The Hip Replacement Podcast – Episode 2 Transcript
Welcome to The Hip Replacement Podcast, where recovery meets motivation and healing leads to a whole new lifestyle. I’m Chris Bansky, your host. I’m an author, athlete, and double hip replacement patient.
I’ve been through the surgeries, the setbacks, and the comebacks, and I’m here to help you do the same. Each week, I’ll bring you tips, tools, expert advice, and inspiring stories to help you take back your life one step at a time.
Thanks for joining The Hip Replacement Podcast. New hips, new you. Let’s go.
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Welcome back to The Hip Replacement Podcast. I’m Chris Bansky, your host, and I’m also a two-time hip replacement patient. I’m about ten years out from my most recent surgery and almost twelve years out from the first one.
Over the last ten-plus years, I’ve completed IRONMAN triathlons, other endurance events, dealt with aches and pains, and learned a lot along the way. I’m here to share those lessons with you.
In this episode, I want to talk about how I knew I was going to be okay.
For a long time before surgery — and for months afterward — I was pretty pessimistic about the outcome. I was absolutely terrified of the surgery and terrified of what life would look like afterward.
At the time, my wife was pregnant with our first child. I had my surgery about two months before our daughter was born. My entire goal for surgery was simple: I wanted to be able to help my wife and play on the floor with my daughter.
Those were modest goals, but at the time, they felt like everything. Walking normally, running, or living the lifestyle I wanted didn’t even seem possible. Those ideas just weren’t on the table yet.
But there was a specific moment when everything changed — when all of those possibilities came back into view. That moment completely shifted the trajectory of my recovery and what I believed I could do later in life with my new hips.
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I went through a lot of physical therapy. It was a lot of work — listening to the therapists, following protocols, and pushing through exercises, stretches, and weights. Honestly, it was painful at times.
There were moments when I felt like they were pushing me a little too hard, but I trusted them. I trusted the process. I spent months doing physical therapy in the clinic and continuing it at home.
At that point, my main goal was to live a normal life and eliminate the limp I had developed. I was embarrassed by it, and it felt like the most obvious reminder of the surgery.
Physical therapy became my way of doing everything I possibly could to get rid of that limp so I could return to a basic, normal life — playing on the floor with my daughter and helping my wife around the house.
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At the time of my surgery, we lived in a neighborhood with a loop that was about three-quarters of a mile around. There was a lake — technically more of a retention pond — in the center, with a grassy embankment and houses lining the road. It was a beautiful place to walk.
Before my surgery, I struggled to make it even once around that loop because of the pain. I rarely even tried. That was a huge lifestyle change for me.
For ten to twenty years before surgery, I had been extremely active. I walked golf courses six or seven miles at a time, ran regularly, and stayed in great shape. Not being able to walk three-quarters of a mile was incredibly difficult for me to accept.
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After surgery and a couple of months of physical therapy, walking was still painful. I had limited mobility and relied on aids — first a walker, then two crutches, then one crutch. Six weeks after surgery, I was still using support to get around.
Once I was cleared to walk without aids, I desperately wanted to make it around that lake. But it took courage to even try.
Walking around the house or the office was one thing — I could sit down whenever I needed to. Walking around the lake meant continuous movement without a break, and that scared me.
At first, I would walk just a short distance — maybe ten houses down — and then turn back. Even that caused pain. I’d stretch, ice my hip, and deal with sore muscles and stiffness.
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After about four or five months, I finally walked all the way around the lake.
I remember coming home and telling my wife. She was thrilled. I was thrilled. I was sore, but it was manageable. I stretched, iced, and recovered — but I had done it.
I did it again a few days later. Then again the following week. And that’s when it hit me: I think everything is going to be okay.
By about five months post-surgery, I realized I was making real progress. I know some people recover faster, but I wasn’t in a rush. I was playing the long game. I wanted to be strong, eliminate my limp, and protect my hip so I could be the best father, husband, and person I could be.
Walking around that lake gave me confidence. It showed me I could build strength, flexibility, and mobility again.
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That first walk was the lightbulb moment.
I kept walking the loop every day. Eventually, I went around twice. I was sore every time, but I was progressing. Three-quarters of a mile might have taken me 20 minutes or more, but I hadn’t walked that far in over a year — maybe longer.
That repetitive motion was incredibly important to my recovery. It showed me I could keep pushing, keep getting stronger, and keep moving forward.
My original goals — playing on the floor with my kids and helping around the house — were no longer enough. I knew I could do more.
I started thinking about golfing again, walking six or seven miles, riding my bike, and maybe even doing long-distance rides. I didn’t know when or how — but I knew progress was possible.
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So what does this all mean?
If you’re going through recovery, look for small wins. Look for evidence that you’re getting better. Maybe it’s walking farther, stretching better, or doing something you couldn’t do before.
Those moments matter.
That realization — that you’re improving — can give you the courage and confidence to think bigger. Not just that you’ll be okay, but that you might actually be better than you were before.
That walk around the lake changed my entire trajectory. And something similar can happen for you.
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I hope this episode was helpful and encouraging. Your lightbulb moment may come at one month, five months, one year, or even later — but it will come.
In the next episode, I’ll be joined by my wife, and we’ll talk about her experience going through this process. We often focus on patients, but spouses and family members are deeply affected too.
She was seven months pregnant when I had my first surgery, and we’ve never really had a deep conversation about what she was thinking before, during, and after that time. We’re going to explore that together.
Thank you so much for listening to The Hip Replacement Podcast. Until next time, I wish you the best recovery possible.
Take care.
