HERMAN BEZUIDENHOUT | How my surgeries showcase globalisation at its best

There is a quiet moment that arrives just before an orthopaedic surgeon says, “It’s time.” It’s the same blend of fear, relief and surrender that an entrepreneur feels before signing a big deal. I’ve felt that moment four times over 20 years. And here is the strange truth: I wouldn’t trade it.

In my early thirties, I discovered running the way some people discover coffee or prayer. It became a ritual and then a dependency. The distances stretched: 10km, 15km, 21km, marathons, and even a 50km ultra. The road became a confessional booth; place your pain on the tar, and it gives you clarity in return.

There was just one problem: I was never biologically designed to run.

I had severe foot pronation, the kind you can see just by watching the footprint in sand. My biomechanics were completely wrong. The science of it today is crystal clear: people with that level of pronation place enormous stress on their knees, hips and lower back. In hindsight, I should have stuck to swimming, cycling or golf. But the feel-good endorphins of running are like a drug, especially when you are young. You mistake feeling strong for being strong.

My body kept score. The first hip: a risk at 47.

Eighteen years ago, I lay in a hospital bed being told that I was “far too young” for a hip replacement. Back then, joint replacements were still largely associated with older patients. Orthopaedic surgeons warned that a replacement under the age of 50 was high-risk and that it might not last.

Today? That same hip is still perfect. Two decades later, no pain, no noise, no limitations.

One of the most successful decisions of my life.

In 2016 and 2017, it was time for the knees, first the left, then the right.

The outcome has been remarkable: today, I have unbelievable flexibility and strength in both knees. I can climb stairs like a teenager. I can get in and out of cars with ease. I can kneel, pivot, stand up and walk for hours. I don’t limp, I don’t shuffle, and I don’t fear wet floors or airport escalators.

Most patients choose to do both at once. I decided to split them a year apart. It turned out to be one of the best strategic decisions I’ve ever made, much like splitting a major business implementation over two financial years instead of one. It gave my body time to strengthen, time to compensate, and time to rebuild evenly.

The outcome has been remarkable: today, I have unbelievable flexibility and strength in both knees. I can climb stairs like a teenager. I can get in and out of cars with ease. I can kneel, pivot, stand up and walk for hours. I don’t limp, I don’t shuffle, and I don’t fear wet floors or airport escalators.

On December 1 this year, I received my second hip replacement. By the fourth time, you don’t panic; you prepare. You move, you breathe, and you listen to instruction. You walk stairs on day one, even through pain, because mobility is your friend. I’ve learnt that painkillers help, but movement heals.

There is pride in mastering recovery. There is dignity in healing without drama. And there is a perspective that only comes after four surgeries.

It is time we say this publicly: South African orthopaedic medicine is world-class. Our surgeons are globally trained. They attend international congresses. They adopt the latest prosthetics, materials and minimally invasive techniques. We now use robotic assistance and engineering-grade titanium and ceramic joints that European, American and Japanese hospitals use.

We must never forget that South Africa has always been a trading nation. We import and export knowledge, products, technology and expertise. We do it in global trade. We do it in finance. And we do it in medicine.

Your replacement hip may have design DNA from Frankfurt, Boston or Osaka, but your surgeon perfected the craft in Alberton, Sandton, Pretoria, Durban or Cape Town. That is globalisation at its best.

It is unusual, almost unique, for one person to replace both hips and both knees over 20 years. It is a kind of personal medical biography written in titanium and ceramic. Some would call that unfortunate. I call it a privilege.

It means I have lived in a time when prosthetics are miracles. I have witnessed how the medical trade benefits ordinary citizens. I have learnt resilience under anaesthesia.

I have seen what happens when science, engineering and human determination meet.

Running taught me discipline, clarity and the emotional chemistry of movement. The joint replacements taught me patience, humility and trust.

Now here I am, walking up a flight of stairs, planning my next strategy meeting, writing this column and smiling at what science can do.

• Bezuidenhout is the founder of financial services provider BeztForex.co.za and the global trade AI platform Zynched.com