Last week I found myself lying prone on an operating table, awaiting arthroscopic surgery. I remember mumbling something about my eyeglasses just before the lights went out. Holes were poked into my knee, cartilage was removed, bone was micro-fractured, and then I was sent home. Nearly twenty years ago, I'd had a similar procedure. But this time, something was different.

Spending four days on the couch meant I had a lot of time to sit with myself, and when I say "with myself," I mean "with technology." That has been the biggest difference between 1997, when I last had surgery, and now: all of the tech, the online video services, the social networks, the ridiculously capable hand computers we carry with us everywhere.

The last time I was in post-op mode, I hadn’t yet dialed up on AOL to chat with Buddies or put up angsty Away Messages (the original subtweet). My parents were still months away from purchasing our first family computer, a Gateway 2000. Less than a quarter century later, and it’s almost impossible to avoid personal tech — even when "resting."

Technology has been useful in surprising ways, and just as surprising has been the utter lack of usefulness of some of these new-fangled gadgets. On-demand video services are a godsend. I watched more documentaries, scripted films, and Sia videos in three days than I would normally see in three months’ time. Streaming video came up big in another, unexpected way: after finding out that I potentially wouldn’t be able to get a physical therapy appointment for weeks, I searched for PT videos on YouTube and found one that was so tailored to my needs that I wondered if ad targeting was to blame/thank.

Snapchat, something I’ve used inconsistently over the past couple years, also became part of the routine. I could go highbrow and say that I decided to use my rare downtime to research a social platform that is becoming increasingly important for publishers, but in truth I was bored and feeling old after reading this Buzzfeed story. I snapped my bum knee, my cat, the fog rolling in outside my window; I messaged with friends and amused myself with their daily stories; and I spent a lot of time in Discover. I like Snapchat. (I am still fairly Snapchat-illiterate.)

Wearables, on the other hand, are useless right now. I alternated between an Apple Watch and a Fitbit for about a week post-surgery. Why did I bother with either of them? I don’t know. There was little value in step counting. I knew that pain was waking me up in the middle of the night; I really didn’t need a sleep-tracking gadget to tell me that. The Fitbit became incrementally more useful when I had to travel for work and wanted to limit the number of steps I was taking, but it was still a relief to ditch it afterwards. One less thing.

To say I welcomed most of these diversions while I was laid up is an understatement. I stayed tuned in to developments at work by hanging out in Slack. I kept up with news on Twitter. I responded to get well wishes on Facebook Messenger. I sent emojis to friends in group texts.

But isn’t that more discomforting on some level, the fact that I no longer have any desire to just sit with myself?

It wasn’t just about FOMO, or proving that I could still do my job when I wasn’t 100 percent. Here was the perfect opportunity to actually ignore work and decompress for a few days, and I, almost compulsively, had filled up time and space with every possible digital distraction I could think of, simply because the alternative was even more uncomfortable: feeling vulnerable.