📢 Push-up chronicles

A check-in on the shoulder six months post surgery

February 7th was supposed to mark a big step in my shoulder recovery. As readers of this parish know, I underwent surgery last year for a labral tear after a freak cycling accident.

After the operation, my surgeon - the ever-serene Dr. Shetty - told me I’ll be able to do a push-up within six months. Arm in a sling, mind fractured and body addled by painkillers, I clung onto this branch of hope with desperation. I even put it in my calendar.

I’d daydream about February 7th and imagine myself overcome by emotion after doing a push-up. I craved that catharsis. It was what kept me going during the slower weeks of my recovery.

I know this sounds horribly dramatic, but injuries have a weird way of distorting your reality. They quietly eat into your sense of self. It’s incredible how seeing yourself in a sling everyday can shape your self-image. My shoulder was an asterisk I had to acknowledge or explain in every room I entered.

Struggling with social anxiety? Get injured and you’ll have the best conversation starter.

I hated how conspicuous the sling was, and yet felt naked without it. It’s why it was an unsettling experience when it came off six weeks post-surgery. Riding the Tube for the first time without it felt like an adventure activity. But beyond the support, I missed the signage the sling provided.

It left me in a lot of awkward situations. I came across as ill-mannered when I stood with my arms folded at gatherings while others helped out with cleaning dishes. Or when I didn’t hold the door open for the person entering behind me.

I remember a train journey from Chennai to Bangalore, where Sakshi had to load our heavy bags onto the luggage rail while I just stood and watched. ‘Chauvinist pig,’ screamed the expression on our co-passengers’ faces. I grabbed my shoulder and feigned a wince, to try and explain the situation.

There was another time when Sakshi and I had to put our suitcases in the boot of a cab when we were moving flats. The Uber driver noticed I was caressing the bags rather than carrying them, and mockingly hit my back saying, “This guy man…”

The injury crept into other relationships too. I became dependent on my flatmate to change my sheets and take out the trash on my behalf. Each knock on her door for these tasks was marked by embarrassment.

During my first post-surgery concert, my friends formed a protective circle around me. Experiencing one of those rare moments when I forgot I had a bad shoulder, I began to venture deeper into the crowd before one of them warned me to not go any further.

There is also the emotional baggage those around me have had to carry. Catchups inevitably began to include hefty sections on my shoulder travails. Rants and breakdowns invariably traced themselves back to the progress of my recovery. I wallowed in the pool of self-pity and they gave me the space to swim in it before dragging me out.

And yet, I also felt that no one understood what I was going through. The endless cycle of physio, where I stepped out of each session in more pain and with less hope. Those extra five seconds it took to take my wallet out of my pocket. The discomfort that came with putting on a belt. The night-outs, squash matches and travel plans I had to sacrifice to cater to it.

The pain, I later came to realise, festered into anger. It stemmed from a sense of loss - at who I was and what I could do before the injury. And the despair around whether I could get back to that place.

Even up until two months ago, a push-up felt like a dreamy prospect. But, a change of physio and a new regimen put it back on the radar.

On February 6th I shyly broached the topic with my physio, aware that in the name of tracking my progress, I was chasing vanity.

“Not yet,” was the answer I got.

Surprisingly, that didn’t shatter me. Because just a few days prior, my physio had remarked that the muscles have become stronger and my posture had improved. It was the first time I had heard anything close to positive about my body in six months. I came home flying that afternoon.

For the first time since the surgery, I actually feel on the trail of a comeback. The push-up has been pushed back by a few weeks for now. But I am quietly optimistic that catharsis is around the corner.

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Consumption Corner:

Reading: I just finished Shattered Lands by Sam Dalrymple. Exploring the five partitions that took place in South-east Asia, the book perfectly balances narrative storytelling with historic accuracy. It’s still early in 2026 but this is an early contender for my book of the year.

Watching: Jay Kelly on Netflix was surprisingly enjoyable. If the movie wasn’t called Jay Kelly, I think it’d have received raver reviews.

Listening: I’ve ventured into the world of health podcasts in the past six months, and struggled to find a voice I can trust. This episode provides an interesting exploration of the health media landscape.