When Addison had a full-knee replacement, her bestie Sarah helped her walk again

Addison Sharp, 20, lives with juvenile arthritis, which affects most of her joints. When, in 2022, she became one of the youngest Australians to have a full-knee replacement, her bestie, Sarah Bonifant, 20, helped her walk again.

Addison: I first met Sarah in year 9 online classes at St Aidan’s Anglican Girls’ School in Brisbane. My family had just moved back to Australia from Scotland; it was early 2020, a few weeks before we went into lockdown.

I moved a lot between countries as a child, so had never really forged deep friendships. But here was this one girl, Sarah. She felt solid, like an old friend, straightaway. She was quite quiet, which intrigued me, but as I spent time talking to her, I kept discovering these little pockets of information, which just kept drawing me in further. And she didn’t make a big deal of my disease.

Most people’s reaction, when they hear I have JIA (juvenile idiopathic arthritis), is pity and I don’t need that. I was diagnosed at age six and have constant pain in every joint except my shoulders and hips. I describe the pain as being like static: sometimes, it’s really loud and sometimes it’s a super-annoying hum in the background, but there’s never silence. I allow only special people in my life to know this about me and, in ways I can’t explain, I just trusted Sarah from the outset.

There’s no Sarah without football. She’s played it since childhood and one of her heroes is Sam Kerr. Two years ago, she moved to North Carolina to play soccer on a US college scholarship for four years. She got homesick and missed her friends and family so much. On video calls, she was like a shell of herself. I was heartbroken for her. I spent an exorbitant amount of money sending her snacks from a Target near her to try to cheer her up. I desperately wanted to fly over to be with her, but I was still waiting for my Australian citizenship [Sharp was born in England].

Coming home after about nine months was probably the hardest decision she’s ever had to make, but Sarah knows her worth. She’s studying human movement and nutritional sciences and business management at the University of Queensland. And, as I like to tell her, no experience is wasted.

I go into hospital a lot for pain management. A year ago, I was having ketamine to help reset the nerves in my new knee and feeling very down. So I dreamt up a four-week trip overseas [this winter] with Sarah and two friends: Paris, Nice, Florence, Rome and Tuscany. I’m most excited about spending a day or two hiking in the French Alps. It’s going to hurt, but I know I’m gonna have fun. The fun outweighs the pain. That’s what I do with most things in my life. Is this worth the pain? Nine times out of 10 I can justify it.

In September 2022, four months after I had my knee replacement, I had to go back into hospital to have the scar tissue broken down; I’m prone to developing scar tissue. I couldn’t bend or straighten my knee, so they put me in a continuous passive motion machine, which pushed my leg past the range of motion I found comfortable. I hated it as it was incredibly painful. Sarah suggested giving the machine a funny name to make it less daunting, so we called it Janet. Back at home, I was feeling pretty down, but Sarah helped me to try walking. She held my arms and I took three steps.

That’s our friendship. She didn’t push me past my limit: it was all the encouragement I needed. There are very few people I feel willing to ask for help from – I don’t want to be a burden – but I don’t feel that with Sarah. She’s seen the good, the bad and the ugly by now and I feel I can be totally honest with her. I know we’re friends for life.

‘We joke a lot about swapping our body parts. She’ll say, “Can I have your knees – just for a day?” ’

Sarah: My first proper interaction with Addison was at a weird, year 9, end-of-year camp on our school football ground. She was very lively, really easy to talk to, an open kind of person. Once I saw the other side, the Addison at home who doesn’t have to have that mask on to deal with her pain, I realised how impressive she is. There’s a very different side to her that very few people get to see.

I remember there was a really quick turnaround between the call saying Addison’s operation was going ahead and the actual date for it. She put her best face on, but it was a lot. She was thinking, “This is what I’ve been waiting for, but I’m in the middle of year 11!”

My philosophy, as her friend, has always been to just show up. After her operation, any spare time I had I’d spend it visiting her in hospital and then at home. We’d watch movies or talk, but it’s also the kind of friendship where we can just be together without saying anything. A lot of people would’ve given up or deferred their school studies, but not Addison. Despite missing half of year 11 and learning to walk again, she got a 94 ATAR, which is insane. A big part of Addison is about, “I’m going to show everyone that I can do this thing.”

She’s passionate about working in medicine in some way: it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted to do. Addison’s whole life has been about doctors and hospitals and now she wants to be like the amazing nurses and doctors who’ve helped her. She’s studying medical laboratory science at Queensland University of Technology and talks a lot about Doctors Without Borders or being a doctor with the Australian Defence Force.

If we’re out and about doing stuff, her pain is a constant consideration in my mind. Addison’s very good at hiding her pain: I’m one of the few people who can see it. Or maybe it’s just that she’s comfortable with letting me know she’s hurting. She doesn’t like other people knowing about it because she doesn’t want them to worry. Usually, we just acknowledge it in some small way. There’s often nothing either of us can do about it. It’s mainly that she knows
I know – and I know she knows I know.

I can imagine her pain, but I think, in reality, it’s that multiplied by 1000, really. We joke a lot about swapping our body parts. She’ll say, “Can I have your knees – just for a day?” And I’ll say, “Yeah, sure. Take ’em.”

All her life, too many people have talked to Addison about all the things, including the careers, she can’t do. But progress is being made all the time. In the US, there’s a paraplegic surgical intern who’s able to perform surgery using a special standing chair. She looks up to those people. She goes, “I’m going to do the things I want to do.”