Let me tell you something about knee surgery – it’s absolutely brutal, and the recovery is even worse. After I went under the knife for what was supposed to be a routine procedure to repair a torn meniscus, I was confined to bed for weeks with limited mobility and mounting frustration. The pain was constant, even with medication, and I felt isolated from normal life in a way I’d never experienced before.
Before the surgery, I had been this active person – hiking, biking, playing tennis on weekends, always on the go. Suddenly, I was stuck in this recliner in my living room, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help. The physical limitations were bad enough, but the mental toll was something I wasn’t prepared for at all.
The pain made it difficult to concentrate on books or movies, which had been my usual ways to pass time when I was sick or injured. I’d try to read, but after a few pages, the discomfort would make it impossible to focus. I’d try to watch movies, but I’d keep getting distracted by the throbbing in my knee or the awkward position I had to maintain to keep it elevated.
I was climbing the walls with boredom and frustration. Every day felt the same – wake up in pain, take medication, wait for it to kick in, try to find something to occupy my mind until the next dose was due. The hours stretched out endlessly, and I was starting to feel like I was losing my mind.
My friends and family tried to help, of course. They’d visit, bring meals, sit with me for a while. But they had their own lives to get back to, and I understood that. Most of the time, I was alone in my apartment with my thoughts, my pain, and this overwhelming sense of isolation.
Then one day, about a week into my recovery, my sister came to visit and brought me this tablet. “I thought you might get bored with just TV,” she said casually. If you liked this write-up and you would certainly like to receive more information relating to doodle baseball kindly visit our page. “I downloaded a few games you might like.”
To be honest, I was a little annoyed at first. I’m 38 years old, not a child who needs to be entertained with games. But I was also desperate enough to try anything that might help pass the endless hours of recovery.
That night, when the pain was particularly bad and I couldn’t sleep, I picked up the tablet and started scrolling through the games she had downloaded. Most of them didn’t really appeal to me, but then I came across this baseball game, and something about it caught my interest.
I started playing, mostly just to have something to do, and I discovered that baseball games became one of the few activities I could do comfortably while recovering. The controls were simple enough that I could manage them even when I was groggy from pain medication. I could play lying down with my leg elevated, which was pretty much my default position anyway.
What surprised me was how engaging the games were. They required just enough concentration to keep my mind off the pain, but not so much that they were frustrating or difficult to follow when I wasn’t feeling my best. I could play for 15 minutes or for two hours, depending on how I was feeling and how much energy I had.
The sense of progress and achievement in games provided satisfaction when physical progress felt slow and frustrating. Every day, I’d look at my knee and it would look pretty much the same as the day before. The physical therapy exercises were painful and progress was painfully slow. But in the games, I could see improvement almost immediately. My scores got better, I won more games, I unlocked new achievements.
This virtual progress was incredibly validating when my real-life progress felt stalled. After a particularly frustrating physical therapy session where I could barely bend my knee, coming home and winning a few baseball games made me feel capable and successful again. It was a small thing, but it made a huge difference in my mental state.
What I really didn’t expect was how gaming connected me with friends and family who would check in on my scores and progress. My sister, who had downloaded the games for me in the first place, started playing too so we could compare scores. My brother, who lived across the country, downloaded the same game so we could compete remotely.
Even my dad, who had never shown any interest in video games in his life, got in on the action. I’d send him updates about my latest win or high score, and he’d respond with encouragement and sometimes even playful trash talk. These little interactions became highlights of my days, giving me something to look forward to beyond just the next pain medication dose.
The games also became this way to mark time and celebrate milestones in my recovery. I remember the first day I was able to sit up in bed for more than an hour without my knee throbbing – I celebrated by playing an extended gaming session. The first day I could make it to the kitchen by myself – another gaming celebration. The games became these little rewards I could give myself for making it through another day of recovery.
As the weeks went by and I started feeling better, the games continued to play an important role in my recovery. When I was finally cleared to start doing more physical activity, I used the games as motivation. I’d tell myself that if I completed all my physical therapy exercises for the day, I could spend some time gaming afterward.
What was really interesting was how the games helped with pain management. When I was really focused on a game, especially during an exciting moment like a close play at the plate or a nail-biter final inning, I would sometimes forget about my knee pain entirely. It wasn’t a cure, of course – the pain always came back – but those moments of relief were precious and gave my mind and body a break from the constant discomfort.
The games also helped me maintain a sense of normalcy and routine when everything else in my life felt disrupted. Even when I couldn’t work, couldn’t exercise, couldn’t do the things that normally made up my day, I could still play my baseball games. It was this constant in a time of uncertainty and change.
As my recovery progressed and I started getting more mobile, I found myself playing the games less and less. I was able to go outside again, to see friends, to return to work part-time. But I didn’t stop playing entirely – they had become this comforting part of my routine that I was reluctant to give up completely.
Now, months after my surgery, I’m fully recovered and back to all my normal activities. My knee feels great, and I’m even hiking and playing tennis again. But I still have the baseball games on my tablet, and sometimes when I’ve had a stressful day or I’m not feeling my best, I’ll pull them out and play for a little while.
The games remind me of that difficult recovery period, but not in a bad way. They remind me of how resilient I was, how I found ways to cope and heal even when things seemed impossible. They remind me of the connections I maintained with family and friends during that time, and how those relationships helped me through the toughest days.
Looking back, I can see how crucial those games were to my mental and emotional recovery. Surgery recovery isn’t just about healing physically – it’s about maintaining your sanity when you’re in pain, bored, and isolated. The games gave me something to focus on, something to work toward, something to celebrate when everything else in my life felt like it was on hold.
I know it sounds a little dramatic to say that baseball games helped me recover from surgery, but it’s true. They didn’t fix my knee, obviously, but they helped me heal in ways that went beyond the physical. They gave me mental stimulation when I was bored, a sense of achievement when I was frustrated, and connection when I was isolated.
The next time someone I know is facing surgery or a long recovery, you can bet I’ll be showing up with a tablet loaded with games. Sometimes the best medicine isn’t in a pill bottle – sometimes it’s in the simple pleasure of hitting a virtual home run when you can’t yet hit a real one.