Sunday, March 11, 2018

The "Just you wait" phenomenon

My first experience with a Just You Wait-er occurred when I was a senior in high school. I had accepted an award for exceptional grades when a familiar adult commented, "Just you wait until you go to University. You won't have the top marks there!"

My exposure to Just You Wait-ers increased in my 20's. I recall dancing in my mini-skirt, serving beer at my summer job, and being confronted by an older woman who snarled, "Just you wait until you have kids. You'll never have a body like this again!" I also remember jumping for joy upon receiving a dozen roses from Evan, only to feel deflated by an observer who grunted, "Just you wait until you get married. The flowers will stop." 

The Just You Wait-ers continue to haunt me today. An online support group for those suffering from Osteochondritis Dissecans is trolled by Just You Wait-ers. After explaining that I was struggling to find a balance of pain medications before surgery, a Just You Wait-er chimed in, "You think you have pain now? Just you wait until after surgery."

This is the phenomenon I'd like to call "Attack of the Just You Wait-ers." The Just You Wait-ers are everywhere, at every turn, just waiting to burst your bubble and stomp on your hopes and dreams . Whether you are revelling in a new success or floundering and seeking support, the Just You Wait-ers are lurking, ready to drag you down to their depths of despair, causing you to feel like total shit with one simple phrase, "Just you wait." Do you know these people? Just You Wait-ers are generally unhappy and insecure people who feel empowered by causing fear and uncertainty in others.
The Just You Wait-ers, whilst donning  a smug smirk on their face, thrive on warning threatening you with their knowledge that life is about to get much worse for you. Oh yes, much much worse. Just you wait. 

You think this is bad? Just you wait!

Now that I'm weeeellllll into my 30's (I still refuse to use the adjective "late" in front of 30's), I have observed the Just You Wait-ers in their glory, at their peak of their Just You Wait-ness. You see, the Just You Wait-ers flourish during the child-bearing and child-rearing years. Nothing causes a Just You Wait-er more joy than letting an expectant/new mom know that things are going to get worse. Much much worse. Time and time again at baby showers, brunches, and birthday bashes, I have heard the loud indignant Just You Wait-er exclaim: 

"You think you can't sleep now? Just you wait until you have newborn!"

"Better enjoy the freedom now. Just you wait until he's walking. You will never sit again."

"You think she's defiant now? Just you wait until she's a teenager and hates your face."

Ugh. Why? Now I am not a mother, but I can only imagine that entering motherhood must be a terrifying and daunting experience for many women. I observe that my new Mom friends are uncertain, often seeking advice, support, and reassurance from someone with a kind heart and experience. At this stage in life a woman is vulnerable, not to mention hormonal. Why on Earth would someone think that it is OK to threaten another human during such a challenging time? And, let's be honest, that is exactly what "just you wait" is. It's a threat. 

So here's some advice from a passive aggressive non-confrontational person: Cut the Just Wait-ers loose. Just stay away. If you are the confrontational type, you could also respond, "This is not helpful," followed by a giant shove, and perhaps a few kicks to the knees. (Jokes. Knees are precious). Life is too short to surround yourself with people who build themselves up by pulling others down. Seek out the empathetic and supportive friends who will listen, celebrate, commiserate, and kindly offer advice when needed. 

I would also like to propose that it is possible to turn the Just You Wait Phenomenon into something positive. Observe:

"You think you are excited now? Just wait until you hold that baby in your arms for the first time!"

"Just you wait until that surgery is over. You will feel such relief!"

"I can see that you are tired. Just you wait until he's sleeping through the night. It will get better."

"Falling in love is wonderful. Just you wait until you are married and get to spend everyday with that person!"

Got it? Rant over. 

Cheers my friends!

Oprah for President! ;)

Sunday, February 25, 2018

Adventures in Pain Management: 4 Chronic Pain Strategies

I've experienced my fair share of pain over the last 6 years. Pain is such a subjective thing, and difficult to communicate to others. I've always struggled to "rate my pain" at the hospital, often underrating it in case it got worse and we had exhausted all of our pain control options (It's happened!)  I've experienced and described countless types of pain to my medical team, using words like, "throbbing," "aching," "dull," "electric," and "sharp." I've also gotten creative with metaphors and similes in my explanations, "You see Doctor, it's like someone is stabbing my knee with a dull pencil and twisting it around...and around..and around" (sometimes you need to be dramatic!) But let's be honest, no one will ever understand how your specific pain feels, regardless of your extensive pain vocabulary. My pain accompanies an injury that is visible to others. People can see me struggling on my crutches or limping to work, and say, "Wow. It looks like you are in a lot of pain." The advantage of having a visible injury is that people tend to offer more sympathy and understanding towards your pain and your limitations. I really feel for those who have "invisible" pain, and who are constantly struggling to express the pain that they are experiencing.

Although I am not without pain today, I was able to discontinue all of my prescription pain medications around the first of January, and have not felt the need to take anything stronger than Tylenol since. This is the first time in 4 years that I have been without pain medication. I didn't stop the pain meds to be a hero or prove a point. I simply did not feel that my pain was strong enough to warrant these powerful medications that wreak havoc on my body in terms of nasty side effects. Don't get me wrong, I was very grateful for the pain meds when my body needed them - they did their job! but thankfully I have graduated to a place where the pain is presently controlled via other means. I am well aware that with this condition, Osteochondritis Dissecans, things can change quickly. The pain meds are packed away, but I will likely need them again someday, and that is OK. It doesn't make me weak. It makes me human.

Hey baby, I'm on Gabapentin tonight (wink wink)

Now I am not a pain specialist by any means, but I have had extensive experience working with Pain Specialists and Pain Psychologists, and they have been incredibly helpful. Given this experience, I thought it might be beneficial to share some knowledge and pain strategies that have really helped me.

First, just quick run-down of pain. There are 2 types of pain: 1) Acute pain and 2) Chronic Pain. Acute pain is sudden onset pain that typically has an identifiable cause. Examples of acute pain include spraining your ankle, recovering after surgery, or cutting yourself with a knife. It often resolves within 3 months. Chronic pain, on the other hand, refers to pain that persists longer than 3 months and often cannot be attributed to a specific injury. Chronic pain may accompany conditions such as arthritis, fibromyalgia, or nerve damage. Chronic pain can be very complex.

Here's an overly-simplified outline of how pain works: 1) There is stimulus (i.e. a hot stove, a needle, etc),  2) Our nerve receptors sense something,  3) The nerves send the signal to the central nervous system,  4) Our brain decides what do with that information. Number 4 is the kicker: OUR BRAIN makes sense of the information it receives and DECIDES if the pain is "Get me to the hospital I'm dying!" pain or "Calm the f down you stubbed your toe" pain. It's much more complicated than this, but you get the gist.

What I have learned is as a result of my disease, my receptors are constantly sending a signal that something isn't quite right in my body. My nervous system is working overtime! So my brain is inundated with information and often overreacts, telling me, "Call 911! You are dying!" when in fact, my knees are a little angry and just need some extra TLC. This is challenging, both physically and mentally. In the past, I have felt pain and often attributed it to something terrible happening in my body ("I think a piece of cartilage has just torn off!" Sometimes it is, unfortunately, a piece of cartilage that has torn off!). And can you guess what happens when these thoughts spiral out of control? You betcha - the pain gets worse. It can also be incredibly frustrating when the pain is intense, but there doesn't appear to be specific cause to explain why the pain increased so suddenly. This can definitely mess with your head, and make you wonder if you are entering crazy-ville.

I have worked extensively with a Pain Specialist, who has determined the perfect concoction of pain meds needed to calm down my nervous system. I have also worked with a Pain Psychologist who has helped me change my way of thinking so that my brain calms the F down and stops overreacting to each and every signal sent its way. I have found both to be very helpful and I highly recommend seeking advice from both types of professionals if you suffer from chronic pain. Prior to working with these professionals, I was sick of hearing airy fairy tips like, "think positive," "drink your greens," and "meditate regularly." I needed something more concrete. Therefore, I am sharing 4 specific strategies that really helped me with my pain control, in hopes that one of these suggestions might help someone who is also suffering from chronic pain, and to inspire those with chronic pain to seek professional help.

1) Keep Moving

I know I know! The last thing that you want to do when you are experiencing pain is to go on a long hike. I get it. But I got stuck in a rut where as soon as I experienced pain, I rolled myself up into a ball on the couch with the goal of not moving a muscle for 48 hours. Bad idea. You see, when I did unintentionally move a muscle, a signal was sent to my brain, and it sent instant alarm bells out to my body "Danger! Danger!" resulting in increased pain. I needed to let my brain know that I could move gently and it was OK. I actually set my watch for 30 minute intervals and consciously took 5 minutes to stretch gently, crutch slowly to my window, or even just do neck rotations. There was a new stimulus every half hour, the message was transmitted to my brain, but instead of freaking out, my brain said, "Oh it's just Kirstie stretching again. This is not an emergency. All is well." When my Psychologist recommended this, I humoured her by adding it to my to-do list. It sounded all a bit hokey to me. But it helped. Plus, mentally, it was good to have goals throughout the day - even if was simply to touch my toes or stretch my hamstrings.

2) Distract yourself to stop the negative thoughts

Easier said than done, right? After speaking with my Psychologist, I became aware of how my thoughts were affecting my pain. Here's how it worked for me: 1) I felt pain, 2) I catastrophized that pain, thinking, "Oh here it goes again. Something else is broken. Here comes another surgery!" 3) The thoughts became more persistent and negative ("I will probably never walk again. I may as well quit my job. I am useless!"), and 4) The pain became worse. My Psychologist helped me realize that I needed to stop the spiral of negative thoughts. I tried various meditation techniques but the one strategy that helped me the most, and I still implement today, is a mindfulness technique that I have named the "Cease and Desist" strategy. As soon as I catch my thoughts spiralling out of control, I stop and say to myself, "Stop. What do you hear? What do you smell? What do you see? What do you feel?" I take a few minutes to experience my environment and answer each question in my mind. For example, "I can hear the air conditioning unit kick on. I can see my pup sleeping on his bed. I can feel a soft pillow behind my back. I can smell a bounce sheet from the laundry," etc. For those 2-3 minutes (or however dialled in you are with your senses), I am present instead of catastrophizing my pain. I am able to stop the cycle. Plus it helps to increase my awareness of my negative thoughts. Instead of beating myself up about these thoughts, I simply think, "It's interesting that I'm having these thoughts," and quickly move on to "Cease and Desist." This simple exercise has decreased my pain and my anxiety levels. It's also a great strategy if your thoughts are interfering with your ability to fall asleep. Try it!

I am not going into surgery. They are wheeling me into happy hour and it's going to be amazing. 

3) Be Honest

No one wants to hear about how much you hurt. I told myself that repeatedly, and got to the point where I attempted to hide the pain that I was feeling. It also caused me to avoid interactions with others. Pain can be incredibly isolating. I even rejected help on a regular basis as some weird type of self preservation ("No I don't need help carrying my bag. I am doing just fine crutching with a bag wrapped around my neck, thank you very much!"). Good God! I realized, again in discussion with my Psychologist, that being honest about my pain with my friends and family was important. Now I don't think it's healthy to go on and on about your pain on social medial and to each and every person you interact with on a daily basis ("Hi cashier at grocery story. I hurt like a bitch today!"),'s important to disclose that you are having an especially rough day to those close to you. Once I became honest about my pain, I felt much better. Plus, I realized just how much my family and friends cared about me and went out of their way to offer assistance. That was helpful. Instead of passive aggressively hissing at Evan when he left a dirty dish on the counter, I found myself saying, "I'm having a shitty day with pain and I know I'm overreacting but this dirty dish is just pissing me off." He appreciated that. In addition, I challenged myself to find a few key people in my workplace that I knew I could ask for help if I needed it. Instead of struggling with bags and stairs and suffering for hours afterwards, I simply tapped my buddy on the shoulder and said, "I'm having a tough day. Do you mind giving me a hand?" Easy. It wasn't a big deal. I didn't feel like a piece of shit for asking, and I probably got an extra mile out of my knees that day. It's OK to ask for help!

4) Make a "flare-up"plan

A flare-up is a sudden increase in pain which may or may not be attributed to an event. Some people experience flare-ups when they over-do it, when the weather changes, or when they are experiencing a high level of stress. On the other hand, I can experience a flare-up with no known cause or trigger. I view a flare-up as signal overload to my central nervous system. The nerves transmit a chaotic mix of signals to my brain and my brain becomes overwhelmed with interpreting the signals. It's confused. My brain doesn't know how to attach meaning to this mess of signals so it decides to send out an alarm, "PAIN! TERRIBLE PAIN!" Ugh. My flare-ups typically feel like waves of electric shocks to my knees (good times!) In my case, a flare-up can last a few hours to days or even weeks. Flare-ups happen are often a part of chronic pain. The key is being prepared.

My Psychologist encouraged me to create a "flare-up plan." I don't recommend creating your plan in the midst of a bad flare-up. It's difficult to think straight and clearly during intense pain. Choose a low pain day to create your plan. A flare-up plan needs to consist of things that help you with your pain, so each is highly individualized, based on your personal pain and experience with the pain. There is no one flare-up plan that works for everyone.  It may include increasing or adding medications that you know will reduce the pain, but it also needs to consist of non-drug strategies that have worked in the past to reduce your pain. Sometimes a flare-up plan works beautifully. Sometimes it's not as effective. I am always tweaking my plan and adding more strategies in case I hit a wall during a particularly bad flare-up.

Flare-ups make me feel powerless, increase my anxiety, and decrease my confidence levels. Creating this plan, and having it in my back pocket when needed, has made me feel more in control of the situation and instills faith that I can cope and manage this difficult period of time. Just to give you an idea, my flare-up plan is a check-list and includes: 1) hot bath/heat,  2) 300mg Gabapentin (a nerve pain medication), 3) short walks with the dog every few hours,  4) Stretching on a foam roller, 5) Massage, 6) Asking for help, 7) Increasing sleep/rest, 8) gentle exercise in the pool, 9) Cease and Desist 10) Shots of tequila (Ha! Joking on that one. Or not. You'll never know).

Pain is a bitch and there is no doubt that it has changed the way in which I live my life. I refuse, however, to succumb to the pain and let it run my show. Been there, done that. Although pain will always be a part of me, my condition has made me realize that I am not helpless. I do have the power to control aspects of my body and mind. I have the ability to manage this pain and continue to live my life to the fullest. I hope that if you are experiencing chronic pain that you seek the help of professionals, adopt a problem-solving attitude towards pain, and take back the control.


hehe. Dat's bad. 

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Finding your place

I wonder how many people really love where they live? When I say, "love," I refer to feeling a  special connection to the city/country/state in which you reside. A sense of living somewhere that you truly belong - a place that feels like it was designed for you.  I know a lot of people choose to live in a location based on family, where they were raised, or where they could find the best job and make the most money, but I wonder how many of us truly love where we live.

As a child, I was oddly infatuated with all things tropical. Given that I was born and raised in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, this was a peculiar fascination! I remember an art project in grade 4 that required us to draw a silhouette of our favourite landscape. Most students drew what they knew - wheat fields, mountain ranges, lakes. I drew the silhouette of a palm tree. I obsessed over movies that took place in tropical locations like, "Romancing The Stone," and watched  MuchMusic videos on repeat that depicted sandy beaches (Belinda Carlisle's "Circle in the Sand" and Madonna's "Cherish"). I memorized the words to the Beach Boys, "Kokomo," and was saddened after a desperate Atlas search revealed  that Kokomo was a fictitious place (damn you Beach Boys for false hope!). My parents brought home catalogues from travel agents filled with pictures of turquoise Caribbean waters and I spent hours pricing out holidays. I was fortunate enough to have a Mom and Dad who loved holidays and took me along on tropical vacations every year (lucky spoiled me!). When we returned from our vacation, I cried, wondering why the hell we lived in snow and cold. My parents listened to me complain and suggested that I choose a new place to live when I was old enough to make my own decisions. So my first "adult" decision, at the age of 17, was to spontaneously tattoo a tropical angelfish on my ankle. There! I had never scuba-dived, nor had I ever lived within 2000km of the ocean, but I had put it out to the universe. I felt like that angelfish suited me. My dad, on the other hand, did not. Sorry Dad!

The fish that took me out of the Will (temporarily)

I'm a big believer in "trying out" places to live (otherwise known as "fear of commitment to location"). Ev and I had the opportunity to live in 18 different cities throughout the years - from London, England to Biloxi, Mississippi. There were always elements of places that I loved (The people in Scotland were fantastic! The beaches in Pensacola were pristine! Candle Lake summers are breathtaking!), elements that I disliked (The traffic in Calgary sucked! London was way too busy), and elements that I loathed (-50 degrees today in Saskatchewan? Come on!). We spent many years searching for a location that fit us, and although we lived in places where we had awesome friends, good jobs, and a comfortable life, I just couldn't shake that silhouette palm tree drawing from my head.

Then one dark frigid January morning in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, snot frozen to my face, I angrily shovelled my car out of a snowbank and threw a legit toddler temper tantrum. "Why the F#$% do we live here?" I shouted repeatedly into the arctic air. I threw the shovel into the snow and something clicked in my brain. Yes. WHY. DO. WE. LIVE. HERE? That day, I began searching for jobs. I literally google searched: "Speech therapy jobs on tropical islands."

And here we are. Living on a tropical island. It all makes sense! Even after 4 years in Cayman, it blows my mind (at least on a weekly basis) that I was able to make my dream a reality. I am well aware; however, that my future here is somewhat beyond my control. Every 2 years, I request another contract and wait with bated breath to see if it's been granted. I was super pumped to learn that I've been granted another 2 years in paradise. This means that I have job security until July 2020! Awesome.

Making the decision to move here was one of the most difficult things we've ever had to do. We took a big leap of faith and never looked back (OK. Truth bomb: I looked back a few times, shrugged with uncertainty, shed more than a few tears, and kept going). I'll never forget the first view of our (very) tiny island from the airplane window. My stomach churned with excitement/absolute terror. It was incredibly unsettling - like jumping out of a plane and hoping that parachute actually opens. But man, was it worth it.

I'm not saying that moving to a tropical island is for everyone. I've watched plenty of people try out our little slice of paradise and realize that it's not their jam. There are days when the island flips me the middle finger, and I find myself gritting my teeth with frustration ("Please join this long line. It goes nowhere and no one is working it, but you need to stand in this line for a very long time.") There are days when I desperately miss my family and friends. But it was the right decision for us.  On the other hand, I understand that every one is different: some feel a special connection to winter, deserts, jungles, etc. Many people dream of raising their kids in the same neighbourhood that they grew up in. Some people feel incredible loyalty to their country of birth and never intend to leave. That's cool too.

It's totally awesome if you've found a place to live that meets your needs and offers you comfort. And even if you don't love it, I hope that you are at least really in like with it.

But...if you find yourself asking the question, "Why do I live here?" on a daily basis, then do something about it. There are a million excuses not to -for weeks I convinced myself that my health wasn't good enough, that we didn't have enough money, or that we wouldn't make any friends. It would have been way easier to say, "Meh, it's just a pipe dream. Maybe in a few years. We will just book more vacations to combat the winter blues." I'm so glad that I was able to push those fears aside. Be brave. It's uncomfortable. It's scary. Start slow. Start with a google search! Every evening when I see the silhouette of a palm tree outside my window, the same palm tree that I drew in fourth grade, I applaud our decision to perform that life-changing google search which led me to live in a place that I love.

Cheers to finding your Kokomo!

This is THE palm tree!

Saturday, January 6, 2018

The Christmas Hangover

Bored and anxious to get home on New Years Eve, I curiously observed the other passengers shuffling along the security line at George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston. One family, consisting of two children (about 10-12 years in age) was not in a good place. The 10 year old boy hid behind his mom, while she smothered him with kisses. The exasperated sister found a moment when her mother wasn't looking, glared angrily at her brother and mouthed, "I. HATE. YOU." Closer to security, an adult daughter sighed with frustration as she snapped at her senior parents, "JUST MAKE A DECISION ALREADY!" A young couple wearing "bride" and "groom" hoodies quickly transitioned from wedded bliss to pure annoyance when the "bride" discovered multiple bottles of liquids in her carry-on. Now I know that airports are not an environment conducive to fostering healthy relationships; however, this mood was exceptionally grim. It dawned on me in that moment that everyone at George Bush Intercontinental Airport was suffering from the Christmas Hangover.

The Christmas Hangover is more than just the after effects of excessive food and drink. It can be summed up in a simple equation. Christmas Hangover = Your Christmas Expectations -  Your Christmas Reality. The larger the disparity between your expectations and your reality, the more severe the Christmas Hangover. How can your Christmas expectations not be high? Movies, TV commercials, Christmas specials and Christmas carols begin setting the bar to an unachievable level, raising our expectations in early November. We imagine the perfect holiday season, complete with egg nog,  Christmas cookies, joy, love, laughter, and pure Christmas happiness. When a tantruming child, a holiday gift gone awry, a forgotten Elf on the Shelf or a disagreement between Uncle Joe and Cousin Eddy arises, we feel panic and disappointment. It's not supposed to be like this! This isn't what I envisioned! Although I love Christmas just as much as the next guy, including holiday baking, Christmas music, Christmas movies, and catching up with family and friends, I've become more cognizant of the stress level and pressure that many feel to meet their Christmas expectations.  In addition, since the loss of special family members over the past few years, I am more conscious of the fact that Christmas can be a horrible time of year for someone who is mourning a loss. I could definitely sense a collective sigh of relief once the holiday season (and all the pressure that comes with it) reached it's end this year.

Contrary to my above thoughts, my Christmas was quite nice. There was no arguing amongst relatives, disagreements, or Elf fails. I was able to catch up with Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins. I cuddled up on the couch with my sister and watched National Lampoons Christmas Vacation (my favourite!) I decorated a real Canadian Christmas tree with my Mom and Mother-in-law. I got Grandma hugs and Baba kisses. I devoured perogies, turkey, and butter tarts. We reunited with our Saskatchewan posse and caught up over prosecco and shark fins. All good. The weather, on the other hand, was terrible. I must admit that I've gotten a little soft since my move to a tropical island almost 4 years ago; however, the weather in Saskatchewan over the holiday season was atrocious, even for the most seasoned Canadian. With windchills of up to -50 degrees Celsius, it was much too cold to stand outside for more than 30 seconds enjoy outdoor winter activities (by the way, did you know that at -40 degrees Celsius and Fahrenheit become equal? Mind. Blown). The frigid temps wreaked havoc on our "stuff," which typically only operates during the summer months. Our water line froze, and I found myself angrily melting snow on the stove like a freakin' pioneer. The diesel in our truck even froze, rendering us vehicle-less for the last part of our holiday.  The weather was not fit for human (or nonhuman) habitation, and that put a damper on things. Although I felt negligent leaving our friends and family behind when we flew back to Cayman, I have to admit that I was very ready to return to the island. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief when I stepped off the plane in Cayman, felt my joints begin to thaw, and was able to walk without pain again.

I'm pretty pumped about 2018. Let's call a spade a spade: 2017 was not my year. I admire those who can reflect upon a tough year with realizations such as, "I learned a lot of lessons" or "2017 challenged me!" Not this girl. With 3 knee surgeries, crutches for 3/4 of the year, the #neverbending story, and enough painkillers to kill a horse, 2017 does not deserve an inspirational saying, and will forever be known as "The year that sucked." Thankfully, I am heading into 2018 in pretty good shape! Today I am painkiller free (cheers to brain clarity!), am hitting up the gym again with light weights, and am feeling much more stable emotionally and mentally. Although I still experience pain and suffer from moments where I temporarily freak out about the future of my cartilage, I'm learning to embrace the here and now. And here and now I am a poster child for Autologous Chondrocyte Implantation recovery. Boo ya! In addition, there was an incredible sighting in my bathroom mirror this week - my ass! It's slowly returning from the depths of the unknown. I don't want to brag, but I'm presently a few squats away from the Kardashian-ville (No. Not even close).  It's difficult to express the relief you feel when you make it through the other side of shit and find your old self (and ass) after a long 12 month hiatus.  I am happy Kirstie again, and you know the saying, "Happy Kirstie, happy life" (I totally made that up, but I would argue that Evan would fully agree with that statement). After a year of watching from the sidelines, I am so looking forward to "doing" again!

Cheers to a health and happiness in 2018!

My Posse

Eggnog, Canada slippers and Rudolph

sister hugs!

Christmas Eve with Baba

The Candle lake view has changed since August

Tea with Grandma

Rockin' around the Christmas tree with the girls

Ev's mom got to experience a cold Candle Lake Christmas!

The day the truck gave up on life: heaters, blankets, and blow dryers. No luck. 

All thawed out. Cheers!

Monday, December 11, 2017

Your 30's: like being in your 20's but with nice sheets and scotch

"So how old are you?" inquired the tipsy 20-something as she eyed up my buddy at the bar.

Upon revealing that he was in his early 30's, the 20-something wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Oh my god! What's it like to be in your 30's?" she asked, wide-eyed with horror.

My wise friend responded, "It's like being in your 20's...but with money."

As our group of friends listened to my buddy relay this story, we laughed at his witty response. This was about 5 years ago when were just discovering that the 30's are a fabulous age. Still basking in a youthful glow, we hadn't yet developed crow's feet, sleep disorders, or joint pain.

Now that 40 is on the horizon, I'm attempting to embrace my age and all the positive aspects associated with becoming a mature adult...stability, solid friendships, and self-identity. When I look back on my early 20's, I have fond memories of partying, studying, and....well...partying. As I peruse old journals where I faithfully entered my daily dramas, I see excerpts riddled with exclamation marks: "This test is going to be so brutal! I need to study all weekend!" "I got so wasted last night!" and "Evan didn't call me today. I am so pissed!" Gosh. My world was small. It's interesting how priorities shift with age.

I've created a list of things that, although were not on my radar in my 20's, now top my list of adulting priorities as I near the big four oh!

1) Sleep
In my 20's, sleep was not a priority. I crawled out of clubs sweaty and inebriated and crashed on friends' couches, I spent the odd night in the fetal position rolled in a towel on my bathroom floor, and I may have slept on a pontoon boat in a marina once. Who cares? I can sleep when I'm dead. When I did actually sleep in my own bed, not only were clean sheets not a priority, but sheets in general were not a necessity.

This will do

At this time in my life, sleep tops my list of adulting priorities. I have transformed my bedroom into a zen-like oasis where peace and serenity are of utmost importance. I begin to set the mood about a half an hour before I intend to fall asleep. I fill my diffuser with essential oils that promise "relaxation," turn down my expensive sheets specifically designed for tropical climates, and slather myself with Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion. If I do venture out for an evening (whoa!), I ensure that I have received adequate hydration before turning in, and am generally in bed before midnight. Upon awakening, I quickly calculate the total hours of sleep achieved and am filled with pride and contentment. I did it. I slept blissfully through the night.

You will go to sleep or I will put you to sleep!

2) Alcohol
In my 20's, I ingested my fair share of alcoholic beverages with 2 main goals: 1) To spend as little money as possible and 2) To get drunk as quickly as possible. Does anyone remember the term, "pre-drinking?" Before heading out to a club, the goal was to consume as much alcohol as possible to avoid dipping into the tuition account for booze. When someone asked what my drink of choice was, I replied, "whatever is on special!" Rum, vodka, wine (if you can call a $5 bottle of Strawberry Angel "wine"), whatever! Occasionally, the glowing neon green "vodka special" was even on special! Our little University house never contained a liquor cabinet because we drank with a purpose - to finish the booze...and fast!

Jose Cuervo you are a friend of mine...
In our 30's, Evan and I made an executive decision to never consume cheap booze again. Our focus has shifted significantly from quantity to quality. Like responsible adults, we now have a liquor cabinet stocked with fine scotch, pricey tequila, higher-end wines, and random liquors like Cointreau and Grand Marnier. Gone are the days of shooting Jose Cuervo and sucking on limes at a sticky bar. Welcome to the days of creating a complex cocktail in a copper mug and sipping on it during an episode of Dateline.

Adulting 101: notice how George's Tequila has taken a beating

3) Cleanliness
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. That is, unless you are a 21 year old University student in the midst of final exams. My roommate, J, and I (I promise to maintain your anonymity, Janna), lived together for 4 years during our University career. Most of our 4 years were spent in a sweet old house just off of Whyte Ave in Edmonton. I loved living with J. She was, and still is, one of my closest friends. We laughed together, we cried together, we danced together, and we avoided cleaning together. For the most part, we were able to keep our little old house tidy, but we both shared an intense displeasure of washing dishes. Our little old house did not contain a dishwasher, so we took turns washing the dishes - typically every few days once they began piling up. During one very challenging final exam period, we lost track of the dish washing schedule. Instead of determining whose turn it was or - brainwave! - just doing the dishes together, we simply closed the door to the kitchen and carried on with life. We fixed the glitch. When weeks had gone by and we had resorted to using the same utensil, plate, and glass for each and every meal, we realized that we had let this go on for too long. It was time. By that point, month old spaghetti sauce and Kraft Dinner cheese had become one with the unwashed plates. Screw the pot scrubber...we needed a sledgehammer! I cringe when I remember how disgusting that was.

I am not too proud to admit that today I enlist the help of Debbie. Debbie is a fantastic lady from Jamaica whom we hired 3 years ago. Debbie comes to our house every Sunday and magically transforms our house into a sparkling Mr. Clean commercial. We love Debbie. I feel no shame. End of story.

4) My Health
Working out and/or watching my diet never occurred to me until I turned 20 years old and realized that my love of vodka paralyzers and late night Boston Pizza had caught up to my waistline. I abruptly purchased the cheapest gym membership that I could find (thank you, Spa Lady!) and diligently focused on my 3 problem areas: tummy, butt, and thighs. Screw the upper body and cardio - my sole purpose of working out and watching my diet was to look good. Although I had learned about the body systems in school, I did not give a care how my circulatory, musculature, skeletal, cardiovascular, blah blah blah systems were operating.

Fast forward to life in my 30's. Gravity has kicked my ass. Literally. My rear end (what's left of it) appears to be closer to my knees than to my back. Speaking of knees, you can imagine that my sole purpose of working out (Let's just call it what it is - physiotherapy), is to keep my body functioning "normally." I now enter the gym with a strengthen my muscles so that I can walk without crutches for as long as possible.

Likewise, I presently focus much more attention to my mental and emotional health than I did in my former life. In my 20's, I considered eating a bag of chips whilst watching Part of Five a boost to my mental health. Today, I treat myself to a list of services including regular massages, pedicures, hair highlights, and facials. These indulges were way out of my University life budget in my 20's.

5) Reading
During my college days, reading was full-time job. I recall scowling at the University bookstore employee as I charged thousands of dollars worth of textbooks to my over-used credit card. Professors assured us that someday these textbooks would be useful in our chosen career. However, I assure you that "Graphical, Numerical, and Algebraic Calculus" has not been cracked since December 12, 1999 (the night before the final exam). From age 18 to 25, reading was a chore rather than a recreational event. The purpose of reading was to simply acquire information, ace a test, obtain a degree, and receive a steady pay check. Done.

Today I absolutely love to read. As I immerse myself in a new plot and character, I can temporarily escape reality. Who doesn't want to escape reality from time to time? My argument is this: because the books assisted me in achieving my career, I am entitled to spend an unlimited amount of my salary on books. I am Amazon's #1 customer, clicking "buy" on my kindle with reckless abandon. Why? Because I am a mature adult and have earned the right, dammit!

So, you see my friends, things have changed. I've developed into a mature adult who enjoys sleeping, Cointreau, exercising, and reading. Although my 20 year old self may have rolled her eyes at my list, accusing me of being boring and cliche, I am relieved that the days of Kraft Dinner, subpar sleeps, and vodka specials are waaaay in the past.

Cheers to embracing your 30's with fine wine, fancy sheets, and unlimited books...and maybe some 90's music ;)

Sunday, November 26, 2017

DINKS in Paradise

I'm gonna let you in a little secret. Don't tell anyone. Ok. Come closer so I can whisper it in your ear,

"Evan and I do not have kids."

Shocker. I know. We are nearing 40 years of age, have shared over 20 lovely years together, and we do not have children. I am well aware that we are not the norm. And sometimes our "child-free/childless?" lifestyle feels like a shameful act.

When Ev and I were 25 years old, we prepped for our marriage with a pre-marital class where we discussed all of the issues that we would face as a couple: finances, careers, sex, household duties, communication, and....children. Ev and I were quite proud of ourselves when we compared notes and realized that we both desired 2 children. That was the plan. A boy named Madden and a girl named Hollis. We agreed that 30 would be the perfect age to start the procreation process. We still had 5 years to live the carefree childless lifestyle.

The next 5 years were spent "finding ourselves." After an incredible adventure, which allowed us to travel the world, Evan retired from professional hockey and began a career as a Calgary Firefighter. I properly started my career as a Speech Pathologist and came to the realization that big city life was not for me.

By age 30 we were settled into a beautiful new 5 bedroom house in my hometown of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. We both had stable careers. We had tons of family support. Friends and family encouraged us, "Time to start filling those bedrooms!" This was the perfect time to add Madden and Hollis to the mix.

Despite being cautioned by Doctors that conceiving may be difficult due to a history of endometriosis, we put it off. We said things like, "Maybe in a year or two." We actually created a scale - a number system to communicate our desire for children at any given moment. 1 = I absolutely do not want children today and 10 = I absolutely want a child today. Neither of us ever exceeded a "3." We were always on the same page. End of discussion. Spin the globe! Where shall we go for our next vacation?

We planned surfing and diving holidays to Mexico, Hawaii, Florida, Honduras, Bali, and Costa Rica. We researched employment in other countries and dreamed of moving to a tropical island. We bought longboards and skated around our neighbourhood. We set up an obstacle course in our garage where we balanced on wobble boards while we listened to loud music. We were having fun. Our friends began having children and we observed how much love they felt for their new additions. We also observed how drastically their lives changed. Some relationships flourished with the arrival of a new baby. Some relationships destructed under the weight and responsibility. We enjoyed our life and we appreciated just being with each other. We didn't want it to change and we weren't yearning for a child. I kept waiting to wake up and feel an emptiness that could only be filled with a baby. People suggested that it was only a matter of time before I caught "baby fever." But as I watched my friends gush over little baby toes, I felt nothing. A part of me longed to feel something. Was I defective? I felt overwhelming happiness for my friends, but I also felt completely content and fulfilled (gasp!) without a baby. So we continued to put it off and negotiate with our plan: perhaps we would just add a "Hollis" to our family. One child would be enough. We would have plenty of time and we decided to table the issue and re-examine at age 35.

Then life happened. I was diagnosed with a rare cartilage condition, resulting in multiple surgeries, rehabilitations, and unanswered questions about my genetics. We fulfilled one of our greatest dreams and moved to a tropical island. Getting pregnant was the last item on my "to do" list. And to be honest, I was totally OK with that. Choosing to have a baby is a huge, life-changing decision. There is no return policy. I don't know what the future holds. Things change. Perhaps I will have a change of heart and become a geriatric mature parent. Perhaps it will be too late. Perhaps I've never actually had a choice. I own that. But I do know that having a child simply to fit in, please others, or to adhere to the rules of society is not the right decision for me. The path that Evan and I chose (thus far) is not conventional, but it's our life and we are living it our way.

I've compiled a list of things that I want my friends with children to know:

1) I don't hate children
Just because we don't have children doesn't mean that we dislike them. I work with children every day. I appreciate their innocence, honestly, and goofy senses of humour. I like children. In fact, I love your children! I love your children because I love you. I love seeing you reflected in your child. I see your sass, your wit, and your intelligence when I interact with your child. I also love seeing the joy that your child brings you. I also know that your child can act like an asshole sometimes. All kids do! You don't need to apologize. I'm not judging you. I know that you are doing your best and if your child is presently throwing a tantrum, although I can't necessarily relate, I do empathize. There is no doubt in my mind that parenting is a challenging, yet rewarding gig. Although Evan and I might return home after a day with children and thoroughly appreciate our serene and quiet home, we do not go home and say, "Wow, our friends' kids are assholes."

2) I know you can't be at my beck and call
I've witnessed enough of my friends have babies to come to the realization that it's inevitable: things change. Our relationship will change. Your priorities have shifted from being responsible for yourself to keeping another human alive. I get it!

But...if you ever want a reply back from a text ASAP, you can typically count on me. Why? Because I am not responsible for the life of another human. I know that you might not be able to respond as quickly. I know that an adult lunch date must be booked in advance so that you have time to arrange a sitter. I know that you need time to plan. I won't judge or take offence when you don't immediately reply to my text about the latest "Real Housewives" debacle. I won't hold it against you when you ask for a rain check due to sick baby. No worries. And when you have some time, I will happily fill you in on all the mindless pop culture news.

3) Sometimes I feel left out
I think that I was one of the last girls in my class to get a bra. I remember listening to my female classmates discuss which bra offered more support, which bra had a cute butterfly on the front, and which bra was the itchiest. I remember nodding blankly, having no idea what they were talking about, longing to be a part of the club. I feel the same way 20+ years later when my friends discuss pregnancy. I don't know what it feels like to have a baby growing inside of me. I can't relate to morning sickness, labour pains, the feeling of a baby kick, or placenta plugs (is that a thing?). But I care about you and how you are feeling. I will listen and offer support. I just can't offer any advice based on my experience. During those discussions, be prepared for my radio silence (or an awkward attempt to relate through my pets). It's not that I'm upset (although occasionally I am horrified), it's simply that I don't know what to say. I want to contribute, but I don't always know how. That can feel isolating. I might just exit the conversation about episiotomies and discus boats with the boys.

4) So when are you going to have a baby already?
I really do not mind if close friends inquire about our baby situation. I would be curious too. What sucks, however, is if someone I don't know particularly well makes a point of asking in a large group setting. At a baby shower, for example. Nothing makes me cringe more than when I'm totally kicking ass at pin the diaper on the baby, and some random pipes up, "Looks like you're ready for a baby! When can we plan your shower?" This is such a sensitive subject. For all you know I could be recovering from a miscarriage or struggling with infertility. Never assume that a woman is choosing not to have a baby.

5) Must be nice
Yes, I really enjoy sleeping in on the weekends. Yes, I really enjoy reading quietly by the pool. Yes, I really enjoy quiet wine dinners and last minute getaways with my husband. Yes, it is nice. I know that you haven't slept soundly in 2 years. I see that you are struggling to breastfeed your newborn or reign in your busy toddler. It looks fricken hard and I have mad respect for you. I will try not to gloat about my siesta if you don't say, "must be nice." We made different choices which resulted in very different lifestyles. I also see you light up with pride when your baby smiles at you, and sometimes think, "must be nice." Different strokes for different folks. To be fair, my close friends who know my situation do not partake in the passive aggressive "must be nice" game.

6) Words can hurt
I find it unsettling when I hear things like, "You don't know real love until you've had a baby," or "You haven't lived life until you've brought life into the world." I have an endless supply of love in my heart for friends and family. Please do not pity me. As far as I know I am living my best life, and although it's not without struggle, my life is full of love, joy, and happiness.

7) But you would make such great parents!
Agreed! Ev and I would make fantastic parents. We are obviously committed to each other, respect each other, and share a stable relationship. Our finances are in order. We are mature -ish. We are well aware that we could provide a wonderful life for a child. We are not choosing this lifestyle because we are afraid that we would be shitty parents. I find it annoying when someone observes Evan playing with a child and says, "He would be such a great father!" Yes. I am well aware. I would make an excellent mother too. Again, that's not a good enough reason to sign up for a baby.

The beauty about life is that we have the ability to write our own story. Although I've occasionally been enticed to emulate someone else's story, I've made a conscious decision to own my personal journey. There's no doubt that plot twists will arise, taking your story in a completely different direction, but that's all part of the adventure.

Cheers to living life your way - whatever you choose!

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Better bend than break

I survived knee surgery #10, AKA "Bend It Like Beckham." It was fine. Not the passive aggressive "fine," that you use with your spouse when you are pissed. It was legitimately fine - a satisfactory experience.

Surgery goals

The build-up to the surgery was the worst, and I honestly thought that they would have to drag me into that OR kicking and screaming; however, once I arrived at Pennsylvania Hospital (the correct hospital this time), I went into automatic surgery mode and willingly followed my surgery team into the operating room with no tears or panic.  Like a crack whore, I immediately began begging staff for versed (the drug that makes you loose and not give a care). As I met my OR Nurses, my Anesthesiologist, and my Surgeon, I greeted each with, "Hello. Can I have my versed?" I even attempted to wow and sway them with my surgery experience, "It's my 10th knee surgery. Can I please have versed?" After 2 hours of mounting anxiety and versed rejections, I finally got my shot  and contentedly entered the land of apathy. As I lay freezing and high as a kite on the operating room table, arms splayed out and restrained, it occurred on me that the Anesthesiologist was MIA. I could hear the surgery team discussing amongst themselves, "I texted him. He should be here soon." To distract me, my Surgeon's fabulous PA, Sabrina, exclaimed, "All right. It's Kirstie's 10th surgery! Let's play some tunes. What can we play for you?" I immediately requested White Snake, "Here I go again," as it seemed rather appropriate for my 10th knee surgery. So for the next 10 minutes I lay on the cold metal operating table and belted out tunes with the OR staff. I closed my eyes and sang Chumbawamba, "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down," I serenaded the Nurse with Backstreet Boys, "I want it that way," and finally I channelled Calvin Harris and happily sang, "Don't be afraid to catch feels." I was stoned. I was content. I was having the time of my life with all of my friends!  At some point the Anesthesiologist realized that he had missed several dozen texts and arrived at my Operating room. I requested one more chorus of "Feels," but instantly fell asleep as he placed the mask on my face, and the Nurse bid me goodnight with, "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

I'm smiling, but what I'm really thinking is, "Where the f is my versed?"

I woke up as I typically do, high on life and as chatty as Kathie Lee and Hoda on Wine Wednesday. As I listened to my fellow patients in recovery moan and groan with confusion and discomfort, I sat up, alert and happy, discussing Candace Cameron's fabulous wardrobe on "Fuller House" with my recovery Nurse. The pain eventually did hit, but it was fine. I dealt with it. The nausea hit a few hours later, and lasted for a few days, but it was fine. I dealt with it. Overall, I will chalk it up as a fine experience.

At this point, I am conditioned to hear "bad news" post surgery (i.e. "It was worse than we expected" and "It's deteriorating faster than expected"), but this time, I was pleasantly surprised to receive relatively positive news from my surgeon. There was a LOT of scar tissue removed which subsequently allowed the surgeon to "gently" bend my knee to 130 degrees (I even have the creepy surgery pics to prove it). The cartilage that was implanted in May is healing well, with no new lesions in my weight bearing region. My new meniscus also looks solid. The cartilage under my kneecap looks shitty, but you can't win 'em all, right? Overall, the surgery was successful. I hope and pray that I can have a break from surgeries for a while. I need a break.

Another one for the album: The equivalent of the passed out Frat party pic. Did I do that? 

I crutched into Penn Med Physiotherapy 2 days post surgery, and easily bent my knee to 122 degrees! 122 degrees! After being stuck around 87 degrees for months, this was a huge accomplishment. I've spent the last 6 months feeling like a physio failure (through no fault of my physiotherapists). I am super pumped and proud that my knee is finally doing what it is supposed to do. I can now fit in the backseat of a car, cross my legs, and even lay in my natural "flamingo" sleeping position. What a freakin' relief! I can officially announce that #theneverbendingstory is over!

As per usual, My fabulous team consisting of Mom and Ev were there with me through it all. I love them to bits and pieces. How lucky am I to have such an incredible support system! In the words of our Millennial friends, Mom and Ev are my ride and die.

Out of bed! Cruisin' the Jersey Shore with Ev 

Nausea has passed - time for fudge with Mom!

Check out these beautiful flowers from my Aunty Barb and Cousin Courtney.  Love you guys!

Ev has since flown off to Orlando for work and Mom is staying with me on the island for a week. I am so grateful that she is here with me. It was apparent as I crutched through the door that Biloxi and Dundee were relieved to see Mom as well, "Yes! She will keep us alive!"

I'm now on the road to recovery, doing my physio exercises regularly and ensuring that my knee continues to bend. I will show anyone who demonstrates even the tiniest bit of interest that my knee can now bend, "Look at me! Watch this!" Although it's been difficult to keep the swelling down since I flew back to the island, the knee is feeling stronger each day and is doing just fine.

Thanks for the love and support, friends.
Cheers to bendy knees!

Look at me! Watch this!