I've got to keep on moving

 Hey Friends!

Have you watched the documentary about the olympic ski racer, Lindsey Vonn, called "The Climb"? It documents Lindsey's recovery and rehabilitation after 2 major knee injuries and her return to sport. It's really inspirational and provides a lot of insight about the physical, mental, and emotional challenges of rehabilitation after injury. 

Now I'm by no means an Olympic athlete - although I was Miss PA Highland Dancer in1985 and a silver medalist at the YBC National Bowling Championship in 1991 😜- but when I watched this documentary a few years ago, I was absolutely glued to the TV, captivated by Lindsey's experience.   Lindsey's rehab was so intense and grueling, and I could relate to how defeating and mentally exhausting recovery can be. 

I'm now 4 weeks post surgery #13 and doing pretty okay-ish. Every week since my surgery I've been able to step up my physiotherapy and can feel myself slowly gaining strength and confidence. I've managed to wean off of Gabapentin (the brain fogger med), so that's one huge goal accomplished! It occurred to me the other day during my pool water walking that my rehabilitation and the state of my mind during recovery has significantly shifted since my first few surgeries. 

The very first knee surgery (about 10 years ago) was meant to be a simple meniscus repair. Once my Ortho got a look inside my knee and realized that I had this disease, Osteochondritis Dissecans, he had to completely change gears mid-surgery and perform micro fracture surgery on my knee. The surgeons drilled holes into my bone to stimulate cartilage growth (I was wide awake for that one, by the way, but was drugged to the point of oblivion), and I was told post surgery that my 3 week recovery was now a 4-6 month recovery. 

I listened to my surgeon explain the severity of the situation. I had a rare cartilage disease. I would never be the same. I heard the words but didn't fully process them and I absolutely refused to accept them. I was provided with a physio protocol for recovery and vowed to "beat" every single goal in that booklet. 

I was insufferable. I cringe now when I think about how I threw myself head-first into that recovery. Although I followed all the rules (no weight bearing for 6 weeks), as soon as I was given the go ahead to begin therapy, I made it my mission to surpass every benchmark. I attempted to convince my surgeon that the recovery bar needed to be raised because I was a superior patient who overachieved in all areas. If anyone asked how recovery was going, I would boast about how awesome I was doing, and demonstrate party tricks on my crutches (no lie). When my surgeon suggested that I might not be strong enough to wakesurf, I sent him video of myself wakesurfing with my crutch, eventually tossing the crutch away. That video was a giant "eff you and eff this disease." (I'm still sorry about that).  Like I said...insufferable. In my mind I was an ideal patient - motivated and determined. But in reality, I was trying to win a game that was impossible to win. 

Haha! Remember that time I covered my knee brace in "motivational" sayings? No? Me neither. 🙈

In retrospect, I was completely in denial about my diagnosis. I was going to be normal, despite this stupid disease that I apparently had. That first surgery, by the way, failed. I'm not saying it was a "me" problem, but my stubborn, "I will be victorious" attitude did not promote success. 

Well...thank the Lord things have changed. The biggest thing that I have learned to accept over the years is that my body and I are on the same team. When I said things like, "I'm going to beat this!" I was implying that I was in a fight or a competition against my body. This was a terrible mindset and I spent so much of my time angry and resentful that my body dared to defy me in this manner. Like it or not, this body belongs to me and I've learned to be kinder and more patient with it. After all, we are literally in this together.

Secondly, I've learned that these physio benchmarks are simply guidelines. I don't focus so much on imposed timelines. If I'm not off the crutches in 3 weeks, I no longer lay in the dark listening to Linkin Park, sobbing, "In the end, it doesn't even matter." (True story 😞). Although I still require reminders, I do realize that the guidelines don't take into consideration the fact that my knees have endured 13 surgeries. They have been through a lot! So my squat might be more of a "dip" at the moment, but that's just where my knees are at this point in time. And I am perfectly okay-ish with that! 

Finally, my mindset about recovery has flipped a complete 180. Rehabilitation used to be a roller coaster of high highs and super low lows. I would play "Rage Against the Machine" and lunge until my knees would shake and then fall into a heap on the floor and cry for hours when I was still 10 degrees off my target. The pressures that I placed on myself were insane - and I'm not an Olympic athlete - it's not like I had a major competition looming! Yikes.  Today I ride the bike while listening to "Break my Stride" by Matthew Wilder, and focus on moving forward slowly and purposefully. I quietly celebrate my accomplishments and try...yes try...to not get frustrated when recovery is not a neat linear path. 

I'm not going to pretend like it's all roses and butterflies. I'm relieved that I'm not that super intense, angry rehabilitation patient any more; however, I still feel frustrated and anxious with my recovery. 

I worry that I will require a walking aide for the rest of my life. Prior to this surgery, I was using a crutch or both crutches for about 2 months. I'm still using 1 crutch for longer distances, but I have anxiety about walking independently again. Many years ago I used a cane for a few months. There was something about that cane that signaled "permanent handicap" to me, and although I would never judge anyone else for using a cane, that cane really messed with my mental and emotional state. I try not to contemplate the what ifs, but in all honesty, I worry that I might eventually enter "cane territory" again. 

I know that I'm not training for an Olympic event, but I now see the purpose of my rehabilitation as training for life. I want to work a full day of school without pain meds. I want to sit down with my students and not worry about standing back up. I want to take short walks on the beach. I want to go to a friend's house and not fret about climbing stairs. I want to feel confident that I can walk to a table in a restaurant and not fall down. This is why I faithfully participate in my physiotherapy every single day. 

Evan described something called "Game Theory" that he often discusses with his business clients. There are two types of games: a finite game and an infinite game. A finite game has a distinct beginning and end. Someone wins and someone loses. In an infinite game the purpose is to keep the game going. You only drop out of the game due to lack of will or resources. No one wins and no one loses. Your goal is to simply stay in the game - to keep the game going. After almost 10 years since my diagnosis, I have (thankfully) learned that I cannot "win" this game. My goal is to play the infinite game. And I'm doing a pretty okay-ish job at it right now ;) In the words of Matthew Wilder, "I've got to keep on moving." 

Cheers Friends!

Surgery #13: Can you Die from Ingesting Essential Oils?

 Hey Friends,

Well, we managed to fit in a quick trip to Philly over the holidays for surgery #13, and successfully made it home to our Cayman condo last night. Let me tell you, travel is not for the faint of heart these days. Looking back, I still can't believe we managed to pull this trip off - one positive test would have derailed the entire plan, not to mention all the flight cancellations that were occurring over Christmas! We were very lucky that, logistically, our travel went off without a hitch. 

Free garment bag with your 13th surgery special!

When my insurance company sent me our travel itinerary, I saw that we had a 4 hour layover in Miami, and immediately thought of an agency in Cayman called One Dog At A Time (ODAAT). ODAAT is a non profit organization on island that helps to get forever homes for the unwanted dogs, many of who are awaiting euthanization at the Department of Agriculture. ODAAT has multiple partnering agencies in the US and Canada, and is often advertising the need for flight escorts. Although our shelters and foster homes in Cayman are busting at the seams (spay or neuter your pets, people!!!), the humane society in Miami, for example, has a shortage of pups, and dogs from Cayman are adopted very quickly in Miami (our pups are affectionately called "Cayman Coconuts," and I think it's a bit of a novelty to have a coconut in another country). So, I immediately reached out to the organization, and together with the Cayman Islands Humane Society, they were able to select 4 lucky dogs that we could accompany to Miami. 

Overall, the experience of escorting the dogs was excellent! ODAAT was very organized and had all the paperwork in order and ready to go. We were able to meet our travel buddies: Bunny, Duque, Montana, and Xander, and I assured each nervous pup that they were in good hands. The dogs were crated and put in the pet cargo area of the plane. The flight from Cayman to Miami is a nice quick 1 hour trip, and the dogs were all safely transferred to a humane society in the Miami area. On last check, 3 out of 4 dogs have gone to their furrever homes, and the last sweet pup, Bunny, will surely get swooped up soon. Typically a trip to Philly carries negative connotations with it for me, so it was nice to distract myself with helping these dogs, and put a positive spin to the trip! I highly recommend becoming a pet escort if you are able.

Philly was cold and dreary. We always stay downtown in the Rittenhouse area, and both Ev and I noticed that there are more police and security guards in shops and restaurants. There were a lot of homeless folks attempting to stay warm in doorways and alleys. We were told it's not safe to venture out at night alone, which has significantly changed since our first visit to Philly 7 years ago. It's sad to see. 

The Philly air was thick with Omicron and I began to fret about the possibility of contracting Covid and being stuck in Philly. We double-masked and avoided large groups as much as possible, but we were in and out of stores buying groceries and supplies. Every time Ev left the apartment, I yelled, "Don't catch Covid!" haha. Thanks tips!

For Covid reasons, my surgery was at the Penn Medicine surgery center this time, as opposed to the hospital. The surgery center is super efficient - like a production line swiftly moving patients in and out of surgery. I'm always in awe of their efficiency and organization. Because 2 patients ahead of me tested positive, my surgery was moved up earlier in the day and I nervously joked that I had been "called up." Now that Dr. Carey works with the Philadelphia Flyers, he appreciated my hockey reference and asked if Evan wanted a quick hip surgery, given the new surgery slot openings (Ev has arthritis in his hip from all those years of butterfly saves). 

My team is always trying to solve my nausea issue, and each Anesthesiologist adds a new and exciting element to my anesthetic concoction to prevent the puke that inevitably occurs about 6 hours post surgery. I admire their tenacity, and although the "magic formula" was a bust again, I appreciate that they always try. I asked my Anesthesiologist if she could slip something special into my IV, given that this was my 13th surgery, and she suggested a margarita. 

I don't typically dream while I'm under, but the margarita comment was obviously in my subconscious because I spent my entire knee surgery saddled up at the Westin bar while my favorite server, Rev, provided me with one frosty margarita after another. At one point, Rev said, "Miss Kirstie, are you sure you want another?" and as I grabbed for another salty rim, I slipped backwards off my bar stool and woke up in recovery.

"Whoa!" I said as I woke up startled, "I drank too many margaritas!"

The nurse laughed and handed me a pair of seriously heavy crutches, "We have a crutch shortage today, so the only ones available are bariatric crutches." Yikes. Those suckers were sturdy (designed for patients up to 350 pounds), and surely to result in toned triceps. 

Once back in the apartment, I was struggling to control my pain and succumbed to the narcotics, which predictably led to severe nausea. 

I sat upright in bed for about 7 hours, frantically sniffing peppermint essential oils, willing myself not to puke. Finally at 3am, I shoved the bottle of peppermint oil up my nostril and fell asleep in an upright position.

At some point my head tilted back, tipping the bottle of peppermint oil into my nostril, flooding my nose with burn. Minty burn. 

I coughed and choked as peppermint burned my nose and filled my mouth and desperately put a cold cloth up my nostril to ease the fire inside my nasal passage. Poor Ev was sound asleep and didn't know what happened, awakening to my yelling, "It burns! It burns!"

To be fair, it distracted me from my painful post-surgery knee.

For the next 5 hours I spit and puked up peppermint while blowing fresh mint oil out of nose. My google history at 5am reveals the search, "Can you die from ingesting essential oils?" It was touch and go, but I did not die (although there were points I wanted to), and to be honest, it's kind of hilarious in retrospect, and makes for an interesting blog post. 

Once the fear of dying from essential oils subsided, I did something that I don't typically do. I try to avoid self-pity at all costs - in fact, I push all the self pity down and suppress it under humor. Perhaps the peppermint oil provoked an eruption, but what happened next was something else.

I bawled my head off. I felt so unbelievably sorry for myself that I just let myself go, sobbing uncontrollably for what felt like 10 solid minutes. I cried for all those days that I dragged my sad sorry ass to work in terrible pain. I cried for my shitty soft cartilage, and this stupid disease that I can do nothing about. I cried for my future, knowing that surgery #13 will not be my last. I cried for the fact that I don't deserve this. 

Evan sat quietly at my side and held my hand and just let me go. 

Eventually even my tears tasted of mint and Ev said, "Take a deep breath. That's done now."

Sometimes you just need a good minty cry.

Overall, my surgery was a success in a way - the surgeon identified all the areas where my cartilage is peeling off like an onion and smoothed the peeling cartilage. These areas cause the most pain, as the fraying cartilage catches in my joints. My actual cartilage implant from 4 years ago is doing well after another trim - however, the rest of my cartilage continues to degrade in quality and quantity. This surgery will provide me relief, but no one can predict for how long. I guess that's as good as it gets. I might cry about it again later??

I will say this...I am incredibly lucky to have such an amazing team at Penn Medicine. The level of care I experience each and every time is phenomenal. I received 5 check-in calls post surgery, one from my Surgeon on New Year's Day, who expressed his frustration with my continuing nausea. The staff often remember me and my shitty knees, and are always so compassionate, caring, and interested. They go above and beyond, and I appreciate them immensely. 

Recovery has been fine. I was just about to enter into pity-ville again on day 5 when I received a visit from a special friend. Kat, my island bestie from our first years in Cayman, who now lives in the DC area. We haven't seen each other in 2 years, and the fact that she drove post-snowstorm, in freezing cold temps (Well not Sasky cold, but Philly cold), really meant a lot to me. She's one of those best friends who you can pick up where you left off, talk about anything and everything, and just enjoy each other's company. Kat has a very distinct laugh - deep and hearty! That laugh lifted my spirits and her visit meant the world to me. 

We miraculously tested negative and made it back to Cayman without issue. The travel was painful, but I'm back in my island home, with views of the ocean rather than tall brick buildings. That feels good. 

I know that none of this is easy on Evan. When we repeated our wedding vows over 17 years ago, neither of us predicted that our marriage would entail this. But Ev never complains. He calmly holds my hand, delivers my crutches, brews my tea, comforts me, and makes me laugh when I'm sad. He knows the drill and accepts it as part of our life. Our incredible, yet complicated, life. I appreciate his encourage-mint and commit-mint. I know that we are mint to be (sorry - how could I resist??) 

Cheers!

We know Dr. Carey doctors the Flyers, but do the Flyers know he doctors Kirstie Lindsay?

Thank you, 90 day Fiance, for getting me through some dark days

New Year's Eve was LIT!

Found some good light reflecting off my satin pillow ;)