There is a saying that a healthy person wants for a thousand things, and a sick person wants for just one. This past week I was in that latter camp thanks to undergoing my fourth knee surgery.

There are many personally woeful parts to this story. First, the injured knee was what has previously been called my “good” knee—now I just have two bad knees. Second, I had just completed six months of rehab on this knee (after a sprain) and appeared ready for full-speed activities—this new injury occurred eighty-four minutes into my first tennis match. Third, the full and long-term impact of this injury remains unknown until I get into this next round of physical therapy. Continuing tennis, a sport I’ve obsessed over for the last eight years, is very uncertain. And cycling, my longest-held love, was also listed as a potential victim.

So, while the first reaction of this coddled, tragedy-free child was to pout and punch the air, I have learned in my five decades to do something different—be grateful.

• I’m grateful for modern medicine and the wondrous things it makes possible.
• I’m grateful my failing body part is a knee and not a more vital organ like my heart, brain, vision, or nervous system.
• I’m grateful for the miracle of anesthesia.
• I’m grateful for the ease and efficacy of post-surgery pain relievers.
• I’m grateful for physical therapists who are singularly trained in the art of human motion.
• I’m grateful for my healthful body and its ability to recover from a trauma such as this.
• I’m grateful this malady does not force me to count my time left in this world in months instead of years or even decades.
• I’m grateful I have a spouse willing to help me through this ordeal and accept all the extra bricks that get moved to her wagon during my convalescence.

After the MRI revealed my obliterated cartilage bed, I asked my water-walking orthopedist what someone would have done a hundred years ago. He laughed and said his team was just talking about that earlier in the day, saying that when these things happened to people in the 1300s, they were just doomed to live the rest of their life in pain, with limited mobility, and probably a good amount of added peril. So let me add one more item to the above list--I'm grateful the year is not 1325.

Photo credit. My ortho's exam rooms are collaged with signed photos of athletes he's helped in the past. There is some great imagery in the mix, but the above has always been one of my favorites--please note the guy is fully airborne and about to crash into a glass wall but is still attempting to get a stick on that puck. Cannot knock the hustle.