Shoulder Replacement Surgery: Constriction and Restriction to Small but Significant Changes Toward Freedom and Function
- Elena Fraser
- Nov 5
- 3 min read
If there is one major impediment to truly feeling alive, it’s the experience of restriction and constriction — both physically and emotionally. Restriction from feeling, as in sensory awareness, and restriction from moving, as in motor function.
My recent total reverse right shoulder arthroplasty on October 29, 2025, brought both of these realities into sharp focus.
The Constriction: Losing Sensation, Losing Self
I chose to have a nerve block before surgery, thinking of it as something similar to what one might receive for dental work. But this one was different. It was administered through the interscalene muscles into the axillary nerve, and it numbed everything — my shoulder, upper arm, elbow, forearm, thumb, pinky, and even the tips of my other fingers.
For three days, I couldn’t feel my right arm or hand. I kept asking my partner, “Where is my hand?” — genuinely unsure that it still existed. She would gently lift the sheets and guide my left hand to touch my right, reminding me that my arm was still there. Those days were disorienting. I experienced what felt like body dysmorphia — a profound disturbance in body awareness and self-image. At times, when slight sensation began to return, it was almost worse than the numbness. The tingling and flickers of awareness were strange, uncomfortable, and foreign.
Eventually, after several days of this strange limbo, I decided to stop the nerve block. The pain quickly spiked from a tolerable 2 or 3 to an intense 7 or 8 out of 10. Yet, despite the pain, I felt whole again.
My arm rejoined my body’s landscape, and my sensory world came back to life — light touch, deep pressure, temperature, proprioception, and movement awareness. It was as if a part of me had been restored.
The Restriction: Learning Stillness in Motion
The next challenge was, and continues to be, restriction.
Post-surgery, my right arm is under strict rules: no shoulder movement and no weight -bearing for six weeks. I wear a sling almost constantly, only removing it briefly for performing hygiene or when lying down with pillows supporting my arm. For anyone who knows me, this is an immense challenge. I am an active person — I teach 16 classes a week at Gainesville Health and Fitness, walk 55 to 60 miles weekly, and occasionally take on 35 - mile bike rides.
Movement isn’t just something I do; it’s a central part of who I am.
Now, I can move only my fingers, wrist, and elbow — and even those movements must be carefully controlled to avoid engaging my shoulder.
Compliance is essential. Cheating, bending the rules, or pushing too soon could jeopardize my recovery — something I’m not willing to risk.
Finding Freedom in Small Ways
What I’ve realized, though, is that restriction doesn’t have to mean imprisonment. While my physical movement is limited, I’ve found other ways to move — in thought, creativity, and spirit.
I’ve been:
Journaling and recording my experiences through voice-to-text tools, capturing insights as they come.
Walking short distances, with my arm carefully supported, to stay connected to nature and movement.
Resting intentionally, honoring the need for sleep and recovery while managing the effects of pain medication.
Reading books that have long been waiting on my shelf.
Working on my upcoming “Women In-Power” Program, which I plan to launch in January 2026 — channeling my energy into something that uplifts others while nurturing my own sense of purpose.
The Lessons in Healing
The constriction taught me to value the miracle of sensory feeling — how incredible it is to simply feel your body.
The restriction is teaching me to find meaning, joy, and freedom even within limitations — to seek purpose in stillness and grace in patience.
While I know I’ll be limited for some time, I also know that within every limitation, there are choices. And in those choices lies freedom.
Finally, I want to express deep gratitude to my partner, Nancy, who supports me every day with patience, love, and diligence. And to everyone who has checked in, sent kind messages, or offered words of encouragement — thank you. Your love and support have made this journey far less lonely and far more hopeful.
Healing is not linear, but it is always transformative.
Even amidst constriction and restriction, there can still be small but powerful movements toward freedom and function.
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