2023, 5:30 A.M. (The following morning in the hospital.)" There is a little drawing of the view from Jim's window, featuring the rose in a vase - there is a wintry tree and a row of houses, behind which is a low mountain range and a big bright smiling sun on the horizon. "After a fairly restful night (courtesy of oxycodone and the lingering effects of surgery anesthesia) I am woken up by a physician's assistant (I think, I am still a little groggy) and then not long after the night nurse gives me more oxycodone and Tylenol. After a quick nap I order breakfast: a fresh fruit cup, scrambled eggs and pancakes, wheat toast, and orange juice. I love the food here." Jim sits up in his hospital bed, eating from a tray set with the meal he just described. There is a book in his lap. He smiles as he holds his fork and delightedly prepares to dig in. "If all goes well my wife will arrive soon to pick me up and I will be out of the hospital by early in the afternoon, though first there will be another parade of hospital staff, some final paperwork, and a last-minute antibiotic delivered through my IV."

"Thursday February 17, 2023, 3:00 P.M. (Back at home) In advance of my operation I visited a local charity that will loan you things like crutches, a cane, and a toilet seat extender with hand railings to make it easier to stand up. (Some new toilets have high seats, but ours don't.) My doctor recommended a gizmo that circulates cool water to use instead of ice bags for swelling. I found it to be a big help, and a bit of a distraction from the pain. I also borrowed a set of battery-powered calf vibrators from a friend. These massage your lower leg, help with your circulation, and provide another pleasant distraction." Jim is sound asleep in his blue recliner chair in front of a burning fireplace. He wears eye shades, a green sweater, blue pants, and yellow slippers. His knee is wrapped and connected to a whirring machine. A gray cat sits near his feet. On the table next to him, there is a glass of water, a pair of glasses, a TV remote, a pen, and a small stack of books and paper. Jim narrates, "You will need pillows, blankets, and loose-fitting leisure wear, but one thing I found to be most handy was a pair of eye shades like the ones you might wear to sleep on a long airplane flight. With these you don't have to turn the lights off when you want to nap."

"Saturday February 18, 2023, 2:00 A.M. The nights at home are long. Time slows to a crawl. I want nothing more than for the hours to pass. I sleep in half-hour to hour chunks. Then I get up and pee. I'm not sleeping in the bedroom. I can't get my leg in a comfortable position under the covers. My nighttime realm is the den with the couch, the recliner, and the television. I would not be able to manage without my wife. She helps me get in and out of the shower, monitors my medications, and makes sure that I have everything I need." An older man holds a gift bag and waves through the house window at Jim, who waves back from his recliner. Next to the man is a dog who wags their tail, and an older woman, who has just gotten out of her red car and who holds up a large container of hot food. She smiles at Jim. From the front door, the gray cat looks out at the visitors. Jim continues, "Before long, friends from church will bring us meals. Get well cards will arrive. My recovery begins in earnest."

"Saturday February 18 2023, 10:00 A.M. The visiting physical therapist, Brooke, arrives for her first visit. She provides me with at-home physical therapy for a couple of weeks. She checks my temperature, my blood pressure, and my knee's range of motion. She listens to any complaints, guides me through some exercises, and instructs me on additional things I should be doing." Jim lies on a greenish-blue couch, sitting up against a pillow. He wears his glasses, a long-sleeved green shirt, and gray shorts. His knee is wrapped and slightly bent as a woman holds his ankle and inspects his knee and lower leg. The woman, Brooke, has her brown hair pulled back in a low pony tail, and she wears blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck. Jim's cat observes the scene from the stairs. Jim narrates, "For my first knee operation I also had home visits from a nurse, but this time around that is not the case. The nurse mainly checked for infection and monitored my temperature and blood pressure. Brooke does this as well, and would call in the nurse if needed. It is not. I am doing fine."

"Sunday February 19, 2023, 2:00 p.m. Health care providers will ask you to describe your pain on a scale from one to ten where one is feeling fine and ten is the worst pain you have ever felt. My responses ranged from a two or a three (meaning slightly uncomfortable) to a five or a six (throbbing pain that makes it impossible to sleep). They all say that pain is felt uniquely by every person, so your results may vary." An illustrated pain scale from 1 to 10. 1 and 2 are green, with a smiling Jim. 3 and 4 are yellow, 5 and 6 are orange, with an uncomfortable, frowning Jim. 7, 8, and 9 are red, and 10 is black, with a skull faceâ€”topped with Jim's glassesâ€”crying out and sweating blood. "After my first surgery I was under the mistaken impression that I should try to get off the oxycodone pills after about two weeks. This was not in the cards for me. I needed oxycodone (and Tylenol and Advil) to be able to sleep, even if only for a few hours at a time. I took oxycodone regularly until the fifth week or so after the operation. Taking it in conjunction with Tylenol and Advil helps to extend the efficacy of the oxycodone. You will also need laxatives and stool softeners because oxycodone makes you constipated."

"Friday March 3, 2023, 6:00 a.m. Sleep remains elusive. I finally fall asleep around 3:00 a.m., but I wake up in the midst of a night fright. These are not uncommon for me, but this one is a doozy. Mine are usually filled with the threat of aliens, downhill plunges, and end-of-world scenarios. This time when I woke up I thought I was dying, and that if I didn't take a breath within forty-five seconds, my life would be over. It was terrifying. I stood up from the recliner and staggered around the room until my wife arrived to calm me down. I did not need this." Jim runs around his living room, flailing his arms. He has a comically exaggerated look of panic on his face: eyes wide with terror and mouth open in a shout. He imagines a stopwatch, with around 23 seconds already elapsed, ticking closer towards death at 45 seconds, marked by a skull. His wife is seen in the doorway, rushing to Jim's aid. She looks like she sprinted over.

"Wednesday March 15, 2023, 3:00 p.m. I have my first appointment at the physical therapist's office. With physical therapy after total knee replacement, in addition to strengthening muscles, you are trying to get your new knee to do two things: (1) straighten out to zero degrees, and (2) to bend back to around 120 degrees. To achieve this, your physical therapist will press down on your leg when it's straight and later on bend your lower leg back toward your butt. They know you are making some progress when you tell them it hurts. This brings new meaning to the saying 'no pain, no gain.'" Jim lies belly down on a mat table. He wears a yellow t-shirt and black shorts, and he rests his head on a pillow. A bald man wearing a blue collared shirt, brown pants, a black belt, and brown work boots, stands over him. The man bends Jim's knee backwards towards his butt at a sharp angle. His surgery scar is visible on the knee. The man asks, "How's this?" Jim replies, "Uncle!" He looks to be in pain. "People will tell you that you have to do the physical therapy diligently if you are going to take advantage of your knee replacement. And that's true. They don't tell you that parts of it will actually hurt."

"Thursday March 30, 2023 (Six weeks after the operation) Your progress is marked in milestones. Each week after the operation pushes you further into your recovery. Over time, things get better. You give up on crutches fairly quickly. You'll use a cane but find one day that you can mostly do without it. Your pain decreases to the point where you can eliminate oxycodone and make do with Tylenol and Advil. You can drive. Someday you will go up steps two at a time. There's a light at the end of the tunnel." Jim drives a golf ball across a green course. The ball lands right by the red flag marking the hole. He is bending his knee and standing confidently. "To sum up, I believe that there are three 'wish' stages of knee replacement: 1. In the weeks leading up to surgery: 'I wish I didn't have to do this.' 2. Two weeks after surgery: 'I wish this were over.' 3. Six months after surgery: 'I wish I had done this sooner.'"

Drawn in a graphic essay style, with hand-drawn serif lettering and illustrations rendered with delicate lines and crayon coloring. The title, written in bold type highlighted in blue, tops the page: "What It's Like to Have Your Knee Replaced" A person's left hand and wrist extend horizontally below the title. The person has light skin and their arm, hand, and fingers are lined with little hairs. They are wearing a traditional gold wedding band on their ring finger. They have on a hospital bracelet that identifies the person as Jim Hamilton, male, born in July, and that it is currently February 16, 2023. Next to this bracelet is another - a bright yellow band that identifies him as a fall risk. Jim begins his narration: "Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:10 A.M. (Before Surgery). I'm lying on a gurney in a fancy paper gown waiting to have my right knee replaced. I'm simultaneously nervous and glad to be here. I know what this experience is like and I want to get it over with. I had my left knee replaced in 2021. The hospital gown is actually fairly nice, despite being made of paper. It's a light lavender with long straps to wrap around the back. It has a connector for a tube that can pump in air, hot or cold as you see fit to keep you comfortable." To the right of this text is Jim's right leg, visible from the top of his thigh down to his ankle. The right leg is slightly crossed over his left knee. He is wearing the aforementioned lavender gown, which comes down mid-thigh, as well as bright yellow socks. His leg shows skin and hair, but also reveals his bones below like a scientific diagram. Little arrows and captions identify the issues he's having: "No more padding" at the knee cap, and "Bone on bone."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:55 A.M. People come and go checking in on me. On my wrist is a white band with my name and date of birth. Notwithstanding, everyone who I see asks me my name and date of birth. It gets a little tiresome. I also have a yellow band identifying me as a fall risk." Jim is lying in his hospital bed, which is angled so his back is propped up slightly. He is wearing his lavender gown, his hospital bracelets, chunky yellow socks, and a blanket that covers his legs. He also wears glasses and is writing or drawing on a sheet of paper in his lap. In the background are details from the hospital room, including the sink, clock, an IV drip, a monitor above his head, and a poster on the wall that says 'Call, don't fall!' The narration continues, "I have been set up with an IV line that will come in handy later. The anesthesiologist and his team, including an intern, let me know that I will be having a spinal anesthetic and a numbing injection in my thigh. That's good. The more the better as far as I'm concerned. I'm not good with pain."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 9:30 A.M. My surgeon, Dr. Ward, stops in to chat, then shaves the hair off my leg about four inches above and below my knee. I jokingly tell him that such a job is below his pay grade, but he replies with a reassuring comment about how they are all part of a time that strives to get every detail right. Before he leaves he writes his signature with a Sharpie on my right thigh. As they pass through, I ask some of the staff if they can tell me more about the most famous patient they have ever treated. No one wants to say specifically, but this being Boston some admit that they see well-known athletes frequently. After pushing the point, one person admits to me that they worked on one of the Beatles. They won't say which one. I'm guessing it was Ringo." In the middle of the page to the right is a drawing of Jim's legs, with the hair surrounding his right knee shaved off and the initials 'DMW' marked in Sharpie on the thigh. At the bottom of the page is a drawing of Ringo Starr in the same lavender hospital gown, yellow socks, and wrist bands, holding up a peace sign and saying, "Peace and love."

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 11:25 A.M. I have my sketchbook with me plus a fine-point Sharpie and some colored pencils. I write and draw and color while I'm waiting. There has been a delay, but the operating room nurse was just here and she said that I'll be going into surgery soon. For my first knee surgery I felt oddly sentimental about losing my natural knee. I wrote a haiku about how I felt: 'A prayer for my knee / May God bless you loyal friend / It's been a long ride.'" An illustration of Jim beginning to write '11:25' in his notebook with a fine-tip Sharpie marker. He continues, "This time around I try writing a limerick: 'I'm sitting here feeling so bored / Just waiting for my doctor, Ward / He's replacing my knee / With robotic surgery / It's better than using a sword.'" Jim holds up a sparkling sword in the bottom right corner of the page.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 4:00 P.M. (The surgery is over.) After my first knee operation, I woke up with vivid memories of playing soccer with The Simpsons, but in a trippy style more similar to the Beatles' Yellow Submarine. This time it was calmer. A gentle, soothing, Earth Mother accompanied me through anesthesiology." Jim lies in a hospital bed, wearing a cap and surgery gown. His eyes are closed and he smiles dreamily. Thought bubbles rise up from his head. One depicts Bart Simpson playing soccer with a three-eye fish and an orange and yellow ball. The other depicts a woman with bright red lipstick and curly auburn hair, wearing a big smile, a pearl necklace, and a green shirt. Both drawings are playful and lightly psychedelic. "Despite just having my knee operated on, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since the night before. I dial up the hospital kitchen and order a pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms. I eat it all. Thanks to Covid I have a single room. One nice touch is that there's a rose in a bud vase on the window shelf." A view from Jim's window, with a rose in a vase and a little bird sitting on the sill. He sits up happily in his hospital bed, digging into a pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 4:30 P.M. I do not want to know anything about what the surgeon actually did in replacing my knee. I could have watched videos or asked questions. I did not want to. As far as I am concerned, it's magic. I prefer not to think about the details." A close up drawing of a knee and a few inches of thigh and shin above/below. The skin around the knee is shaved, while the rest is covered in leg hair. There is a long strip of bandage running along the middle of the knee and into the shin. The sharpied initials 'DMW' are still visible above the knee. "I do, however, want to see the scar. I'll have to wait weeks for that. It's covered for now with an Ace bandage and some gauze. Underneath there's a patchwork of "Steri-Strips" covering the stitches. They will dissolve later on their own. Four weeks from now, when the Steri-Strips finally come off, my hairless knee, swollen enormously and bisected by a scar, has the greasy, shiny, yellowish look of an uncooked chicken." A close up drawing of Jim's knee post-surgery, exactly as he described.

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 5:15 P.M. They have me up and walking before long. By the following morning I will have been up and down the hall on crutches three or four times trailed by my IV on a pole. Before they will let me go home I'll need to prove that I can get up and down a few stairs plus prove that I can get into a bathtub for a shower. One of the first things you hear once you are up and moving around is that you should go up the stairs by leading with the side that hasn't been operated on, i.e., your 'good' knee. So throughout your rehab (and until you can go up or down steps normally), every time you face a staircase, you will talk to yourself like some unimaginative protester." Drawings from top to bottom: Jim stands in his lavender gown with crutches and bright yellow shoes/slippers, trailed by his IV on a pole and a woman in blue scrubs. He is smiling. Jim walks up a set of stairs, leading with his left leg. He holds a cane in his right hand and a sign reading "Up with the good!" in his left. A right foot is seen at the top of the stairs coming down, with a speech bubble reading "Down with the bad!"

"Thursday February 16, 2023, 8:00 P.M. A nurse hands me this peculiar contraption, sort of like a Breathalyzer in reverse or some bizarre carnival test of strength, only in miniature and for you lungs rather than your arms. You put your lips around the plastic tube and inhale. The goal is to lift a little blue disk with your breath, the higher, the better. I pass the test. After my knee surgeries, the hospital sent these things home with me. I now have two slightly different versions and I find them oddly appealing. I continue to use them, usually before I do my rehab exercises, like a hyperventilating warm-up routine." To the top right, a close up drawing of Jim's face as he breathes into the aforementioned tube, which is blue and ribbed. At the bottom, a drawing of two of the tube contraptions, labeled 'Thing 1' and 'Thing 2' a la Dr. Seuss. The one on the left has a shorter tube and is a light gray, labeled Voldyne 5000Â®. The other has a long blue tube, labeled Airlifeâ„¢.

"Thursday February 17, 2023, 5:30 A.M. (The following morning in the hospital.)" There is a little drawing of the view from Jim's window, featuring the rose in a vase - there is a wintry tree and a row of houses, behind which is a low mountain range and a big bright smiling sun on the horizon. "After a fairly restful night (courtesy of oxycodone and the lingering effects of surgery anesthesia) I am woken up by a physician's assistant (I think, I am still a little groggy) and then not long after the night nurse gives me more oxycodone and Tylenol. After a quick nap I order breakfast: a fresh fruit cup, scrambled eggs and pancakes, wheat toast, and orange juice. I love the food here." Jim sits up in his hospital bed, eating from a tray set with the meal he just described. There is a book in his lap. He smiles as he holds his fork and delightedly prepares to dig in. "If all goes well my wife will arrive soon to pick me up and I will be out of the hospital by early in the afternoon, though first there will be another parade of hospital staff, some final paperwork, and a last-minute antibiotic delivered through my IV."

"Thursday February 17, 2023, 3:00 P.M. (Back at home) In advance of my operation I visited a local charity that will loan you things like crutches, a cane, and a toilet seat extender with hand railings to make it easier to stand up. (Some new toilets have high seats, but ours don't.) My doctor recommended a gizmo that circulates cool water to use instead of ice bags for swelling. I found it to be a big help, and a bit of a distraction from the pain. I also borrowed a set of battery-powered calf vibrators from a friend. These massage your lower leg, help with your circulation, and provide another pleasant distraction." Jim is sound asleep in his blue recliner chair in front of a burning fireplace. He wears eye shades, a green sweater, blue pants, and yellow slippers. His knee is wrapped and connected to a whirring machine. A gray cat sits near his feet. On the table next to him, there is a glass of water, a pair of glasses, a TV remote, a pen, and a small stack of books and paper. Jim narrates, "You will need pillows, blankets, and loose-fitting leisure wear, but one thing I found to be most handy was a pair of eye shades like the ones you might wear to sleep on a long airplane flight. With these you don't have to turn the lights off when you want to nap."

"Saturday February 18, 2023, 2:00 A.M. The nights at home are long. Time slows to a crawl. I want nothing more than for the hours to pass. I sleep in half-hour to hour chunks. Then I get up and pee. I'm not sleeping in the bedroom. I can't get my leg in a comfortable position under the covers. My nighttime realm is the den with the couch, the recliner, and the television. I would not be able to manage without my wife. She helps me get in and out of the shower, monitors my medications, and makes sure that I have everything I need." An older man holds a gift bag and waves through the house window at Jim, who waves back from his recliner. Next to the man is a dog who wags their tail, and an older woman, who has just gotten out of her red car and who holds up a large container of hot food. She smiles at Jim. From the front door, the gray cat looks out at the visitors. Jim continues, "Before long, friends from church will bring us meals. Get well cards will arrive. My recovery begins in earnest."

"Saturday February 18 2023, 10:00 A.M. The visiting physical therapist, Brooke, arrives for her first visit. She provides me with at-home physical therapy for a couple of weeks. She checks my temperature, my blood pressure, and my knee's range of motion. She listens to any complaints, guides me through some exercises, and instructs me on additional things I should be doing." Jim lies on a greenish-blue couch, sitting up against a pillow. He wears his glasses, a long-sleeved green shirt, and gray shorts. His knee is wrapped and slightly bent as a woman holds his ankle and inspects his knee and lower leg. The woman, Brooke, has her brown hair pulled back in a low pony tail, and she wears blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck. Jim's cat observes the scene from the stairs. Jim narrates, "For my first knee operation I also had home visits from a nurse, but this time around that is not the case. The nurse mainly checked for infection and monitored my temperature and blood pressure. Brooke does this as well, and would call in the nurse if needed. It is not. I am doing fine."

"Sunday February 19, 2023, 2:00 p.m. Health care providers will ask you to describe your pain on a scale from one to ten where one is feeling fine and ten is the worst pain you have ever felt. My responses ranged from a two or a three (meaning slightly uncomfortable) to a five or a six (throbbing pain that makes it impossible to sleep). They all say that pain is felt uniquely by every person, so your results may vary." An illustrated pain scale from 1 to 10. 1 and 2 are green, with a smiling Jim. 3 and 4 are yellow, 5 and 6 are orange, with an uncomfortable, frowning Jim. 7, 8, and 9 are red, and 10 is black, with a skull faceâ€”topped with Jim's glassesâ€”crying out and sweating blood. "After my first surgery I was under the mistaken impression that I should try to get off the oxycodone pills after about two weeks. This was not in the cards for me. I needed oxycodone (and Tylenol and Advil) to be able to sleep, even if only for a few hours at a time. I took oxycodone regularly until the fifth week or so after the operation. Taking it in conjunction with Tylenol and Advil helps to extend the efficacy of the oxycodone. You will also need laxatives and stool softeners because oxycodone makes you constipated."

"Friday March 3, 2023, 6:00 a.m. Sleep remains elusive. I finally fall asleep around 3:00 a.m., but I wake up in the midst of a night fright. These are not uncommon for me, but this one is a doozy. Mine are usually filled with the threat of aliens, downhill plunges, and end-of-world scenarios. This time when I woke up I thought I was dying, and that if I didn't take a breath within forty-five seconds, my life would be over. It was terrifying. I stood up from the recliner and staggered around the room until my wife arrived to calm me down. I did not need this." Jim runs around his living room, flailing his arms. He has a comically exaggerated look of panic on his face: eyes wide with terror and mouth open in a shout. He imagines a stopwatch, with around 23 seconds already elapsed, ticking closer towards death at 45 seconds, marked by a skull. His wife is seen in the doorway, rushing to Jim's aid. She looks like she sprinted over.

"Wednesday March 15, 2023, 3:00 p.m. I have my first appointment at the physical therapist's office. With physical therapy after total knee replacement, in addition to strengthening muscles, you are trying to get your new knee to do two things: (1) straighten out to zero degrees, and (2) to bend back to around 120 degrees. To achieve this, your physical therapist will press down on your leg when it's straight and later on bend your lower leg back toward your butt. They know you are making some progress when you tell them it hurts. This brings new meaning to the saying 'no pain, no gain.'" Jim lies belly down on a mat table. He wears a yellow t-shirt and black shorts, and he rests his head on a pillow. A bald man wearing a blue collared shirt, brown pants, a black belt, and brown work boots, stands over him. The man bends Jim's knee backwards towards his butt at a sharp angle. His surgery scar is visible on the knee. The man asks, "How's this?" Jim replies, "Uncle!" He looks to be in pain. "People will tell you that you have to do the physical therapy diligently if you are going to take advantage of your knee replacement. And that's true. They don't tell you that parts of it will actually hurt."

"Thursday March 30, 2023 (Six weeks after the operation) Your progress is marked in milestones. Each week after the operation pushes you further into your recovery. Over time, things get better. You give up on crutches fairly quickly. You'll use a cane but find one day that you can mostly do without it. Your pain decreases to the point where you can eliminate oxycodone and make do with Tylenol and Advil. You can drive. Someday you will go up steps two at a time. There's a light at the end of the tunnel." Jim drives a golf ball across a green course. The ball lands right by the red flag marking the hole. He is bending his knee and standing confidently. "To sum up, I believe that there are three 'wish' stages of knee replacement: 1. In the weeks leading up to surgery: 'I wish I didn't have to do this.' 2. Two weeks after surgery: 'I wish this were over.' 3. Six months after surgery: 'I wish I had done this sooner.'"

Published On: February 25, 2024

Kim’s dog, Molly, is lifting her chin up while getting head scratches from someone off-panel. Kim notes with an arrow, “Molly was doing a weird lip thing.” “November 7. Sunday. Finished second draft in permaculture class. Ali came by. Time change. It was a rare cool day.”

In three different strips of paper and different color markers, the title: “Max, Foster Dog.” In another, with hand-drawn serif lettering: “Excerpt of the graphic novel in progress.” “Pieces of Me” “by Maia Iotzova (same name, in Cyrillic alphabet)”

Lynn is leaning against a wall clutching her shoulder and grimacing in pain. She calls out, “Ow! God!” She labels with an arrow that she is experiencing “frozen shoulder.”

Kim is squatting low to the floor in front of her mushroom monotubs, looking closely at the one directly in front of her. “October 27. Volunteered at the wolf sanctuary. Enzo went to Sammi’s powder puff game.”

Promo graphic: “Friday Night Workshop! SAW, March 8, Time: 7 pm EST, 4 pm PST, with Sanika Phawde, FOOD and COMICS.” Text is written in multiple decorative fonts and colors. A highly saturated, brightly colored bowl of sangria—with orange slices, cherries, and ice cubes and a floating flame—is in the center of the image. A novelty bendy straw is sticking out of the cup, which is decorated with little fish and hearts. Coming out of the flame are film reel-like comic strips of people celebrating with food. Decorative bursts and stars fill the empty space of the page.

A gray and white close-up of Lynn’s face as she is panicking: her eyes are wide and her mouth agape in a frown, eyebrows raised in shock. She calls out, “NURSE!!!"

Enzo is getting his hair cut; both he and the barber are wearing masks for Covid. Enzo is wearing a barber cape, jeans, and sneakers; the barber is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and pants. “October 21. Wrote a paper for civic engagement. Cleaned, had class. Enzo got a haircut.”

Emily is crouched down, bearing on her back the weight of a giant ball ornament twice her size. She is grimacing from pain or exertion.

Three green chairs of different styles are placed over a coral background. Text reads: "SAW Presents: Memory Chairs, A Free Online Drawing Workshop with Audra Stang, Friday, March 1, 7 p.m. EST/4 p.m. PST." 'Memory Chair's is highlighted in large green text; the rest is black.

A person with red shoulder-length hair stands like an action figure inside a toy box. They are smiling widely and holding a large pencil; a black cat stands near their feet. Text reads: "SAW presents: NEW! Draw Yourself as an Action Figure from E. Joy Mehr, Friday Feb 23rd, 7 p.m. EST, Online! Free!" Everything is rendered in bright, highly saturated colors.

White text over a black background reads: "SAW Presents: Drawing to Discover Your World with Glynnis Fawkes, 7 p.m. Feb 16." A stark black and white illustration of a 3 people sitting in the shade of a large tree, with a cityscape in the distance.

A smiling cartoon cockatiel is wearing a red artist's apron, holding a palette, and painting a dog in fancy clothing on a canvas. Over a light blue background, text reads: "Draw your pet as a character, Free online workshop with Sara Varon, Friday, Feb 9, 7 p.m. EST, 4 p.m. PST, Presented by SAW"

A solid black background with white text reading: "SAW Presents: SPACE MUSIC, A just-for-fun comic workshop with Erika Pascual, Friday, Feb 2nd, 7 p.m. EST" Little doodles of stars, aliens, planets, UFOs, and music notes decorate the rest of the image, also in white.

An illustration drawn in colored pencil of a witch with spectral limbs performing several tasks at once. Main text reads: "Let's Make a Witchsona! This Friday, Jan 26th @ 7 p.m."

A large cuddly bear hugs a human who barely reaches the bear's chin. The human smiles lovingly up at the bear. They are both colorless and rendered with detailed, thin black line work. The background is a wash of oranges of different hues. The text reads: "Meet Your Sleep - Free Comics Workshop! Presented by SAW, January 19, 7 p.m. EST, Maureen Burdock"

The background is a navy blue sky dotted with yellow stars. All of the coloring is splotchy, as if done with a dying marker. An anthropomorphic dog person wearing a tawny sweater and light green pants stands near the edge of a cliff. They are cupping their hands near their mouth and shouting out. Their voice shows up in almost a beam of white light, with their words written in large, all caps yellow uneven block letters: "CALLING IN OUR ANCESTORS." The rest of the text of the image (alternating between this yellow text and a thin script-like font) reads: "SAW presents: [Calling in our ancestors] - a FREE comics workshop with Ellen O'Grady, January 5, 7 P.M. E.T., no experience necessary."

Two people dressed in casual contemporary clothing are walking by in the background; in the foreground is a woman dressed in 18th century-style clothing. They are outside, tree branches hanging overhead.

A young Lorraine is wearing a blue leotard with matching blue tights. She is holding an exercise pose where she stands with feet shoulder width apart, arms raised to form an oval around her head, and stretching her torso to the side so she is almost at a right angle. Her mouth is open as she lets out a “Uff da…”

First-grader Emily, wearing her skirt and hat, stands in the doorway of a museum room. To the left is a grandfather clock; to the right is a large piece of decorative pottery. The floor is a black and white checkered tile.

Kim is turned away from the reader, sitting on the floor with legs stretched out and working in front of an empty mushroom monotub. She is drilling a large hole in the side of the tub. This panel is much more minimal than most in the series, with just a white background. “October 15. Set up mushroom monotubs before work. Mixed oyster and wine cap spawn grain into substrate (separately). Worked until 6 p.m.”

In gray and white, a medium shot shows Lynn staring into the distance, clutching a travel coffee mug and looking solemnly nostalgic. She thinks to herself, “I miss those days so hard!”

Tony is standing out his house in a large pot meant for a planted tree. He is shoveling soil from a wheel barrow into the pot. There is a pile of dirt behind him, and an already potted tree off to his side. “October 9. Worked. Planted the Venus mango tree.”

Jim sits up in his hospital bed. There is a book open in his lap, and a tray of food slightly raised above him. He is smiling.

Early Bird Episode 4 Thumbnail

In the gray and white of Lynn's near-present day, Lorraine holds onto James's arm as they walk on a path from a house blanketed in snow. They are dressed in hats, scarves, and winter coats.

A close-up of young Emil's face drawn with vampire fangs and a ravenous expression: mouth open, eyes wide, brows bent in a scowl.

Enzo is standing next to a bed and bending down to reach something on the ground. “October 3, Sunday.”

Young Adam is hunched over, hands on knees, throwing up: "BLEH"

Kim is standing outside, using a fire extinguisher on what looks to be a bush in front of her. She looks calm. “September 26.”

A baby with glasses, smoking a pipe, wearing a violet bathrobe, and reading a Playboy magazine with an unimpressed expression. The background is pink.

Guy is relaxing on the couch watching TV with a pink-haired woman. His hand is resting on the woman’s thigh. They are both sitting in the same position, right leg crossed over left.

A view of a classroom from Kim’s perspective. A man with a goatee wearing a button down shirt stands behind a podium with a desktop computer, speaking to the glass. There is a projector on a stool in front of him, displaying an image of a rocky formation and body of water on the screen on the back wall. Two men sit in the desks in front of Kim, leaning in and listening. “September 20. Our group had its first presentation today. I had dreaded it, but we did well and now it’s over with.”

Enzo is standing in the kitchen, holding Tonks the cat in his arms like a baby in a front-facing carrier. He is smiling softly. “September 14. Made turkey meatballs before work. Crappy work day. Class after with quiz.”

Stylistically rendered with bright, flat colors, simplified shapes, and no line work: a man faces the reader across a cyan background with pink buildings and peach clouds. He stands on a pink road between cyan sidewalks. He is wearing aviator sunglasses and has a thick mustache with a stubbly chin. He wears a blue and black coat over a white Armani t-shirt; his hands are in his jacket pockets, to his side. We see down to his knees before the image cuts off. He is rendered with blue hair, peach skin, and a pink nose. He has an air of intimidating confidence.

Lorraine sits next to Lynn’s dad, both looking like young twenty-somethings. They are both dressed in formal wear - Lorraine in a floral print dress, Lynn’s dad in a suit and tie - and they smile for the camera.

One thought on “What It’s Like to Have Your Knee Replaced by Jim Hamilton”

Bob Raus
04/18/2024, 10:03 pm
- Reply
Great story telling and honesty here! I wish you health and happiness Jim!!

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