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I remember standing in the Costco Vaughan parking lot, leg propped on the bumper like an idiot, watching people pass by with carts and wondering how long I could pretend this was normal. My right knee was ballooned under my sweatpants, warm to the touch, and every step felt like walking through a pile of rocks. It had been three days since my dad's knee replacement surgery and I was trying to help him with groceries, because of course I thought I could do it all myself. By

I was halfway through ordering my double-double at the Tim Hortons by the Costco in Brampton when I looked down and realised my knee didn't look like my knee anymore. It was swollen, a little purple under the skin, and the usual confidence I have about walking into the rink for Sunday night hockey was gone. I paid, fumbled for my keys with one hand, and the sting of the parking lot lights felt a bit too bright. That was the night I stopped pretending I could wait it out.