Your life narrows before you know it.
The first descent of the stairs without reaching for the rail. The sensation, on standing up from a low chair, of the knee being quiet in a way it has not been for some time. A small, almost surprising thing — the wobble does not come.
The activity audit that has run quietly in the background for years begins to run in reverse. The shortened dog walk gets a little longer. The supermarket trip stops requiring planning around the kerb. The garden bed gets knelt in for half an hour, then an hour.
The bigger items return. The walk along the foreshore. The hike with the grandchildren on the easier paths. The wedding where the brace is worn under a suit and the walk back to the car at midnight, on a gravel drive, happens without a second thought.